#his mind... (blinking rapidly in confusion)

[grimm-writings]

Sometimes I'm rereading and I'm genuinely like jaw dropping when I remember Chilchuck Sleaze Moments. Like his reaction to Toshiro's retainers? Girl ...

[iamgonnagetyouback]

curiousity glasses killed peter⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤ●ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ peter parker

the apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. peter had left a little while ago, probably off to grab coffee or run an errand, leaving you curled up on his couch with one of his old textbooks in your lap.

your gaze drifts toward the small table beside his desk, where his glasses sit, slightly askew, as if he had taken them off in a hurry. a small smile tugs at your lips. you’ve seen him push them up the bridge of his nose a thousand times, seen the way he squints when he forgets them, how they somehow make him look both like the smartest and the cutest person in the room.

curiosity wins. you reach over and pick them up, slipping them onto your face.

everything is…a little off. the lenses make the room blur at the edges, and you blink rapidly, adjusting. a quiet giggle escapes you. “wow, how does he even see in these?” you murmur, tilting your head at your reflection in the window.

the door creaks open.

“babe, i—” peter stops mid-sentence.

you turn toward him, wide-eyed, and his breath catches in his throat.

he blinks once. twice. his mouth opens, then closes again as if he’s buffering.

“pete?” you say, confused by his sudden speechlessness.

“oh my god,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “why—why do you look so cute right now? what is happening?”

you snort. “what?”

“no, seriously.” he steps closer, eyes locked on you like you’re a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. “that’s illegal. you can’t just—just put on my glasses and look like that.”

you grin, tilting your head. “like what?”

“like the most adorable human to ever exist?” he groans dramatically, dropping onto the couch beside you and burying his face in your shoulder. “this isn’t fair. i wasn’t prepared for this.”

you laugh, tugging the glasses off. “so what you’re saying is i should wear them all the time?”

peter lifts his head, eyes soft but full of mischief. “babe, if you do that, i’m never gonna be able to focus on anything else ever again.”

you smirk, slipping them back on. “guess you’ll just have to suffer, parker.”

and judging by the way he grins before pulling you into a kiss, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mind one bit.

a/n. first peter fic omg?? was kinda gonna make a longer fic on the more angsty side but then i was like nah that’s too much effort so drabble it is. and honestly i love it so much ughhh enjoy!! ‹𝟹 also pls tell me it it's terrible

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

[amourane]

flustered and blushing

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: fluff so much fluff that it's insane

w/c: 1.7k

summary: in which you're a flustered mess around theo nott and he absolutely adores it.

warnings: none!

a/n: *screams* i just combust every time i write for theo but this piece especially has me just screaming at the cuteness!!!

Everyone who went to Hogwarts knew who Theodore Nott was. It wasn’t hard to miss the dark chestnut hair that would fall in his eyes and the charming smirk that he always wore. Theodore Nott was gorgeous and he knew it. His popularity often led to him being the topic of most conversations and a receiver of many love confessions. Girls would flock to him and try their best to twirl their hair and flirt with the Slytherin but all they were met with was indifference. 

Theodore Nott would tune out their obnoxious laughter and shrill squeals. He would stare blankly at them, reject their advances without a care in the world. Word got around that the infamous Theodore Nott was seemingly unreachable. His unattainability only made him that much more interesting to everyone else.

You were blessed, as some would say, to sit next to Theo during Charms. Flitwick had randomly assigned the seating at the start of the year and you got stuck with Theodore Nott. He wasn’t bad at the subject by any means it just got a bit overwhelming with all the stares and whispers that were directed at your partner. You weren’t one for attention or drama, always preferring to hide in the shadows and not be seen. Sitting next to Theo didn’t exactly grant you that freedom.

Theodore Nott was handsome. So so so handsome. You couldn’t deny your attraction and as much as you tried to push it down you often found yourself staring. The slope of his nose and the angled jaw. His eyes that pulled your attention away from anything else. You would watch as he scrawled his notes onto the parchment. His quill would glide effortlessly without hesitation and you often would forget to take your own notes. You couldn’t help but feel your heart pound whenever he spoke to you or whenever he would offer you even the tiniest smile.

“Hey Y/n you free after dinner tonight?”

The boy beside you drawled with his chin in his hands. He looked at you expectedly and you blinked at him confused. 

“Sorry?”

“Were you not listening? We have an assignment together, I was asking if you were free so we could get started.” He smirked as if he knew you had been watching him all this time. You felt your cheeks heat up and you spluttered for words. Theo chuckled as he shoved his things into his bag, still waiting for your answer.

“Yeah I’m free tonight.” You mumbled, refusing to look at him. You felt your heart race and you gulped. “Wait where are we meeting up?” 

It was then that you realised looking up was a huge mistake because Theo’s face is mere inches away from yours and you felt yourself flush scarlet at the proximity. You blink like a deer caught in headlights trying to calm your own rapidly beating heart. Theo grinned. He tilted his head to the side as if he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Words died on your tongue and your eyes locked with his and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

It was all too much. Way too much.

You cleared your throat, backing away in your seat as far as you could. Theo bit back another smile as he finally leaned back into his seat again. You felt lightheaded from what had just happened and you looked over at the Slytherin only to find him already staring at you causing your eyes to bulge out of their sockets and for you to turn away quickly.

“W-Where did you say?”

“The library of course, I’d bring you to my dorm but don’t you think it’s a bit too soon for that principessa?”

Even if you couldn’t see Theo Nott you definitely could imagine his trademark smirk that would spread across his face whenever he was feeling smug with himself. His words registered in your mind finally and you let out a squeak at the implication before quickly throwing your stuff in your bag and saying a goodbye.

You darted down the hallway, desperate to get away from your seatmate and to your dorm. Theodore Nott had always been like this with you. All smiles and suggestive comments. Your heart couldn’t take his charming grin and angelic laugh. Ever since you had quietly greeted him back in September he had stuck by you and you really didn’t know why. You weren’t popular by any means and you had no pureblood connection that would be of any use so you weren’t sure why Theodore Nott had taken such an interest in you.

His words filled your head once more and you felt your whole body heat up at the memory. You flopped down onto your bed, groaning into the pillow as you tried your hardest to calm yourself down. You just knew tonight was going to be so much worse.

//

“-and I was thinking that we could also talk about non verbal spells since- are you listening to me Y/n?”

You snapped out of your thoughts only to see Theo’s brows furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. The library was fairly quiet and the two of you had picked a secluded corner to ensure no one would disturb the two of you. Your eyes drifted to the textbook in front of the two of you and you blinked blankly towards your partner.

“Sorry I wasn’t paying attention, what were you saying about non verbal spells?” 

Theo smiled and you felt your heart flutter at the sight. His eyes seemed to twinkle more in the warm lighting and you told yourself that you needed to stop having these ridiculous thoughts. Everyone knew that Theodore Nott had no interest in dating anyone much less you.

“You seem to be daydreaming a lot today Y/n, I’m honestly hurt that you haven’t been paying attention to what I’ve been saying.” Theo pouted but you could see the mirth that spread across his face. He leaned towards you and your eyes widened. “What’s got you so distracted today hm?”

He was so close to you. Too close even. You could smell the familiar citrusy scent that he always wore. It felt warm, you didn’t know if that was possible, but he smelt like what you imagined home would be. The slightly sweet but earthy scent invaded your senses and you felt your brain melt.

Your eyes search his face. The sharp cheekbones and jawline contrasted with the smooth curve of his lips. His dark tousled hair that you couldn’t help but imagine running your fingers through his curls. His long eyelashes framed his beautiful grey eyes. The soft glow of the lamp highlights his complexion and you continue to stare, completely mesmerised.

“Nothing…I just have a lot on my mind.” You replied awkwardly, hoping that he didn’t sense that you were lying.

“Hmm…well I’m always here to talk.” Theo folded his arms as he leant onto the wooden desk in front of the both of you. He buried his head into his arms before turning to the side to look at you, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “But I guess we’d just be talking about me, wouldn’t we?”

Immediately you burst into flames and you tried to stutter out an excuse. You knew he had noticed your staring. There were only so many times you could get away with not paying attention in class. Then again, it was still mortifying to get caught.

A group of girls decided that that was the perfect time to walk past the two of you and you froze as they saw you and Theo together. They looked at you and then the Slytherin beside you. Your jaw hung open, gaping like a fish, unable to comprehend the multitude of events that were thrown at you. The girls mirrored your expression before scurrying off whispering loudly.

“Are they dating?”

“No way I didn’t actually think he was capable of liking someone.”

“Who is she anyway? I’ve never seen her around.”

You felt your heart race and you deflated in your chair, head in your hands. This was not meant to happen. You felt a tap on your shoulder and you looked up to see Theo. His smile wasn’t on his face anymore, now replaced with a worried look.

“Are you okay?”

“What? Of course not!” You cried out softly. “Everyone’s going to think I’m your girlfriend and it’s going to spread across the whole of Hogwarts by tomorrow morning. And and…” You groaned, putting your head back into your hands, too overwhelmed by everything that was happening. 

Silence spread across the two of you.

“Would that be so bad?” Theo’s voice broke the quiet. You looked up, startled by his words. “Dating me, that is.”

“T-That’s not what I meant-” You stammered, scrambling for an apology, but Theo interrupted you.

“I don’t smile and flirt with just anyone you know. You’re special to me Y/n. I like you, a lot.” 

He was looking at you now, his eyes filled with a warmth you had mistaken for amusement. His gaze was soft and filled with affection, a small smile playing on his lips. Your cheeks heated up at his unexpected confession. Your heart pounded, and you gripped your fingers, searching for the right words to say.

“Do you like me too?”

Try as you might you couldn’t find any words to express your emotions or your feelings towards Theodore Nott. All you could muster was a nod as an answer to his question. Theo laughed as he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. He tugged you closer to him and once again you were face to face with Theodore Nott.

“I want to hear you say it principessa. Tell me how much you fancy me.” 

He was doing it on purpose. He knew exactly what to do and what to say to get you completely flustered and a blushing mess for him. And you would be a fool to say it wasn’t working.

“Theo I...” You whispered finally finding your own voice. “I really like you Theodore Nott, I really really like you.”

A bright beam graced Theo’s face and he pressed his forehead against yours, hugging your body close to his. You wrapped your arms around his waist, melting into his touch. Theo pulled back as he placed a kiss on your cheek. You blinked before you felt yourself heat up at his affectionate action. You buried your face in his chest, embarrassed at your flustered state.

“You’re so adorable.” Theo chuckled as he embraced you tightly. “I really really like you too Y/n L/n.”

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

✮ tags ; gn! reader, established relationship, fluff, alcohol.

"Shouto,"

"Hm?"

"You're drunk,"

Your boyfriend leans his head on your shoulder and makes a noise in the back of his throat. "A bit."

More than a bit, you think. In actuality, you don't think you've ever seen him this drunk before. He's okay with alcohol, usually - but tends to stay away from drinking too much. You think the last time you saw him get actually drunk at all, you were both twenty and he was barely tipsy then.

He doesn't like getting drunk, he's told you before. A few times. The lack of control and hazy memories make him just slightly anxious, so he's careful around liquor.

You've been dating for years now, and unless he's living some double-life (a different one than being a hero) - you've never seen him get this wasted. Ever. To everyone else in your surroundings, it probably doesn't look that way.

But you've spent enough time to know him, and he's not like this usually. Nowhere near as absent minded he is now, at least. He hasn't been able to sit still since he downed that last bottle of shochu. He went to go play with Bakugou's cat, Momo and you couldn't find him afterwards. You lost sight of him for about half-an-hour until you finally found him in the living room while everyone else was outside, feeding Momo some treat that squeezes from a tube.

(You still don't know where or how he found where Bakugou kept the treats, but you decide it's better you don't ask. Plausible deniability, or something.)

You're both grown-ups, and you're not one to worry about his liquor intake. Still, though - you're worried. Even if it seems like he's not different to everyone else, you can tell. And it's bothering you.

"Shouto," You call out to him, your hands reaching to pet the back of his neck. He's a head taller than you, and a little heavy. Palms smooth against the prickly ends of his hair - tapered and neat. He presses his cheek to your shoulder. "Shouto, love."

"Oh," He says, suddenly remember where he is. He stands up but doesn't back away far enough to give you space. You're in a far off empty corner. Most people are in the backyard but Shouto wanted some air - so you're crowded against a wooden fence and wall with your boyfriend locking you in out by the entrance. He smells nice, you think - clean with a soft touch of aftershave. You look up at him. "Hi,"

"You're drunk," You repeat, watching him blink rapidly - bleary eyes and the faintest line of a smile whenever he glances at you. He's bent over, staring at you hard. "Is something wrong?"

His expression is the same as always. Unchangingly neutral with a strong and uncharacteristic rosiness to it. Your boyfriend is handsome, alarmingly so. You're aware of it constantly, but this new face knocks the air out of your lungs.

He's... pouting you think. But not fully. His lips aren't drawn together, it's subtle like most expressions on him.

But it's...there. You're not imagining it - the soft furrow of his brow, the press of his lips. His expression grows warmer and it only makes you more confused. He shakes it off, all of a sudden, a micro-expression that fades just as quickly as it appears.

"I'm okay."

"Are you?""

He blinks slowly at that. Concern aside, you can't help but think he's cute like this. His ears are pink enough to stick out against his skin, cold air making them flush even darker.

"I'm okay," He says, then looks at you. He sobers up if only for that moment. "Had something on my mind."

"Something you can't tell me?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," He mumbles. He's really drunk. You realize this late. "So I don't know if I can."

"Mm," You reply. You feel like doting on him suddenly, so you do, petting the back of his neck before hugging him a little. "That's okay."

He follows up with a light groan. You've never heard him complain like that, so you laugh. "But I want to tell you."

"I promise I'll keep your secret at least."

He smiles at you more fully that time.

He pauses for a minute, thinking it over. You don't do or say anything in return. A beat passes of you two standing and swaying with silence where Shout to grabs your hands from in front of you. You think he's being affectionate again, wanting to hold them.

He draws your hands to his pocket though. The angle is awkward, makes you bend your wrist on the inside of coat pocket until you feel something hard and square touch your fingers. It's velvet from the material. A box of some kind.

...A box?

Shouto guides your hand again, this time out. When you pull it out, his palm is over yours. It's a jewellery box. You blink a few times, confused. Shouto hasn't let go of your hand.

"I keep missing the timing," He says, hiccuping. The lack of sobriety more clear than ever from the slight slur in his words. "It's been in my pockets for a while."

Your eyes go wide open. You can feel your own confusion and excitement twist and tangle inside of you, frantic to get a better read on the situation. He smiles down at you, disarmingly and then closes his eyes. His forehead is warm as it touches yours.

"...I thought you didn't want to married. Not really, at least." You whisper.

"Me too," He says, a wetness to his laugh that tugs at your heart . "It was on a whim. I wanted to talk to you about it. But." He frowns a little "It's tough."

You chuckle, a sudden wetness to your voice too. "I bet it was,"

He smiles at you, big and stupid. "I love you," He closes is eyes and presses his forehead to yours more. "Thank you for everything."

"Shouto," You repeat, unsure of what else to say. "What brought this up?"

"Mm," He shrugs, getting sleepier by the minute. "I thought giving you my last name would make you suffer." He admits, soft and unsure. "But taking yours. That felt...okay. Felt nice."

"You're silly."

"Yes," He says, not denying it. "And I love you."

"And you love me." You repeat, a grin splitting your face. Big tears at the corner of your eyes, making your vision sting and your cheeks ache. You look up at him again. "Enough to marry me?"

He seems almost sheepish that time. "If you'll have me."

"Are you sober enough to even remember this?"

His embarrassment makes him blush and laugh again. "My heart is beating so loud I'm a little afraid of it. So yes. I'm sure I'll remember." He admits.

"Let's get married, then." You repeat to him, so achingly happy you think you could die. You wonder when to tell your friends. Bakugou will be pissed you did at his place. "If you'll have me."

He smiles. "I'd like too."

You lean up to press a kiss to his mouth, and Shouto holds you there to kiss you longer than you expect. When you're done kissing, he's smiling.

"Anymore secrets?"

He thinks on it, then hums.

"We should get a cat."

[dovesdreaming]

The softening edge

Summary: Readers love language is touch and Theo usually loves it until someone (ahem Draco who else) makes fun of Theo for it. He ends up pushing you away until he realised how much of an idiot he’s been.

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: none

-

Theodore Nott was used to being alone. He preferred it that way. It was simpler, quieter and free from the complications of messy emotions. But you, you had waltzed into his life with your bright smile and warm touches, wrapping him in a blanket of affection he didn’t know how to handle. At first, he had been wary, guarded, and unsure of what you wanted from him. But your persistence wore down his defenses, slowly, like the ocean smoothing out rough stones on the shore. And before he knew it, he found himself looking forward to the sound of your laughter, the light touches on his arm, and the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled at him.

Today was no different. You met him in the common room, practically bouncing with energy, and immediately reached out to fix the collar of his shirt. He caught a whiff of your familiar perfume as you stood close, and something in his chest warmed, something he hadn’t felt in years. "You're always so put together, Theo” you teased, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. “But even perfection needs a little touch-up”. He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips tugged upward despite himself. “And that’s what you’re here for, I suppose?” “Obviously.” You grinned up at him, pleased with your handiwork. You reached up, gently combing your fingers through his hair to push it in the right direction that he liked and his breath hitched. It was so natural to you for you to touch him like this, but for him, it was foreign. Bewildering and addicting all at once.

Draco Malfoy watched from across the common room, a smirk playing on his lips. "Nott, you're getting soft” he sneered, his face filled with amusement. The other boys chuckled, and Theodore felt a prickle of irritation. He met Draco’s gaze, his expression hardening, but the damage was done. The words burrowed under his skin like thorns. Was he really becoming soft? Was he losing the edge that kept him safe, that kept people at a distance? He didn’t respond to Draco’s comment, but it echoed in his mind long after you’d said goodbye and headed off to your next class. The rest of the day, he was on edge, thinking about what Draco had said and how the others had laughed.

Later that evening, you found him again, this time in the library. You came up behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder as you read over his notes. “You work too hard, you know that?” you murmured, your voice soft in his ear. “You need to relax sometimes”. His entire body stiffened at your touch, Draco's words gnawing at him like a relentless parasite. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the irritation that was bubbling up inside him. You didn’t notice, still speaking in that gentle, affectionate tone that usually calmed him. But now, it felt suffocating.

“Stop” he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. He shrugged you off, causing you to stumble back a step. You blinked, hurt flashing across your face. “Theo..” He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I said stop. You’re always hovering, always- just, give me some space”. Your eyes widened, the warmth in them rapidly cooling into confusion and pain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise..” “Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t be so clingy” he bit out, his words sharp enough to wound. He regretted them the moment they left his mouth, but it was too late.

You took a step back, as if physically recoiling from his words. The light in your eyes dimmed, replaced by something hollow. “I’ll..I’ll leave you alone, then”. Your voice was barely a whisper as you turned and walked away. Theodore stood there, rooted to the spot, watching you go. The library felt colder, emptier without you in it. He wanted to call out, to take back everything he’d just said, but his pride held his tongue. Instead, he sat back down, glaring at the parchment in front of him that suddenly seemed meaningless.

The next few days were unbearable. You avoided him, no longer seeking him out between classes or sitting beside him in the common room. Your absence was like a black hole, pulling at him, making everything seem dull and lifeless. He caught glimpses of you, always at a distance, your once bright demeanor now subdued. He missed your voice, your touch, the way you made everything feel less bleak. He missed you more than he thought possible. It was during one particularly lonely evening in the common room that he realized what a fool he had been. You had only ever been kind to him, offering warmth and light in a life that had been cold and dark for so long. And he had thrown it all away because he was too afraid of what it meant to care for someone. Draco's words echoed in his mind again, but this time, they brought clarity instead of confusion. He wasn’t getting soft. He was learning to let someone in, and that was the hardest, bravest thing he had ever done.

He had to make it right. The next day, he found you sitting by the lake, staring out at the water. He approached slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. When you noticed him, you didn’t smile; you didn’t even look surprised. You just watched him with those sad, tired eyes that made him feel like the worst kind of villain. He sat down beside you, close but not touching. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. “I’m sorry” he finally said, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean what I said. I… I was an idiot”.

You didn’t respond at first, and he felt panic rising in his chest. What if he had ruined everything beyond repair? But then you spoke, your voice quiet and distant. “Why did you say it, Theo? What changed?”. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “You heard what Draco said. That you were making me weak You looked at him, really looked at him, and he felt exposed under your gaze. “Do you really believe that?” Your eyebrows creased upwards, eyes laced with a mix of emotions.

“No” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it scared me. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be strong, to be… untouchable. Letting someone in- it felt like losing control”. “And now?” you asked, your eyes searching his. “Now I realize that being with you.. it doesn’t make me weak. It makes me feel alive” He took a deep breath, his heart pounding. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I don’t want to push you away. I want… I want you. I need you”. His shoulders were tensed upwards trying to gage your reaction, his eyes revealing how desperate he seemed for your forgiveness.

You watched him for a long moment, the tension between you thick and suffocating. Then, slowly, you reached out and took his hand. “You really hurt me, Theo” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But.. I believe you’re sorry. Just don’t do it again, okay? If you need space, talk to me. Don’t shut me out”. “I won’t” he promised immediately agreeing to your terms while squeezing your hand. “I’ll do better. I swear”. You nodded, a small smile finally breaking through the sadness on your face. “Good. Because I like you, Theodore Nott, and I’m not going anywhere. You can’t get rid of me that easily”.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him, and for the first time in days, he allowed himself to smile. You allowed yourself to finally resort back your own nature of touch and leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. Maybe Draco was right. Maybe he was getting soft. But if this was what it felt like to be soft, then Theodore Nott was more than willing to lose that battle.

-

Thank you for reading! Please send requests for him <3

[juleswritesstuff]

Holy hands, will they make me a sinner ?

You seem to have a little secret. Regulus figures you out immediately.

regulus black x fem!reader

warnings: smut

“If you bore holes in them I won't be able to finish my essay, Y/n” 

His voice brings you back from the apparent state of trance you had unconsciously fallen into. Blinking rapidly, you regain perception of the walls of your dorm room surrounding you and the myriad of books scattered across your bed.  You shift your gaze to his gray eyes and you find them already set on you.

“Pardon ?” your voice has a confused edge that almost makes him chuckle.

“My hands” he explains, his tone as neutral as ever “You were staring”

Your eyes go a little wide, like you had been caught stealing the last chocolate frog of the stash. You swallow, trying to compose yourself as best as you can.

“I was doing no such thing” you declare, a bit too solemn and defensive to be the truth.

Regulus pins you with an unimpressed look, his left brow arching just enough to tell you that he isn't buying any of your bullshit.

A defeated sigh leaves your lips. 

It is no use hiding something from Regulus Black. He will find out one way or another, and you got caught right with your hands in the jar.

“Ok, fine” you admit, lifting your shoulders to make it seem like the most casual thing ever “I was looking at your hands”

Regulus’ expression doesn't change, but the glint of amusement flashing in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed.

“More like ogling, I would say” even his tone has a playful bite to it.

You like this side of him. The Regulus who is able to relax a bit and let go when he is surrounded by the people he is comfortable with.

But carefree Regulus also means menace Regulus apparently.

“I wasn't ogling” you grumble, rolling your eyes “I was just admiring them” 

His eyebrows furrow.

“Why ?” he seems intrigued as the question leaves his lips.

Why, he has the courage to ask.

Well the answer is that Regulus Black has the prettiest, hottest, most gorgeous hands you have ever laid eyes on.

They are elegant, slender, the little veins underneath the pale skin gracing your eyes with their presence with every movement he makes, every flex of his muscles, producing a delicious design that hypnotizes you. 

They are smooth but decorated by light calluses, undoubtedly caused by Quidditch, that create a divine contrast with his otherwise untainted skin.

His fingers are long, lean, clad in silver rings that make your mouth water with how exquisitely sultry they make him look.

And suddenly, but not surprisingly, you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on you, exploring every inch of your body, dancing on your skin like flames dance in the cold hair of the night. The cool metal of his rings being at odds with your scorching hot skin, making you hiss as his skilled fingers create a burning path over your body, traveling everywhere. Your legs, your thighs, your hips, chest, shoulders and stopping right at your neck, wrapping delicately, reverentially around it. Worshipping the sensitive skin, feeling the erratic pulse of your heart and-

“You’re doing it again” his words interrupt your spiraling for the second time that day, sounding dry and apathetic as always, but a hint of teasing twinkles in the otherwise coldness of his eyes.

“You have nice hands, that’s all” you manage to say without giving away all the less than pure thoughts flooding your mind in that moment. “From an artist point of view, obviously” you add, shrugging, trying to make everything less than obvious.

You really hope Regulus didn't learn to cast a Legilimes in his free time, otherwise you were well and truly screwed.

Bringing up your passion for drawing is futile and you know it. You know he knows the drooling over his hands isn't for the sake of art. You can't fool Regulus Black, not even if you try to.

Which is both extremely annoying and criminally hot in your humble opinion.

But pretending is the only thing you can do to not feel embarrassed, holding onto the hope that maybe he doesn’t have you all figured out.

“So you’re saying that your interest is purely artistic ?” he cocks a brow as his head tilts slightly.

There’s something in his voice, in his eyes, that you can’t quite figure.

Your forehead scrunches in confusion.

“Yes, of course” you answer, trying to hide the stutter of your voice as best you can.

You are pretty sure he knows that you aren’t telling the truth, he somehow always knows. He reads you like an open book, and, for someone who doesn’t engage in showing his emotions too often, he is pretty damn good at reading the ones of others. 

So why that question ? You almost expected him to tell you to cut it out and get back to study because that essay isn’t gonna finish itself.

This is new, unexpected. 

Interesting.

“Would you like to draw them ?”

Your eyes go wide in surprise.

Wait.

What ?

Never, in all the years you have known each other, had he offered to model for you. 

He knew about you having an interest in arts, he even saw a couple of your drawings and paintings and he often asked about them and how they were coming up, but he never asked to be in them.

You never brought up the suggestion either. He is a reserved guy and he loathes having eyes on him, so you figured he would’ve never accepted even if you did.

That never stopped you from sketching him from afar, though. Those gorgeous features deserve to be portrayed.

But why the sudden proposition ?

You aren’t stupid. Regulus might know you like the back of his hand, but you could say the same about him. And this, whatever this might be, is not like him at all. 

Regulus never does anything for nothing, there is always an explanation, a reason to his every move. You think even his breaths are perfectly calculated.

But this time the why gets lost on you, and the harder you try to understand the less it all makes sense.

“I can see the gears in your brain twinsting and turning,” he says, calm and composed as ever.

He is sitting on your bed, the quill he was using to write his Charms paper now abandoned next to him. His back is perfectly straight, leaning on the headbord to support his weight. The raven strands of his hair create soft waves that frame his face in a delicate and enchanting way. His lips are stretched in a rare, playful smile, curling up slightly on the left side.

He is beautiful. Dangerously so.

“It’s just-” you are confused, there is no doubt about that, but most of all you are intrigued “You have never asked me before”

“I know” 

That’s his only answer. Simple, concise. Enigmatic. 

Just like him.

“So why now ?” 

The question escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help it, curiosity is consuming you, and the possibility of learning a new part of him makes your skin tingle with excitement.

“Why not ?” he shrugs “There is a first time for everything, right ? So why not now ?”

There is still that glint of something in his eyes. You don’t know what it is, you don’t think you would be able to give it a name even if you knew, but it's there, and it’s strong.

“I’ll get my supplies then” 

You slowly get up from the bed, feeling your heart in your throat in a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and you retrieve your album and a pencil.

When you sit back down you notice that the books have been neatly stacked in a small pile next to your bed and all the papers, previously scattered all over your sheets, are nowhere to be seen.

“Figured we might need the space” he says, like he read your mind.

“Thank you”, you give him a small smile before opening your album, turning the pages one by one, until you find a blank sheet, ready to be filled.

“Where do you need me ?” 

The way he utters those words with the utmost nonchalance, apparently unaware of the effect they have on you, nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

Everywhere, you think, before mentally smacking yourself.

You need to get a grip, for Merlin’s sake.

“Right there is fine,” you're able to say without your voice faltering “just angle your hands towards me, so the light is right”

He does as he is told, adjusting his position and moving his hands a bit to the right, veins on full display and rings shining under the warm rays of the sunset seeping through the window.

“That’s good” your mouth is suddenly dry as you gulp at that sight.

He is a bit far, and the light doesn’t hit as perfectly as you had expected, but you’ll work with it. If squinting your eyes a bit is the price to pay to maintain your mental sanity, then so be it.

Then you start drawing. The only sound filling the room is the gentle scraping of your pencil as your eyes focus on the white sheet in front of you, your gaze shifting to his hands ever so often to take a peek at them, like you haven't learnt every detail by heart.

You can feel his eyes on you. You try not to focus on it, but the shivers those pools of the color of a summer storm send down your spine are difficult to ignore.

“You’re straining your eyes” he blurts out of the blue.

Observant as always.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, your gaze never leaving the paper “this distance is good for perspective” 

“But it’s a problem for the lighting”

Those words make you lift your head up, your brows knotted in a frown.

How does he-

“And what would you know about the lighting ?” you eye him suspiciously, a small grin curving your lips.

“I guess all your rambles about that muggle painter weren’t in vain” he says, and there’s a cheekiness in his tone that is completely new to you “Caravaggio, right ?”

Your grin turns into a full smile.

“Right,” you nod, your eyes widening a little “I can’t believe you actually remember”

“I remember a lot of things,” he remarks defensively.

“Only those important enough to you” the teasing in your voice is light, playful, as your pencil glides on the sheet swiftly, adding strokes and shadows here and there.

There’s a beat of silence.

One second. Two. Three. And then-

“Exactly”

Your hand halts every movement, freezing completely. You look up from your paper and you find his gaze already on you.

Suddenly you are lost. Your heart is beating so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually able to hear it.

The implications of that single word swirl in your brain, creating a hurracane of thoughts that almost gives you whiplash. 

He doesn’t give you the time to even think properly about what he may have just suggested, because he decides to speak again. 

“I can come closer if you need me to” his voice is lower, deeper, oozing with that same something he’s had in his eyes since he caught you staring at his heavenly hands.

You want to scream. You have no idea of what the hell is going on and it’s confusing the shit out of you.

You know he is asking for that forsaken drawing you still have in your lap, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it. The electricity in the room is so high it feels like an open cable sending sparks flying everywhere, setting the air on fire. 

The only coherent thought in your brain is a chorus of yes, please and nothing else.

So you cave.

“You can,” you manage to say, because the necessity to protect your sanity might be strong, but the need to have him close to you is apparently stronger “if you want to”

His gaze is so penetrating you feel it in your soul, consuming you from the inside out and setting your whole body ablaze.

It’s compelling, hypnotizing even. 

“This is not about what I want, Y/n”

Oh, the way those words leave his perfect lips, making shudders erupt all over your body should be studied. 

Your world shifts on its axes and it starts spinning ten times faster. Because he knows. 

He knows. 

“We're not talking about art anymore, are we ?” you ask, swallowing soundly as your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Were we ever talking about that in the first place ?” his question is rhetorical. He doesn’t need an answer because he already knows it. He figured you out, like he always does.

So what was the point in pretending anymore ?

“No,” you admit “I guess we weren't” your trembling hands move the paper out of the way.

There is a spark in his eyes. It’s foreign, thrilling even, and it makes your skin prickle in the best way.

Suddenly he moves. He shifts his weight forward, approaching you slowly. The veins in his arms and hands bulging from the pressure and knocking the air out of your lungs in the process.

“So tell me” he whispers, crawling to you bit by bit, like a hunter advancing towards his prey. He seems to be calm, poised, totally in control of his body as he comes closer and closer.

It’s his eyes that betray him. 

They have always been the window to his feelings, talking more than his mouth ever did. And right now they are burning, engulfed by a heat that makes your legs weak and your heart roar. The realization hits you, a rush of adrenaline running through your veins.

They are hungry.

“Tell you what ?” you stutter, unable to regain a hold of yourself. You can’t breathe, your palms are sweaty, you feel hot all over and he is close, so damn close.

He stops right in front of you, mere inches between your faces and a tension so heavy you can cut it with a butter knife.

“What you want” the warmth of his breath delicately caresses your skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, his eyes following the movement intently almost making you squirm under his gaze.

“You seem to know what I want” you murmur breathlessly, your body heating up in response to his proximity. 

Those hands, protagonists of some of the filthiest dreams you’ve ever had, are right next to you. Close enough to graze the skin of your thighs with his knuckles, but never indulging in the act. Like he is teasing you, waiting for you to beg for it. You shift your gaze to them and you swallow hard, the need to feel them on you growing stronger every second that passes. 

You are about to fucking combust.

His silver eyes are still fixed on you, intense and magnetic, as they follow your line of sight.

“I won't move a muscle unless you tell me to, Y/n” 

Those words, mouthed so close to your lips and mixed with the low, velvet-like husk of his voice, make your legs clench and your stomach churn in the best way possible.

You can’t take it anymore.

You move forward, abandoning your position on the bed to place your legs on each side of his hips, almost straddling him. Your hands are on his shoulders, helping you to keep your balance, feeling the lean muscles underneath the shirt as you hover over him.

His head tilts up, eyes sharp and hot and glued to yours. You hear him suppress a hiss as your thighs brush his hips. His arms are still next to him, hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

He is restraining himself. From touching you. 

Your thoughts are clouded, your mind hazy and completely out of it. The only thing you want right now is for him to place those perfect fucking hands on you and never stop.

“Do it” your voice is so weak and breathy it’s a miracle he hears you.

“Do what ?” he mouths, so close to your lips it makes your head spin.

You’re needy, desperate even, but you don’t care. You don’t have time to think right now. You want to feel.

“Touch me” you beg.

“Where ?” he sounds just as gone as you are, and you finally crumble.

“Everywhere”

It’s nothing more than a whisper but it shakes the both of you like an earthquake. 

You meet in the middle, your lips colliding and completely knocking the breath out of you.

His mouth is sinful, greedy, chasing yours with a hunger that almost makes you melt on the spot. You get lost in the softness of it, in the ungodly brush of your tongues making you moan breathlessly. You bite and nibble and lick and he follows you, matching the languid pace just as eagerly, as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling at the black strands delicately. The low groan that escapes his throat sends goosebumps all over you.

You are so focused on the filthy dance of your mouths that you almost miss the agonizingly slow graze of his fingers on the exposed flesh of your legs, gently tracing a path on your thighs.

The metal of his rings meets the hotness of your skin and you hiss.

Oh, it’s just as delicious as you imagined.

“Ah- fuck” you pant, millimeters away from him. Your head feels light, dizzy. 

You feel like you’re dreaming, lost in your own fantasies.

But his hands running up and down your thighs feel too fucking good to be just a product of your imagination. They travel slowly, excruciatingly so, making you lose your mind with every new inch of skin they explore. 

Until they sneak under your skirt, reaching your hips to gently knead the supple skin, applying enough force to bring you forward.

“Sit” It feels more like a plea than an order but-

Holy shit.

A gasp escapes your mouth before you can stop it.

Every cell of your body threatens to explode as he pushes your weight on him all the way, making you straddle him completely.

“Fucking finally” he curses, more to himself than to you, like he has been waiting for this moment his whole life.

His eyes are dark, fogged up by lust and need, and it's the lewdest thing you have ever witnessed.

“I have never seen you like this” you whisper directly on his lips, nibbling on the plush flesh.

He smirks, smirks for Salazar's sake, as his fingers move, reprising their mission to make you lose every ounce of control.

“It seems you were busy looking at something else”

His thumbs rub the skin of your inner thigh in a hypnotizing manner, sending bolts of electricity down your spine.

You whimper as they get closer and closer to your core, your grip on the junction between his neck and shoulder tightening in pleasure.

But he must take it as some sort of sign of discomfort because he halts suddenly.

“Want me to stop ?” his eyes search for yours, the veiled concern in them making your heart stutter.

“Don’t you even dare” you say, a mere breath away from him before you dive in, capturing his mouth again.

It's messy and dirty and you get addicted to his taste way too quickly.

His hands move up, massaging your skin at every caress of your tongues, until they reach the hem of your panties.

He moves away from your lips for a quick moment, and he looks at you.

The silent ‘Can I ?’ written in his eyes almost makes you swoon.

You nod your head.

“I need words, chérie” he whispers sensually.

The combination of his right hand so close to your most sensitive spot, his left one traveling up to your hip, holding it tightly, posessivly, and that fucking pet name almost make you cum on the spot.

“Yes” you practically beg.

Only then he resprises his journey of exquisit torture along your body.

“Shit-” you quiver as he kisses your neck, branding the sensitive skin with his lips and teeth. His hands move, fingers skilled and sinful as they reach your heat.

You mewl as they make contact with the light material of your underwear.

“Jesus Christ” hs hisses a groan “you’re soaked”

A series of choked out whimpers leaves your lips as he strokes his fingers over your panties, feeling your wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck- Reg” a moan ripples from your lips when his thumb brushes your clit tentativley, making you gasp. Your hands fly to his hair, lightly pulling the soft strands with trembling fingers.

“Look at you, all horny and needy over my hands” his voice is tantalizing but you can hear the breathlessness, the strain in it. He is affected by this just as much as you are and it makes you go almost feral.

“Please” you breathe. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Your mind is too hazy, too fogged up by lust and need to have a single coherent thought in it.

But he sure does know, because his digits move your panties to the side, just enough to glide over your slickness, making contact with the tender skin of your folds and spreading your wetness all over.

Finally, finally the hands consuming your every thought are on you, right where you had craved and imagined them the most.

You arch your back in ecstasy, biting your lip.

And it’s when his middle finger eases inside of you, slowly breaching your velvety walls, that you lose it completely.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs, liquid fire engulfs every cell of your body, every nerve and muscle consumed by pleasure.

“Regulus-” it’s the only thing you manage to mewl as he slides in and out of you in a rhythm so sensual and sultry it makes you melt. The cold metal of his ring meets the warm, sensitive skin of your cunt with every prod, creating a delicious contrast.

You never break eye contact, your gazes locked together drinking in every little detail, every wave of bliss swimming in them.

“Is this what you fantasized about, love ?” he pants right on your lips “All the times I caught you staring, is this what you were imagining my hands doing ? Fucking you senseless, feeling how tight and needy you are ?”

His words are as dirty as his eyes as he slides another finger into you, making you inhale sharply and stretching you out so good you could almost cry. 

“Ohmygodyes” you moan as your hips start moving to their own accord, meeting the prodding of his fingers eagerly, riding his hand like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

“But this is not the only fantasy you have, right chérie ?” he teases, going faster, harder, pumping mercilessly and leaving you a blubbering mess.

His left hand leaves its place on your hip and moves up, grazing the soft skin of your stomach, the supple and tender flesh of your breasts, the natural dip of your collarbones, worshipping every inch of your skin in their path, until they reach their goal.

“I bet you thought about this too, didn't you ?” 

You were always sure this would remain just one of your daydreams, the kind of dirty thought that should remain in your mind and nowhere else. But Regulus Black was Regulus Black and reading you was one of his favorite hobbies.

It still comes as a surprise, though, when he delicately wraps his hand around your throat, resting it there, feeling every pulse of your heart, every pump of your blood and adorning your neck with the prettiest fucking necklace you could ever ask for.

“Yes” it’s nothing more than a breath, but it sends him into a frenzy. His right thumb rubs your clit relentlessly, adding to the unforgiving pace of his fingers sliding in and out of you with lewd, wet squelches. The whimpers coming out of your mouth are raw, filthy and downright pornographic as you feel your orgasm approaching.

Your head is in the clouds, a hundred thousands miles from earth as the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of his hands on you, fucking you to your release as the one on your neck squeezes the faintest bit, enough to almost send you over the edge.

His left thumb leaves its place right above your jugular, moving upwards to caress your jawline, your cheek and, lastly, your lips.

You can feel the digit caressing the red, bitten flesh, brushing it with reverence, worshiping it with his whole being. His heated gaze is bewitched, entranced by your mouth parting, welcoming him past your lips, and lightly grazing the pad with your teeth before enveloping it wholly.

“Bloody fucking hell, Y/n” he rasps, voice low and dangerously close to pleading as you suck on his thumb like it's the tastiest treat you have ever put in your mouth.

The hand on your cunt speeds its pace, pounding in and out of you like a fucking machine, the vibrations on your little bundle of nerves getting more intense by the second, sending you over the edge in a mess of moans and whimpers.

“Reg, fuck, I'm-”

You reach your release with his name on your lips, back arched and hips rolling to help you ride your orgasm on those unholy fingers of his. 

Your vision is blurred, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed by bliss as you slowly come back to your senses.

It takes you a few seconds to regain control of your body and mind, but when you do you are graced with a vision you are sure you will never forget.

The ever composed and collected Regulus Black is right in front of you with his expression contorted in pure lust, eyes bleary and unfocused, hair tousled by your hands relentlessly stroking them, lips red and glossy from the heated kisses, tie loose, crooked and shirt crumpled.

He is a mess.

The hottest mess you have ever seen.

You're still not fully out of your head space when he speaks again.

“You're loud” he grins, his tone teasing but still a little raspy.

“You're filthy” you bite back weakly, your voice hoarse and strained. 

“Maybe. But I don’t think I'm the only one” 

The fingers that have been inside of you not even a moment ago are now in front of you, coated and glistening with your essence.

He slowly brings them closer to your mouth, and you don't even think twice before eagerly welcoming them inside it.

The taste of yourself mixes with the metallic tinge of his rings as you suck leisurely, restraining a moan before he takes them out with a wet pop.

“Sale fille” he groans in french, lowly and right on your parted lips, before he dives in an alluring kiss. (Dirty girl)

It's slower than all the others you shared, but it's deeper, sensual and it almost gets you worked up all over again.

His tongue meets yours in a erotic dance and when the taste of your very essence coats his tastebuds a moan rumbles in his throat.

“You're sweet” his voice is nothing more than a whisper as his teeth nibble at your lower lip gently.

“Want me to find out if you're sweet, too ?” You offer with a teasing smile on your lips . His hands might be your biggest fantasy, but they sure as hell are not the only part of him you fantasize about.

“Eager, are we ?” he teases playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “Not today, chérie”

The little pet name creates butterflies in your stomach and makes your cheeks warm, but doesn't hide your disappointment. 

“Why ?” you ask, your hands going to fiddle with his tie.

“As I told you, this is not about what I want” he explains, his arms circling you in a loose hug “and I don't know if you noticed, but it's pretty late”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, and only then you realize that the sun has already set and the room would be totally surrounded by darkness if it wasn't for the few magic candles lighting up automatically when twilight hits.

Your eyes widen.

“How long have we been here for ?” your voice has a panicked hint to it, making Regulus laugh.

“I'm pretty sure dinner is getting served right now” he says nonchalantly, like it's the most normal thing ever to engage in sexual activities with your best friend and miss supper because of it.

“Which might be for the best,” he adds.

“Why ?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“Because I’m the only one lucky enough to hear your dirty little sounds” he says with a shit-eating grin before kissing you again.

Thank you for reading 💖

[lazysoulwriter]

think fast, i'm another girl. - rafe cameron.

requested! hope u like it. ♡

----

You hear the front door open, signaling that Rafe is finally home. Perfect timing. Your phone is already set up, recording, and you can barely hold back your laughter as you prepare to launch yourself at him.

Rafe steps into the living room, running a hand through his messy hair, completely unaware of what’s about to happen. He barely has time to register your presence before you pounce on him, arms wrapping around his neck as you blurt out:

— Think fast, I’m another girl!

His entire body tenses, arms instinctively catching you before you both crash to the ground. For a split second, his jaw clenches, and he pulls back just enough to stare at you, eyes narrowed in confusion.

— What the hell are you talking about? — he mutters, blinking rapidly.

You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, gripping onto his shoulders as he looks around, finally noticing your phone propped up and recording. His eyes dart back to you, and his lips press into a thin line.

— Are you messing with me? — he asks, his voice low and unimpressed.

Still giggling, you nod, but before you can say anything else, Rafe tightens his grip on your thighs, effortlessly holding you up. His smirk slowly returns, and a dangerous glint flickers in his blue eyes.

— Another girl, huh? — he murmurs, tilting his head slightly.

Your laughter immediately dies down as he spins you around, throwing you onto the couch with a cocky grin. The video is still recording, and let’s just say—TikTok is about to lose its mind.

-----

[jellyfishsthings]

Family Chaos

navigation , dc navigation

WARNINGS: funny miscommunication (not really)

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

It started with a tweet.

@GothamTeaSpill: “BREAKING: Dick Grayson spotted with mystery woman near Blüdhaven docks. 👀 Trouble in paradise?”

Steph saw it first. She gasped so loudly, she dropped her cereal spoon into her mug of tea. “OH MY GOD.”

Tim peered over her shoulder. “Wait, isn’t that Dick’s old patrol partner from like... two years ago?”

“EXACTLY,” she hissed. “That’s not HER. Which means—”

“Scandal,” Cass finished, appearing behind them like a ghost with excellent eyeliner.

Within ten minutes, the photo had been blown up, analyzed, run through facial recognition software, and fed into a group chat titled 💔 EMOTIONAL DAMAGE CHAT 💔.

Jason was the first to react. “If he cheated, I’m keying the Batmobile. His Batmobile.”

Damian, with all the fire of a boy betrayed: “I will strike him from my mental family tree.”

Dick walked into the kitchen, blinking sleepily and wearing your oversized robe. “Morning. Why is everyone staring at me like I ran over Alfred?”

Silence.

You strolled in behind him, still brushing your teeth, glanced at the phone being waved at you, and blinked.

“Oh, yeah. That’s Ivy. She used to work with his department. She’s married. Nice girl.” You shrugged and walked away.

Everyone blinked at you.

Tim  whispered “Why is she so calm?”

Jason answered “Denial. It’s the first stage.”

What they didn’t know—and what you absolutely were not going to tell them—was that Dick had already shown you the photo the night before. Ivy had waved him down to ask about security for her niece’s art gallery. You trusted him. 100%.

But the theatrics were just too juicy.

So, naturally, you grabbed your phone and typed into the group chat: “We need to talk.”

Pandemonium.

Phase One: Interrogation

Dick sat on the couch with a confused frown while the rest of the family assembled around him like a very emotional jury.

“Dick,” Steph said solemnly, “is there something you need to tell us?”

“Did I eat someone’s leftovers?”

Cass turned on a lamp dramatically.

Tim held up a whiteboard titled: Timeline of Lies.

Jason handed him a stress ball shaped like a broken heart.

“Wait,” Dick said slowly, “Is this... is this about that photo?”

Steph gasped. “So you admit there’s a photo?!”

“There’s a photo of me talking to someone, yeah. Her name is Ivy. She’s married. My angel has met her before. We literally helped her move last year.”

"The betrayal" Tim gasped from somewhere.

“I remember her,” you said sweetly from the corner. “She made lemon squares.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Then why the secrecy?”

“There was no secrecy!”

You sighed. Loudly. “It’s not like he’s ever done something to break my trust... until now.”

Dick’s head snapped toward you. “Babe?!”

You didn’t answer.

Cass handed you a blanket like it was a courtroom shawl of mourning.

Jason muttered, “Say the word and I’ll help you disappear him.”

You wiped a fake tear. “I just don’t know who I am dating anymore.”

Dick looked like he was rapidly losing his mind. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING.”

“Tell it to the group chat,” Tim said coldly.

Phase Two: Emotional Damage

Later that night, you found Dick sitting alone in the Batcave, holding the same photo.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, miserable.

You sat beside him, took the photo, and gently kissed his cheek. “No, baby. I knew it was nothing the whole time.”

He turned to you, eyes wide. “Wait—what?”

You smiled. “I saw the photo last night. You told me. But they didn’t know that. And honestly, watching them stage an emotional intervention with a slideshow? Comedy gold.”

Dick buried his face in his hands. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

He sighed, then laughed. “Tim used the phrase ‘emotional infidelity arc.’”

You giggled. “Jason tried to teach me how to key your car.”

“Which one?��

“Alright it was the motorcycle.”

He gasped. “That’s even worst.”

You looped your arm through his. “Don’t worry. I’d never let them touch the Nightcycle.”

He beamed. “You do love me.”

Group Chat Fallout - Bonus Scene

Steph: “Wait. YOU KNEW?!”

Cass: “She played us like a fiddle.”

Jason: “I am somehow both furious and impressed.”

Tim: “Next time I’m running background checks.”

Damian: “You are all clowns.”

You sent one final message to the chat:

Plot twist: I’m the mastermind. 🃏

Dick added: And I’m the himbo.

Everyone agreed. Even Alfred.

[thinemoonshine]

⋆𐙚₊ 𝓹𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 (𝓻𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜)˚⊹♡

—⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ when platonic becomes romantic

bestfriend!enhypen hyung line x fem reader content(s): fluff, enhypen being down bad, hints of yearning, reader's oblivious, jay malfunctions, bit suggestive in jake's, sunghoon's already thinking wedding vows type: imagine

⋆˙𐙚 L.HEESEUNG 𐙚˙⋆

it’s weird. they’ve always been touchy with one another. sure, it may not be to the point of clingy but touchy enough that hand-holding and cuddling are normal in their friendship.

so why is it that heeseung feels so shy and flustered with (y/n)’s simple affection now?

her fingers pinch his chin softly as she gently tends his small cut with a cotton swab. their faces close but far enough so heeseung can comfortably admire her features while she stands between his spread knees.

“it’s not deep enough so it shouldn’t leave too much of a scar,” she says calmly—too casually for heeseung who’s literally having trouble making a single coherent thought without thinking about their proximity.

he swallows and it only makes his throat feel drier. “you sure?”

(y/n) lifts her gaze to see his round, bambi eyes searching hers for reassurance and she chuckles. “don’t worry, hee. you’ll still be handsome.”

still? he echoes internally. she thinks i’m handsome.

the thought itself is dumb considering how she’s never held back her admiration for his looks but for some reason, it was clearer to him this time, significant.

her hand shifts to cup his cheek and he fights himself from practically melting into her touch with his fists clenching by his side.

but his will is weaker than he thought.

(y/n)’s brows raise when he leans into her palm with eyes shutting while his own arms wrap around her waist to pull her in. “hee?”

the way that everyday nickname fell from her lips has his heart lurching and ears ringing, desperate for her to say it again.

“i like it when you say my name,” he murmurs into her shoulder and she’s silenced, flustered and confused, even more so when she can literally feel him jolting ever so slightly from his rapid, passionate heartbeat.

(y/n) slowly reciprocates the touch—her arms moving to encircle his slim waist and he sighs at the warmth that envelopes.

“is there something going on?” she asks, unsure of what transpired for her bestfriend to act so intimate all of a sudden but all heeseung does is shake his head—sneakily burying his nose into the crook of it and breathing her in.

“i just want you here,” he confesses, warm breath heating her skin as he subtly stamps little pecks before having to bite his own tongue to hold back from pressing a long, lasting kiss.

oh, if only he could.

heeseung smiles as he lifts a hand to cradle the back of her head, combing through her hair as his lips pull to a grin.

well, no one said he couldn’t.

⋆˙𐙚 P.JONGSEONG 𐙚˙⋆

it should be casual. a norm. a routine, even, to have (y/n) clinging onto his back as he cooks. it’s what she always does whenever he makes their meals—her ‘contribution’ she says, since jay won’t let her do anything.

and he doesn’t mind. he welcomes it, in fact. but something about today, makes it a lot harder for him to focus on his cooking with her wrapped around him.

“i thought you wanted them diced,” (y/n) reminds when jay was about to shove in the messily sliced carrots into a pot of hazardously seasoned soup(he’s pretty sure he poured in sugar instead of salt).

jay blinks rapidly, frantic, as he laid down the cutting board again and starts dicing… if cutting them in criss-crossed shapes into atoms is another method of it. “y-yeah. i did.”

but it doesn’t stop there.

“jay, that’s not salt.”

“black pepper, not white.”

“that fire’s too high!”

jay’s a second away from giving himself a concussion with the frying pan and even then, he grabbed the ladle instead.

"is something wrong?" his bestfriend asks when she turns him around and the way her fingers ghost over his waist makes him shudder.

he shakes his head with his signature smirk-ish smile before clearing his throat. “nothing. just thinking about some stuff.”

his hand lands on her crown and rests there for a moment before he pats gently. then he turns back around to cook, scoffing in amusement at the skeptical hum from the girl clinging onto his back.

“i’ll make you talk one way or another,” she threatens and jay’s about to toss a witty remark but he’s cut by a gasp when her palms drag up to his chest—heart going overdrive and nearly bursting through until her grip curls around his neck. “tell me!”

he’s shaken back and forth by the throat and it works in distracting him from blasting off through the roof like a rocket. exaggerated laughter escapes him as he tries to pretend everything’s fine before he gently holds her wrists and pulls them away—spinning to face her with a bright grin on his ruddy face.

“if you keep this up, i might not be able to get this done,” he chides but with a playful undertone as he clicks his tongue with a sharp inhale. his eyes sharpen to squint ‘menacingly’ and the girl mirrors.

“fine. i’ll relent,” she shrugs and pulls her arms back but just when jay thinks she’ll leave, she reaches to gently stroke his throat and that has his eyes widening and breaths hitching. “sorry, was i too rough?”

his gears are frozen and ears muffled from the pounding, passionate beats of his heart. “i—uh, no! not at all.”

and when her eyes lift to meet his, he nearly buckles at the knees—having to reach behind and grip the edge of the counter until his knuckles turn white to keep himself up.

there’s a pregnant pause between them and with every second, jay’s mind is unraveling little by little.

“i knew it,” she scoffs and for a moment, he thinks it’s over for him. (y/n)’s gonna see through him and she’s gonna leave him and—

“i’ll use a rope next time. thanks for the advice!” she chirps and spins before skipping out the kitchen, leaving him dumbfounded and speechless.

the moment she’s out, he crashes against the counter behind him—skin flushed to his ears and neck and eyes wide as saucers as his hand cups the lower half of his face in disbelief.

oh, he’s done for.

⋆˙𐙚 S.JAEYUN 𐙚˙⋆

jake thinks there’s no such thing as a friendship touchier, sweeter and cheesier than his with (y/n). it’s their love language: physical touch. even if it’s as small as poking or as big as a whole cuddle session, they’re all a portrayal of their perfectly platonic affections.

they’ve even kissed each other’s cheeks for goodbyes and caused confusion all around whether they were dating or not. of course, they’d always deny it—saying that that’s one of the perks from being friends for so long. nothing affects them anymore since they’ve seen nearly everything of each other.

but now, from the way jake’s breaking a sweat and losing his breaths as he cuddles with (y/n) for another one of their movie marathon nights, he’s not sure he can live up to that belief.

he’s trying his hardest to calm his nerves, scared that she’s going to be able to feel his racing heart or notice his shaky breaths.

it’s like he’s suddenly conscious of everything.

the way her hands feel against him, the softness of her figure compared to his solid body, her sweet warmth that seeps into his pores as he holds her close and the way she whines and grunts unconsciously whenever he shifts like she hates to be apart.

everything, every single thing about her is driving him crazy and the fact that she’s literally using him as a human mattress and plushie isn’t helping.

of all days, did (y/n) have to fall asleep on him today—when he can’t make sense of his feelings??

he gulps thickly as his pretty, slender fingers hover her back before ultimately combing through her locks as she slumbers.

slowly, cautiously, undoing the knots and tidying stray strands as he does breathing exercises to calm himself down. but when she groans a complaint of him “being too loud,” he realizes maybe he’s been hyperventilating instead.

he clears his throat as he slowly tries to sit up. it’s a custom between them. when one of them falls asleep mid movie marathon, they’d take care of one another—(y/n) would put a blanket over him and fix his pillow while jake usually tucks her to bed.

but with how much he’s trembling, he might not be able to today.

“(y/n),” he starts softly, just wanting to stir her enough so she’d at least free his legs from being all tangled up with hers but she only nuzzles further—face now buried in the crook of his neck with her lips brushing his skin.

BOOM!

he thinks his heart just exploded.

jake’s overheating, red all over with fingers twitching as he bites the back of his hand to quieten the soft sounds threatening to escape. it’s all too much yet too little, so near yet so far. she’s fogging up all his senses and he can barely even think.

his hand patting her back is near robotic now as he stares at the ceiling blankly, like every single thought he conjures fizzles up and leaves his brain completely empty as he battles with himself from scooping her up and kissing her right then and there.

wait, what?

he chokes on a breath and coughs violently—forcing (y/n) awake and he panics. with eyes wide, he quickly wraps his arms around her, hushing and lulling her back to sleep, guilty for even waking her up while at the same time hiding his face into her hair.

“sorry! sorry, i woke you just—just go back to sleep,” he coos as he cradles her form in his lap and stands to lift her up to bed—only to be stopped when she rubs her face against his chest with a small protest.

“stay…” she slurs sleepily and it’s like a love arrow struck him in the heart as he drops back onto the couch, breathless and awestruck. he looks down at her who’s back to snoring and sleeping, oblivious to the frazzled, flustered state of jake sim who presses a long, lasting kiss onto her forehead in place of her lips.

would it be too weird to buy a diamond ring as a friendship item?

⋆˙𐙚 P.SUNGHOON 𐙚˙⋆

sunghoon isn’t as nonchalant as he aims to be. but people think he is. with his gentle yet distant disposition and random silly little antics, he’s a living contradiction. a man of mystery. and it’s difficult to understand him at times, hard to reach.

especially when he doesn’t bother to since he has someone he sticks to every breathing moment of his day: (y/n). even now, on a sweet, sunny saturday, sunghoon’s sitting on the sofa of her living room as she meticulously puts pretty clips on his fluffy, raven hair.

they just came back from a shopping spree and she bought some cute butterfly clips that apparently flap their wings when the wearer moves or wind blows. it’s up to (y/n) to test that hypothesis herself.

“last one,” she says without even looking at her bestfriend who’s been admiring her nonstop with heart-shaped eyes. “done!”

sunghoon’s jolted back to reality and he smiles softly. “can i see?”

“yeah,” the girl casually replies as she tidies up the torn packages from unboxing her new clips. hoon stands and goes to her standing mirror only for his lips to part in surprise? maybe dismay?? he expected to look cool, or cute, at least, but now he looks like an experiment gone wrong with how his hair’s clipped standing like uneven cut grass frazzled in all directions.

and it’s even slightly disturbing to see the fake butterflies bobbing side to side while being clumped together like an infestation.

he spins, brows knit and takes a deep breath to complai—

“see! cute, right?” (y/n) chirps, the biggest toothy grin on her face as cheeks bunch up and eyes twinkle with pure expectation. suddenly, sunghoon’s words crumble and furrow softens.

“yeah,” he agrees before he can even deny and it leaves himself confused. not for long though, because his bestfriend’s quick to squeal and take a picture with their cheeks pressed together and the proximity has him reeling.

it doesn’t matter that he looks goofy and it would ruin his entire nonchalant image, it doesn’t matter that she practically yanked him down and almost sent him falling face first, it doesn’t matter that his scalp is practically ripping off from the tension of the clips.

because she’s happy—because of him.

and honestly, he’d put his life at stake just to be able to give that to her every single day. to be with her at every single point of her life and make her smile without fail.

in sickness and in health—

wedding vows already??

he mentally slaps himself.

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

𝜗𝜚 hi, it’s romi here!! thank you so much for reading to the end!! if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog— they give me some motivation, ya know? but please do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[mindmelter]

Reshaping Minds

It was a calm afternoon at the coffee lounge of a high-end hotel in Miami. The kind of place with overpriced lattes, but money was never a problem for me. I had my sunglasses on, my iced coffee in hand, and my radar fully tuned for potential fun. That’s when I saw him.

A goddamn tank of a man.

He stood near the espresso bar, stretching his thick arms in a tight navy-blue tee, making his muscles bulge like he was carved from marble, and his tribal tattoo wrapped around his huge bicep, making him hotter and manlier than everyone at the lounge. His beard was neatly trimmed, baseball cap turned backward, and he had that smug alpha energy straight dudes ooze when they think the world owes them a trophy.

He wasn't alone—They never are—His girlfriend was clinging to him like a purse, giggling at something he said. But I wasn’t looking at her. Heck no. I was focused on the fine piece of muscles that was her boyfriend.

I slid off my lounge chair, walked right up to them, and smiled. "Hey, you two look like you could use some fun."

The woman blinked at me confused. The man raised an eyebrow. "Uh, we’re good, man."

I tilted my head. "You sure? I mean, you’ve got all that meat on you, big guy. Seems like a waste if you’re not being properly used."

He turned to face me fully, clearly annoyed. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

I leaned in just slightly, grinning. "It means you're the kind of thick-brained, thick-bodied beefcake that's good for one thing. Being used. Bent. Owned."

His girlfriend gasped, pulling his arm. "Honey, let’s go. He’s a creep."

But something was happening already inside the man's brain. He didn’t move. Just stared at me.

"What... what the fuck did you say?" he muttered again, but his voice cracked. There it was! His eyes were getting heavier. I stepped closer, like a snake charming its prey. My fingers barely brushed his chest.

"I said you were made to be used. That mind of yours? Serves for nothing but to control your sexy body. No thoughts, just instinct. Grunt when told. Flex when needed. Obey when commanded."

My words pierced his brain. His eyes twitched. His thick chest rose with a heavy breath. I could see his pupils dilating, his mouth parting just a little. "You don’t need to think, big guy. Thinking is for people with something between their ears. Not you."

His girlfriend kept tugging at his arm, but he just stood there. "Honey? Hello? Babe!"

He slowly turned to her, blinked dumbly, then looked back at me. His brows relaxed. His lips parted more. A little line of drool started collecting at the corner of his mouth.

I let out a low chuckle and stepped even closer, almost whispering now. "That's it... Let my words sink in. Let them take root. You're just a toy now. A dumb, hot, perfect toy." His head tilted slightly, eyes half-closed, mouth wide open, and his tongue was hanging loose. Drool dripping down his beard.

The transformation was delicious. My words did far more than just implant commands, they literally reshaped my prey's brain. If you listen carefully, you will hear the wet sounds of his brain moving, shrinking, and molding to my liking. As if his brain were clay, and my words a sculptor's skilled hands.

His girlfriend panicked, backing away. "What the hell are you doing to him!?"

I looked at her calmly. "Relax. He’s finally where he belongs." And then I snapped my fingers in front of her face. Her eyes blinked rapidly. Her mouth opened slightly, then shut. She shivered, then slowly nodded, expression blanking into stunned acceptance.

"He belongs to you now," she said softly. Like she was reading from a script etched into her mind.

I smiled. "You're smarter than him, I see." I turned to the hunk, grabbed his chin and turned his head. "Say you're mine.'"

A moment of silence. Then, in a slow, slurred drawl, he mumbled, "Uhhhm yuhhhrs... suhh..."

Perfect. I gave his cheek a playful pat. "Now listen to me, big guy. That face right there? Dumb. Mindless. Empty. That's your natural expression from now on, you will always look like this. With your eyes heavy and tongue hanging out, blank, docile, and stupid. Got it?"

He gave a soft grunt, lips still parted. His eyes stayed glazed and dull. Good. I turned back to his girlfriend. "You see him now, don’t you? He’s not boyfriend material anymore. He’s too far gone. Too dumb."

She stared at him in silence, then at me. "Yeah... he’s not really... boyfriend material anymore."

"Nope. He’s just a gay sex slave now. A muscle puppet with no brain. Not something you want to bring home to mom or build a family with."

She exhaled sharply. "He’s all yours. I can't date someone that... vacant."

I chuckled, stepping between them and placing a possessive hand on his chest, rubbing his pecs slowly through the thin fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch. Just stared into the distance, drool rolling steadily down his tongue. "Smart choice," I said to her. "He’s better off this way. Obedient. Mindless. Always ready. I will take good care of him, don't worry."

She gave a nod and walked away without another word. I turned my full attention to the hunk, both palms now pressed against his chest, playing with his nipples through his shirt, gently twisting them.

He didn’t resist. Didn’t blink. "Good boy," I whispered. "You’re going to make me very happy aren't you?" And he just stood there, blank face locked in, waiting to serve. "Flex for me, boy."

Like a well-oiled machine, the hunk obeyed. His thick, tattooed biceps rose in a slow, powerful curl, veins bulging beneath the ink as his massive arm tightened. He grunted softly, not out of effort—he was too strong for that—but from instinct, like a beast performing on command. I stepped in and ran my hand over his flexed arm, squeezing the hardness of his muscle. My thumb pressed into the peak of his bicep.

"Come, Daddy. Let’s go upstairs."

When we entered my suite, I turned and commanded, "Strip. Now."

He tore off his clothes with urgent clumsiness, revealing every inch of that sculpted Daddy body. His pecs were massive and his thighs were like tree trunks. And between them—his cock. 9 Inches, Thick. Veiny. Fully erect and already leaking.

"On your knees, boy."

The mindless beast dropped instantly, muscles flexing as he settled in front of me. I sat on the edge of the bed, spread my legs wide, and yanked his head toward my crotch. I made him sniff my bulge, and while he took in my musk, I touched his forehead and implanted into his ruined brain everything he needed to know about being a good cock sucking whore.

"Use that whore mouth. Now."

He pulled my cock out and sucked. Greedy. Needy. His lips stretched over my shaft as I gripped his head and rammed myself into his throat. No rhythm. No gentleness. Just ownership.

I used his mouth like a hole. Like a toy. Like he was nothing more than a slab of muscle with a wet hole attached to it. I fucked this handsome Daddy's face, hard and deep, my cock slamming the back of his throat again and again until he gagged. Spit and precum drooled from his lips as I held his head down against my pubes.

"That’s it, Daddy. Choke on your Master's cock. You love being used, don’t you? Just a stupid muscle toy." He moaned through the assault, drool bubbling at the corners of his slack mouth. I slapped his cheek with one hand as I thrust harder, relentlessly.

"You're nothing now. Just a dumb, cock-hungry fuckdoll. Your brain’s gone. Your girl’s gone. All you are is a hole for me to use."

I could hear the wet sloopy sounds—not from the blowjob—but from inside his skull. His brain was being reshaped nonstop with each word that came out of my mouth.

The pressure built. I snarled, shoved his face against my pubes, and came—thick, violent spurts blasting down his throat and spilling out of his mouth. I pulled out mid-release, resting my cock against his panting face, painting his cheeks with cum and spit on the process.

"Good boy, I'm very pleased with your service," I growled, slapping my wet cock against his tongue, "Now your brain will shrink to the size of a grape." The sound his brain made this time was louder as it shrunk to the size of a grape. If I thought his face couldn't get any dumber, the face he made now surpassed that.

He fell to the floor like a limp doll, his thick cock still thobbing hard and leaking. I would make his brain go back to its normal size later, but for now, I will enjoy my new brainless toy.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Wake up (part 3)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are awake but Bucky’s nightmare hasn’t ended yet.

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: lots of talk about Bucky’s past; Hydra; brainwashing; mind control; loss of autonomy; panic attacks; emotional and mental breakdown; medical trauma; experiments; depersonalization; identity struggles; sedation; power imbalance; dissociation; crying; mentions of vomiting; severe angst; comfort

Author’s Note: We’re here guys, this is part three of wake up. It does have a happy ending, but I'm still going to give you a heads up because this is going to get intense. Themes and events ahead may he heavy, and I strongly encourage you to check the content warnings carefully before proceeding. Your well-being comes first, so if anything feels like too much, please take a step back. Read at your own pace and take care of yourself. That said, I hope you enjoy! ♡

part one part two

Angstober Masterlist | Masterlist

The room stops.

The alarms still scream, the monitors still beep, but for one suspended second, no one moves, no one breathes - because you are awake.

Bruce’s hands falter mid-air. Cho’s fingers freeze over the screen. Tony, usually the first to crack a joke or spit out some sharp remark, is silent. Even Steve, ever the composed, looks stunned.

But none of that matters.

Bucky is not aware of any of those things.

Because your eyes - those eyes that have always held the soft glow of recognition, the warmth of you, the love for him - are staring right through Bucky.

And they are blank.

Not confused, not dazed, not disoriented from sleep - no, something about them is wrong.

Bucky doesn’t realize the way his body is trembling. Doesn’t register the way his lungs have locked up, the way his grip on you has loosened, as if he’s afraid to touch you now.

Your pupils are wide, too wide, swallowing their color whole, leaving only black voids behind. You don’t blink. Don’t move. Just watch him.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky breathes, his voice a ghost of itself, the sound roughly shattering in his throat. His fingers twitch where they rest against your cheek. “Baby, can you-?”

The second he speaks, your body reacts.

Like a string has been pulled.

Your spine straightens, muscles locking into place like a marionette finding its tension. Your erratic and ragged breathing just moments ago evens out with a precision that seems unnatural.

A response. A reaction.

But it’s not you.

Bucky feels shot all over again. Not once. Not twice. Not even a third time. He can’t even count that high, not here, not now, not ever. And all those bullets land where his heart once belonged.

Something so utterly cold sweeps through his veins, turning movement into something impossible. Winter is settling deep in his chest, freezing him from the inside out. He doesn’t even feel numb anymore.

Because this isn’t just the fog of waking up after whatever the hell Hydra did to you.

This is something else.

A sharp, unresolved noise scrapes out of Bruce’s throat, his finger still hovering. “That’s not right.”

Cho shakes her head, blinking rapidly as if she can make herself see something different, to give this a sense. “She shouldn’t-” She cuts herself off, exhaling hard through her nose. “This isn’t a normal response.”

“Okay,” Tony interjects, voice a shade tighter than usual. “Yeah, I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.”

“Y/n?” Steve tries carefully, stepping closer, but Bucky doesn’t see him, doesn’t hear him, doesn’t fucking care.

Because he is frozen.

Because this is so goddamn wrong.

You are looking right at him but there is nothing in your eyes. Nothing. No life.

A dry, aching squeeze inches up his neck. It constricts his throat, it leaves any desolate sound trapped inside him.

He has seen this before.

Too many times. In the mirror. In his memories. In the cold, unfeeling gazes of other soldiers.

And it’s killing him - killing him to the point where he might just drop to the floor in the matter of a second - to now see it in your eyes.

The world inside the medical wing doesn’t restart at once.

It comes back in pieces with everyone still in shock.

The turbulent, shrieking alarms dull down, monitors resetting to their normal beeping. Hushed voices return, everyone still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Bucky still doesn’t take his eyes off you. He doesn’t think he ever will.

You’re awake. That should be a good thing. That should be everything.

But his stomach feels like it’s caving in on itself. He would love to wrap himself up, fold over twice, three times - until he’s nothing but a tight, trembling knot.

Bruce speaks up, voice professional. But it holds something strained. Something uneasy. “Y/n?”

No response.

Cho tries next, moving closer, her eyes scanning over you with clinical focus. “Can you hear us?”

Still, nothing.

You don’t move.

Don’t blink.

Don’t react.

Bucky swallows hard, harder, the hardest, but his throat is closed, voice dying before it can form.

Bruce looks dismayed just the slightest bit. “Okay, that- that’s okay-” He cuts himself off, taking a slow breath. “Her vitals are stable.” He looks over at Cho, who is already checking the readings on the monitor.

“Brain activity is…” She trails off, frowning. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

It sounds almost accusatory like she doesn’t believe her own words.

“Then why isn’t she saying anything? Why isn’t she reacting?” Steve asks, stance stiff and voice holding something sharp.

No one has an answer.

Bucky doesn’t notice the way Bruce and Cho are moving around you, the way Tony mutters something under his breath that no one listens to. Because he can’t look away from you.

From the way, your pupils track only him.

Not Bruce. Not Cho. Not Steve or Tony.

Just him.

Bucky’s lungs pull in a sharp breath but nothing actually seems to reach them.

It’s nothing, he tells himself. You’re just waking up. You’re just a little dazed. Just trying to make sense of what is running through your veins.

But then, if he truly believes that, why isn’t his voice working? Why can’t he breathe? Why can’t he take his hands away from you?

“Y/n,” Bruce tries again, adjusting the IV in your arm. “I need you to tell me how you’re feeling. Can you do that?”

Nothing.

Cho’s frown deepens. “Try squeezing my hand.” She moves closer, resting her fingers lightly against yours. “Just a little pressure, okay?”

Nothing.

A new kind of silence floods the room now. Heavier. Suffocating.

Bucky’s pulse won’t stop hammering in his ears.

“She’s awake,” Tony states flatly. “So why does she still look-” He waves a vague hand, looking almost daunt. “Out of it?”

Frustration begins to seep into Bruce’s expression, a slow breath slipping from his nose. “Y/n, if you can hear me, just- move a little. Anything.”

Another beat of silence.

Bucky can’t take this anymore.

He moves closer, his hand intertwining with yours instinctively. His voice is hoarse, rough and so, so desperate.

“Sweetheart,” he croaks out, just for you. “C’mon, baby, just- just give us something.”

You move.

It’s small. Barely anything at all.

But your fingers twitch.

Bucky doesn’t take in another breath for too long.

Something slow and dreadful sinks into him. It closes its grip around something vital.

Bruce exhales in something close to relief. “That’s good, Y/n. That’s good.”

Encouraged, Cho steps in again. “Alright, let’s try something else.” She looks at you, her voice gentle but firmer now. “Can you try moving your leg?”

Silence.

Stillness.

Bucky’s stomach turns.

“Y/n,” Bruce presses, more insistent now. “Try for me, alright?”

Nothing.

The tension is a thin string.

Bucky shifts, fingers brushing over your palm in a touch so soft.

“Baby,” he chokes out. “Please.”

Your leg moves.

A shudder ripples through Bucky’s whole body.

Nobody speaks.

Nobody breathes.

Then, finally, Tony says what they are all thinking.

“Okay,” he exhales. “That’s weird.”

It is.

It is wrong.

Cho is staring at her monitor as though it’s betrayed her. Bruce’s brow is furrowing deep in concentration, but there is a glimmer of something else behind his eyes now.

Bucky’s mind is reeling, his pulse pounding so loud, the sound crashing over everything, washing it all into nothing.

This can’t be a coincidence.

You only moved when he spoke.

Not anyone else.

Just him.

Bucky’s mouth is dry.

No.

No, no, no-

He wants to rip that aching thing out of his chest and twist it in his metal grip and throw it on the clinical floor and stomp on it with his boot.

Because deep, deep down, something agonizing in him is already understanding.

And he can’t take it.

It seems that nobody really wants to acknowledge it.

Because acknowledging it means understanding it.

And understanding it means stepping into something far, far worse.

But it’s everywhere in the room, floating around in the air, waiting to be breathed in, sinking its fangs into every pause, every silence, every failed attempt at making you respond to anyone but him.

Bucky can’t let go of you. His flesh fingers wrap carefully around yours, his metal arm braced protectively around your back. You don’t acknowledge his touch. But he also can’t help the staring. Eyes fixed on your face. Bracing himself for an answer he already knows he won’t be able to stomach. He probably should be looking for that waste bin again, but he can’t take his eyes off you.

Because this isn’t just exhaustion. This isn’t just confusion.

Something inside you is listening. Waiting.

And only for him.

Steve clears his throat quietly and speaks up again. “Try again,” he says, though there is something cautious in his voice now. “Y/n?” He takes another step closer, lowering his head slightly, like maybe you just need to see him properly. “Can you hear me?”

You don’t react.

Nothing in your shifts.

A sharp breath escapes the nose of the blonde and he glances at Bruce and Cho, in question of an answer but they don’t have one.

Cho’s expression is drawn tight, eyes scanning the monitors, because what else can she do? Bruce’s face is unreadable, but his knuckles are pressed against his chin in a way that suggests his mind is racing.

“We should test motor function,” Cho suggests, but it’s not that confident. More like she just needs to say something, anything to fill the wrongness all around them.

Bruce nods slowly. His tone is even. “Y/n, lift your left hand.”

The silence drags.

The tension is so thick, Bucky can hear it crackling. He is not breathing.

“Y/n,” Bruce says again, slower, placing his words with care. A small waver snakes into his voice. “Lift your left hand.”

Nothing.

Bucky’s stomach is a single, dense, ball that sinks heavier each second passes.

Cho adjusts something on the monitor. “Maybe- Maybe it’s still too early-”

“Buck,” Steve suddenly exclaims.

And it makes Bucky freeze.

Because there is something behind it. A test. A hesitation. Sympathy.

Bucky doesn’t even look up.

He swallows, something punching his ribs.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, voice so rough, it’s almost intelligible. “Your left hand. Let me see it.”

Your hand lifts.

Bucky’s stomach drops so hard, he descends with it, down to the ground, down to the earth beneath the fundamental structure of the compound.

No one speaks.

No one moves.

Your hand is still in the air.

Cho stares. Bruce’s lips are parted and he rubs the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

Steve is rigid, lips pressed tightly together.

Their stares press against Bucky, against his shoulders, his skull, but he can’t look away from you.

Your face hasn’t changed.

No recognition. No emotion. No indication of independent thought.

Just that same blank, empty stillness.

Until he tells you to move.

Until he tells you what to do.

Bucky feels sick.

Nausea grows, rolling, roiling, a tide rising within, murky and sour, spiraling up his throat in a way that threatens.

Heat prickles at his skin, a damp, clammy sheen forming at the base of his neck, invasively cascading down the channel of his spine.

His head is shaking before he even realizes it. He has to be imagining this. This is one of his nightmares.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tries forcing him to wake up, to snap out of this, but then Bruce’s voice comes through again.

“Y/n,” Bruce tries again, voice thick. “Put your hand back down.”

Your hand stays in the air.

Bucky’s fingers flex around yours, grounding himself.

“Baby,” he wheezes, almost unwillingly, his voice a broken whisper. “Put it down.”

Your fingers lower.

And the chill that floods Bucky’s system knocks him off balance.

His ears are ringing.

His mind is splintering, breaking off into a thousand jagged thoughts he can’t grasp all at once, he doesn’t want to grasp at all because no.

No.

Utterly powerless, he looks up. Steve’s face is hard, Tony is pale, and Natasha - where did she come from - has her hand over her mouth in shock.

Bruce clears his throat. “That’s-” He glances at Cho, at Steve; and Bucky would see the war in his mind if his vision allowed him to see more than just silhouettes.

Everybody is hesitant. Everybody is unwilling to be the first one to say what they are all thinking.

It’s Tony who does it.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, voice hollow, stunned. “She’s only listening to you.”

It sounds worse when spoken aloud.

His body is rejecting, resisting, recoiling from all of this.

Bruce is watching him now, too, something entirely pained on his face, not able to deny what is happening.

“We should-” Cho pushes out a sharp breath at the choked noise Bucky is letting out and she stops talking.

This is too much.

Tremors rack through his whole body. It’s attacking him, his lungs, his bloodstream, his bones. He is weak. On the ground. Eyes pressed together. Because he can’t look at you any longer. Can’t look at the way you are watching him.

You aren’t just listening.

You are waiting.

For his voice.

For his command.

There is nothing but obedience in your gaze.

Bucky sways on the ground, but he can’t let go of you. His grip tightens because if he lets go, he will break.

But your fingers are so loosely tangled with his, resting limply against him. They are warm. Too warm. Too soft and delicate and human to be connected to something so immensely wrong.

Bruce and Cho are talking.

Their voices are low, hushed, methodical. The cadence of their words is a tightrope between the beeps, adding more to the strain of the already fraught atmosphere.

Bucky doesn’t hear any of it.

The incessant thrum of his heart is a trapped and wild animal that scratches at the walls of his arteries and reverberates in the darkness behind his eyelids.

Because no.

This isn’t happening.

Not to you.

Not to you.

Steve rubs a palm over his mouth, the other on his hip, exhaling a shuddering breath, trying to process it all but he can’t.

Tony doesn’t say anything. This is bad and he is well aware. This is worse than anything any of them could have prepared for.

Bruce clears his throat, looking at Bucky. “We need to assess the extent of this,” he says carefully, words a test on his tongue before he lets them out. “There’s a possibility that this is temporary, but we-” He hesitates. Adjusts his glasses. “We need to know how deep this goes.”

Nobody speaks.

“What do you mean?” Bucky’s voice doesn’t sound like his own.

Bruce hesitates again. “We need to see if she’s responding to just motor commands, or if-” Another pause. “Or if it’s beyond that.”

Beyond that.

The words tumble into the depths of Bucky’s core.

He swallows, blinking down at you. Your breathing is even. Your expression so still. You don’t seem to be aware of anything happening around you. Only attuned to one thing. Him. Waiting for him.

Bucky clenches his jaw so hard, gritting his teeth until he tastes iron in his mouth.

Cho cuts in more firmly. “We need her to speak.”

Silence.

Bucky can’t breathe.

Tony shifts his weight, crosses his arms. “And how exactly do you propose we do that?” His voice is flat. “Seeing as she’s only listening to him.”

Bucky flinches.

Cho and Bruce exchange a glance.

“We need you to try,” Bruce says softer. “We need you to ask her to speak.”

It’s worse when it’s phrased like that.

Like a test. Like and order.

Like something he should not be doing.

His fingers tighten around yours, but you don’t react. Not yet. Not until he tells you to.

His chest constricts. He hates himself.

There is no way out of this.

Bucky exhales shakily, taking a few moments.

He swallows hard.

“Sweetheart.” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. “I need to- I need you to say something.”

Your lips don’t part.

A spike of panic lances through his chest.

“Baby, come on. Say something. Anything.”

Nothing.

Bruce’s eyes dart between the two of you, then back to Bucky. His expression is pinched, calculating. “Try again.”

Bucky’s body feels wrong, his skin too tight, his stomach threatening to heave.

This is familiar.

And it is dangerous.

He wets his lips, closes his eyes for a second, letting his head drop before lifting it again.

“What’s my name?”

The room is silent.

Your lips part.

And Bucky’s blood stops flowing.

The moment drags.

Agonizingly slow.

“Soldat.”

Your voice is distant, automatic.

Bucky breaks.

His lungs lock, the walls of his throat all connect together, his mind fractures.

The room tips, crashing into the floor.

Your voice circles his mind, going round and round and round, sounding so soft and obedient and wrong, so fucking wrong.

“No,” he gasps, shaking his head so fast, hands jerking. “No, no, no.”

Steve’s hands clench at his sides, his throat working as though he wants to say something, but what can he say?

Bruce’s expression is stricken.

Tony looks dazed.

Bucky gasps for breaths but none are coming.

And suddenly, all those years of struggling to escape Hydra's grasp feel completely pointless

Every breath Bucky takes feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest before he can fully inhale. Every sound is static. Tremors crawl along his arm, punching into his ribcage like something cold and crushing.

The people around him are talking about you but he can’t hear a thing. He can’t hear Banner and Cho discussing tests, or Tony insisting they need to figure this out now. The way they say it - analytic, pragmatic, like you’re some broken thing they need to fix - makes his stomach lurch violently. He has to press his jaw together to keep from retching again. The panic is worming through his veins, digging in, pulling him under.

They want to put you under observation. They want to run tests.

Like Hydra did to him.

His mind is tearing through memories he doesn’t want, old phantoms forcing their way to the surface. He sees himself strapped to a table, bright lights burning his retinas, faceless men in white coats murmuring about what they could do to him, what they could turn him into. He hears his young voice, wrecked and broken, whispering in Russian words he doesn’t understand but knows - commands drilled into him, obedience hammered into his bones.

And now he’s the one giving commands. To the love of his life.

And his friends want to do to you what has been done to him.

“No.” The word is gravel, scraping him raw on its way out.

“Bucky, we don’t have a choice,” Bruce says, rubbing a hand down his exhausted face. “She’s only responding to you. That’s not normal. We have to figure out why.”

“You’re not running tests on her,” Bucky growls, voice shaking as he grips you firmer, protectiveness boiling hot in his gut.

Steve steps in, hesitant but resolute. “We need to find out what Hydra did to her. We can’t just-”

Bucky’s breath is completely lost in pattern. „You think I don’t know that?“ he spits, voice wild and harsh. “You think I don’t want to fix this? That I don’t fucking want my girl back? But I am not-” He falters, his throat too tight, his chest heaving. His vision is a tunnel with no lights.

There is a sharp pain in his right palm. His metal fingers are clenched into a fist so tight that his right hand has to let go of you to mimic it. Nails drive into his flesh. He forces himself to breathe. To stay here. But it’s not working. The room is shrinking. His head is full of cotton. Buzzing.

“I think you’re too close to this,” Tony warns, and it’s too sharp, too fast, it sends Bucky over the edge. “You’re compromised, Barnes. We don’t even know if this is something you caused. Maybe you’re making it worse-”

Bucky doesn’t remember getting up and lunging, but suddenly Steve is between him and Tony, a hand pressed to his chest, and his breath is all but gone.

“She is not your experiment,” Bucky hisses, trying to shout, but his voice is barely holding together. His heart is pummeling against his ribs, trying to break out. “I will not let you strap her to a fucking table like some thing you get to study.” He is shaking in fury.

Steve’s hand stays against him. “That’s not what they’re trying to do, Buck.”

But Bucky can’t think rationally. He can’t think at all.

“I fucking know what this looks like, Steve.” His voice crumbles, tremors splintering them. It sounds like something trying to remember how to exist. But Bucky doesn’t care about anything other than you. “I fucking remember, alright? And I won’t let her go through this!”

“Soldat.”

It’s your voice. So dutiful. So even. So not you.

Bucky flinches. Terribly.

The sound that rips out of him is something destroyed, something that never should have existed in the first place.

He turns back to you and his knees hit the floor, but he doesn’t feel it. Shaking hands are cupping your face, desolate and desperate.

“No,” he chokes, tears breaking free. “No, baby, no. Don’t- don’t call me that.”

But you just blink at him, awaiting something. Expecting something. A command.

Bruce’s voice is distant, but he is saying something urgent. Steve is stiff, his head dropped. Tony has shut his mouth. Natasha’s quickly retreating footsteps are lost to him. The entire room has turned to stone.

Bucky’s hands slide into your hair, shaking so badly he can barely hold on. “It’s me, sweetheart. Y/n, it’s me,” he pleads. “It’s Bucky. Say my name. Please, my love. Say Bucky.”

No words come from you. Not until Bucky gives them to you.

He’s going to die. He’s going to pass out.

Because he knows this. He’s lived this. But not like this. Not you.

“Y/n,” Steve says and Bucky hates him for trying again. “Do you know where you are?”

You don’t look at Steve. You don’t move. Your breath stays controlled.

Sickening devastation pools in Bucky’s gut.

“Doll,” he whispers, voice completely shattered. “Answer him.”

And then, like a machine coming to life, you turn your head slightly. You blink once. And then you speak.

“I am in the Avengers Compound.”

No hesitation. No emotion. Just compliance.

Bucky sways on his knees. Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder, keeping him from collapsing.

Tony releases a heavy breath.

Bucky doesn’t hear the rest because he’s still looking at you. At the way you wait. At the way you listen.

You are waiting for him to tell you what to do.

And Bucky Barnes has never been as mortified as he is now in his entire fucking life.

****

Bucky didn’t go down easily.

It took three men to hold him back, Steve’s arms a steel cage around him while Tony was shouting and Bruce plunging the needle in with a guilty and troubled expression.

His fight was animalistic, desperation keeping him up longer than it should have been, but the drugs worked.

The last thing he saw before darkness engulfed him was you.

Silent. A body waiting for instruction.

Now, he wakes up violently. A gasp tumbles up his throat, his body lurching forward as if he can outrun the crushing weight that bears down on him the second consciousness floods back in.

His head pounds, his hands shake, his chest heaves. He doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t look around. Doesn’t care to find out. His mind is already screaming for you.

Everything crashes back.

The way your lips parted on a breath but not a name. The way your limbs moved, not out of will, but command. The way you looked at him - not with relief, not with love - but with obedience.

The horror knocks in as he stumbles to his feet, his entire body revolting against itself. His knees nearly buckle, but he pushes forward. He has to find you. No matter how hard it pains him to see you like this.

He is sprinting down the hallways, feet pounding against the floor, muscles protesting. Passing agents give him startled looks, Steve is calling his name. But his heart is shedding itself apart inside his chest and he won’t stop.

Because he is realizing something.

This started before you even opened your eyes.

You only opened your eyes after he pleaded for you to wake up.

“I’d go anywhere with you. I’d follow you to the end of the world. But you gotta wake up, baby.”

That’s when you did.

Because he told you to.

That was the command you were waiting for.

Bile burns its way up his throat, that he nearly collapses mid-stride.

If they think, if they dare to treat you like an experiment, to poke and prod and study you like some object, he’ll-

He doesn’t know yet. He doesn’t even have words for the fright wringing his rips out.

But he knows he has to get to you.

****

The room is sterile. Too bright. Too cold. A place of observation, of examination.

You sit on the medical bed, motionless, exactly where they placed you. Machines drone softly around you, monitors tracking your vitals - though there is nothing irregular about them. You should be fine. But you aren’t.

Bruce and Dr. Cho move carefully, their voices quiet. Constrained. Every test they’ve run, every scan they’ve conducted, all of it comes back normal. Physically, there is nothing wrong with you. But it’s clear as day, that you aren’t here.

Not fully.

You don’t respond to their questions. You don’t react when Cho waves a light in your eyes, when Bruce takes your pulse, when Tony calls your name. Nothing. You sit, hands on your lap, back straight, waiting. Waiting.

And then the door slams open.

Without thinking, Bucky shoves past Tony, past Steve’s reaching hand, past Bruce’s protest - straight to you. The second he sees you his breath stutters, his heart cracks open. It didn’t get a tiny bit easier. Your posture is so still, it’s unnatural, your face is slack.

“Let her go,” he growls, voice shaking with anger and panic.

Bruce raises his hands, placating. “Bucky, we’re not- we’re trying to help.” Then he heaves a heavy sigh. “But she won’t react to us.”

Bucky’s whole body trembles. His jaw is tight. “She’s not some- some science project,” he spits out, voice sharp but breaking. “She’s-” His chest rises and falls harshly. His hands flex and clench. “She’s mine.”

Silence.

Cho speaks up, formal but careful. “That’s why we need you.”

He jerks his gaze to her, vision swimming with tears. “What?”

“She only listens to you.”

He knows that but he feels like he’s just been shot in the chest again.

Bruce nods solemnly. “She hasn’t done anything since you were gone. But when you walked in-” He glances at the monitor - your heart rate spiked. “She knows you’re here, Bucky. But, she’s waiting for you to tell her what to do.”

Bucky is afraid his legs will stop holding him up.

You are waiting for his command. Just like he used to.

His stomach clenches, nausea twirling through it.

“Bucky,” Bruce tries again, insistent. His tone is heavy. “Try it. Please.”

The very idea makes Bucky want to scream. But he looks back at you - his girl, his angel, his whole damn world - sitting there, looking so empty.

And the trepidation in him is so bone-deep that he has no choice.

He swallows, kneels in front of you, hands quivering as they ghost over your knees. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, and the others remain silent. “Look at me.”

Your head snaps to him so quickly it almost makes him rear back. Your eyes are on him and he wants to vomit.

A choked noise catches in his throat.

Bruce watches intently, making notes. “Try something more complex,” he suggests carefully.

Bucky hesitates. He hates this. He’s forced to feed into what Hydra did to you and he hates it.

“Stand up,” he breathes. It’s just a croaked whisper but you stand. Effortlessly, fluidly, like there was never any doubt that you would.

Bucky breathes roughly.

The others are waiting, you are waiting, but Bucky can’t continue.

His eyes press together tightly, head dropping.

“Bucky,” Cho voices, a little gentler. “We can’t help her if we don’t know the rules of this.”

The rules.

As though you are some equation to be solved.

He swallows. His throat is sore and blistering. His heart is a fractured thing.

Slowly, he forces words from his mouth, but they burn on his tongue. “Take three steps forward.”

You do.

Gracefully. Like a soldier. As if you’ve done this million times before.

Dr. Cho looks up from her clipboard. “Make her sit down again.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. His hands flex. He takes a second to compose himself.

“Sit down.” His voice is guttural and broken.

You do.

Every cell in his body is to simply tell you to run and leave but that won’t help anybody.

Bruce nods, mumbling something about autonomous commands. But Bucky doesn’t listen.

He feels like he is standing in the middle of a nightmare, watching himself from the outside, stuck in a loop that Hydra is responsible for.

Bucky owns your movements.

And it’s killing him.

“Try something even bigger. Make her-” Cho says.

“No.”

“Bucky-”

“No.”

They don’t understand.

They don’t get it.

This is not just an experiment to see how much control he has.

This is Hydra, ripping through you, ripping through him.

And he can’t be the one to do it.

Bruce steps forward. “We need to know if she’ll perform an action without you watching. If she’ll listen even if you leave the room. If-”

“If she’s really gone.”

They don’t say it, but that’s what they think.

Bruce looks concerned. “Bucky, I know this is hard-”

“Hard?” Bucky laughs but it is a miserable sound. “Hard is losing your fucking arm. Hard is clawing your way out of your own damn head. But this?” He gestures wildly to you, still waiting, still watching him with hollow submissiveness. “This is fucking sick - and I won’t do it anymore.”

Because they are asking him to cross a line.

A line that has been crossed before.

Not by him, but through him.

By them. Hydra.

And he doesn’t want you anywhere near that.

He can’t be the one to steal your independence.

Not when he knows exactly what it feels like.

Not when you are the one thing in his life that made him a better person.

Not when you are the one thing in his life that is truly and wholly good.

He hears the voices in his head, voices from the past that aren’t really past pouncing in his mind, telling him that he’s done this before and that this is nothing new.

Bucky squeezes his hands into a fist and shoves the thoughts down so deep he hopes they never see the light again.

Bucky was not their scientist. He was not their programmer.

He was their weapon.

And he knows exactly how far this goes.

He knows how much a single word from a commander can do.

Bucky takes a step back. And another. His breaths are coming way too fast, his lungs ache, his vision is a hot and messy blur. He is in two places at once, here in this room, and there, in that cold metal chair, ears ringing with words meant to shatter a mind.

His mind places you in that metallic and rusty thing, meant to scorch your memories, making you scream, making you forget, making you-

He stumbles, his body fighting itself.

“Bucky,” Steve calls out and his hand lands on Bucky’s shoulder.

But he doesn’t feel it.

His body is trembling. Everything. Metal and flesh and every defeated thing in between, shaking, breaking.

Because they are wanting and waiting for him to keep this sick game going. To finish what Hydra started. To slip into a role and make you perform. He can’t do it.

A strangled and grating sound rushes out of his mouth.

He jerks away from Steve’s hand, knocking over a tray of medical tools. They clatter against the tile with a sharp clang. His fingers tangle into his hair, clutching, pulling, as if he can rip himself out of his skin.

He turns blindly, heart slamming into his ribs, chest turning inward.

Tony steps forward.

Wrong move.

The moment is too much, too fast, too fucking much.

Tony’s voice is sharp. “Barnes, pull yourself together-”

He gets closer, almost touching Bucky and he really should not have done that.

You move.

Swiftly. Too swiftly.

A blur, a strike, a threat eliminated.

Tony is on the ground before anyone can stop you.

There’s a heavy, shattered silence.

Bucky freezes.

No, no, no.

His heart slips up his throat. Then it stops.

He looks at you, standing in front of him, shielding him from Tony, hands still half-raised from where you struck him down, muscles tensed, like a soldier defending her commander.

Like you are his.

Like he is yours.

He never told you to move but you did it anyway.

This is loyalty.

Every inch of him is drowning in horror.

In your broken, conditioned mind, Bucky is your handler.

And you are protecting him.

Bucky staggers back, body moving out of sheer shock. If he stays too close he will suffocate. In the shame, the self-loathing, the fear that he is the one keeping you like this.

Nobody speaks. It’s a silence so thick it sucks the air out of the room, drags the world into a vacuum where nothing exists except this.

You.

Standing like an asset between Bucky and a man you saw as a threat to him.

On the ground, Tony is groaning, already pushing himself up with a curse, clutching his ribs.

Bucky feels only sick, wrenching numbness.

He doesn’t know how long he’s standing there, staring at you, staring at what you just did. He feels like he’s lost time again. Sliding through cracks he thought he’d sealed shut, falling back into something that should have stayed dead.

Steve is speaking, Tony is swearing, Bruce is moving, and Bucky is still staring.

“Bucky.”

It’s Bruce. His tone is a warning.

Bucky takes a step back and you shift with him.

His knees grow weak. He wants the floor to open up so he can let himself fall into the depths of the unknown.

He can feel their eyes on him. Steve. Bruce. Tony. Cho. He doesn’t look at them. He can’t.

Because he knows what they are seeing.

A room filled with people and only one person you will listen to.

And once again, he is back in that cold chair, arms bound, mind split wide open for them to rewrite.

Once again, he watches himself from the outside, being a handler who forces his puppet onto the very same chair. Watching his sweet and brave girl writher and scream while her will is taken from her.

He himself is screaming internally.

His voice strains as he pushes the words out, even as his throat tries to close around them. “Stand down.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s hoarse, throaty, gutted.

You obey.

Bucky watches as the tension in your frame bleeds out in a way that is too immediate. Too conditioned. Like a wire was pulled, a switch flipped, a button pressed.

Like this is just another mission.

Bile rises. His face is cleanly sucked off any color.

Steve moves closer, tentatively. “Buck-”

“No,” he snarls, his voice raw. “Don’t.”

Steve's going to tell him it’s gonna be okay.

He’s going to tell him they’ll figure this out.

He’s going to tell him you’re still in there.

But Bucky already knows you are.

You’re still there. You’re there with every command he gives you.

Bucky’s breaths are shallow and broken gasps. He has to get out of here. He has to get you out of here. Has to stop whatever this is before it turns into something he can’t ever get back.

Bruce and Cho are murmuring. He catches bits and pieces - neurological imprinting, post-hypnotic triggers, synaptic conditioning.

Words that are too impersonal. Too detached. As though you are not the most important person in his life.

And he snaps.

His feet are moving. Straight to you. Straight to the one thing in this room that is his.

You blink up at him. Tilt your head the tiniest bit. But he knows. You are waiting again.

Bucky exhales, sharp and shaking. “Come with me.”

You follow.

Because you have no other choice.

And Bucky can feel it, all of it, this thing you’ve become, this thing he’s made you.

And it’s enough to put him to an end.

You walk behind him like a shadow.

You don’t take in the hallways you once knew, the place you called home. Your gaze stays steadfastly on his back.

An ugly, queasy gnarl grows in his stomach.

He tells himself this is progress. That getting you out of that sterile, white-washed room is a step forward. That walking through the compound with you means something.

But whatever Hydra did to you remains in effect.

You are not walking beside him and swinging his hand between your bodies, laughing freely.

You are glued to his back, watching his every step with hollow eyes.

And you aren’t asking where he is taking you.

You don’t react to the feel of the air shifting, to the faint smell of coffee in the halls, to the voices in the distance.

You just watch him.

As if nothing else exists.

As if he is all there is.

And usually, he loves it when you look at him like he is everything. All that matters to you. But never, never in all his years on earth and beyond, did he want it to be like that.

He swallows back the bile in his throat, but he nearly chokes on it.

He reaches the common area with you.

He doesn’t even know why he brings you here. Maybe because it’s lived in. Warm. Maybe because there are blankets still piled on the couch from the last movie night. Maybe because there are still used pans sitting on the counter by the dishwasher. Maybe because he needs to see all that for himself.

You stopped walking when he did. Standing perfectly still, shoulders relaxed, back straight. Too straight.

And your eyes - your too-wide, too-focused eyes - never leave him.

His fingers jerk at his sides.

“You know this place.” The tightness in his throat fights him, but he shoves the words out. They sound rough and thick. Exhausted. His hands press against his thighs, his whole body stretched to the breaking point. “You live here.”

Nothing.

He drops his head for a moment, closing his eyes, to keep the tears from falling. Then he turns his head, pointing toward the couch. “We sit here a lot of times,” he sniffs. “You’d curl up next to me, and we’d fight over the blanket.”

You do not look.

Not even a glint of acknowledgment.

He swallows hard.

Bucky gestures toward the kitchen. “You love cooking,” he continues, voice strained. “We do it together. Breakfast. Dinner. You love breakfast food. Pancakes. I make them for you every morning. You tease me about burning them every time I'm too damn distracted by you to look at the pan.”

You don’t even glance toward it.

His heart pounds.

It’s not just that you’re unresponsive. It’s that you’re responding to the wrong thing.

You are waiting for something he has to give. For something he has to command.

His breath trips out of him. His voice sounds like it is scraping its way free. “Look at the couch.”

You do immediately.

His lungs feel like they are collapsing.

“Look at the kitchen.”

Your head turns.

His fingers curl into fists.

He’s shaking, metal hand twitching, flesh hand clenched so tight his knuckles turn white.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t you.

But then your eyes snap back to the couch. It’s so fast, they are fixed on the kitchen counter again when he blinks, but he saw. He saw that they shifted. Just for a millisecond.

His breath catches. Hope flares. It’s a fragile and small flame caught in the wind, a breath away from being snuffed out. But it is there.

His lungs burn with the force of his held breath. He doesn’t dare to exhale, doesn’t dare to move too fast, or say the wrong thing. You are still here. Somewhere. He just has to reach you.

Timidly, he reaches for your hand. It’s warm and soft. Limp.

He squeezes gently, his touch featherlight. “Come with me, doll,” he whispers.

You do not respond in words, but you follow again.

Another tremor is sent through his being, but he has to push through.

He doesn’t take you back to the medical wing. He doesn’t lead you to the labs or around the common area. He takes you somewhere safe. Somewhere yours.

Your shared room.

His hand tightens around yours as he guides you down the hall. Every step feels unstable. He is scarcely keeping it together, scarcely keeping himself from shattering apart at the seams. His body is exhausted, but his mind is in overdrive, running over every single memory the two of you built in that room.

The nights tangled in the sheets.

The mornings where neither of you wanted to get up, staying cuddled together.

The whispered confessions at 2 am.

The way you always fit against and around him so perfectly.

He swallows.

He hesitates at reaching the door. His fingers shake against the handle before he tugs it open and steps inside.

The air is still. The scent of you is everywhere.

The blankets are still rumpled from when he tried to wake you up but couldn’t. Your clothes are still tucked into the open dresser, your favorite sweater draped over the chair. Little things - your things - are scattered across the nightstand, untouched since the last time you were here.

He turns to you, his heart thumping so loud he can hear it in his ears.

Please, he thinks. Remember this. Remember me.

But you only stand in the doorway, rigid, still.

A breath shivers through his lungs and he moves. He doesn’t ask this time. Doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate.

He pulls you forward, into his arms.

And you go. Easily.

Your body folds against his. Malleable. Pliable. Not how you should be.

With a stifled gasp, he buries his face into your hair. His fingers tremble against your back, pressing into the fabric of the hospital shirt they forced you into. He hates this. Hates that it reminds him of a patient.

He wants you in his shirt. Wants you tangled in his arms, his sheets. Wants you to look at him like you.

His throat is sore.

He presses closer, desperate, needy, ruined.

Then his hands go to cup your face, tilting it upward, trying to make you meet his gaze without having to tell you to. “Doll,” he chokes, voice cracking, breaking, falling apart. “You- you’re safe. I swear. You’re here, with me.”

Your eyes are still locked onto him in all the wrong ways.

They don’t shift to your surroundings. Not to the bed. Not to the room. Just him.

His forehead lands on yours almost roughly and he squeezes his eyes shut, his grip tightening just a little. A tear falls onto your skin, but you seem entirely indifferent to it.

“This is our home,” he wheezes through his tears. “You’re living with me.” His fingers brush against your cheek, still trembling. “You chose me. Because you love me. And I love you. I love you so fucking much, baby. It’s killing me.”

You don’t give him anything.

His ribs feel like they might splinter.

He feels like he is losing you.

No. No.

He pulls back, enough to see your face properly. His eyes sting, red-rimmed, desolate. He won’t lose you.

“You’re in there, I know it,” he continues and he doesn’t know how his voice is still working. “You know me, sweetheart. You know me better than anyone.” His thumbs sweep your cheek.

But you don’t react to his touch. And it wrecks him. Because you used to lean into him. You would tilt your face into his palm like you were drawn to him, nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

There is a tilt of your head.

But it destroys him.

Because this is instinct. Not you.

His words taste like ash. “Remember when I brought you that stupid bear from Coney Island?” A humorless and tiny chuckle falls out of him but it only makes him feel drier. “The one with the crooked smile? You loved that thing.”

You stare at him unblinking.

His fingers trace along your temple, down to your jaw. So softly. So hypnotic.

“I love when you’re wearing my shirts.” The pressure in his throat tries to steal his voice but he pushes through. “They’re too big on you. Always make you look so endearing. So perfect. You don’t like me call you cute when you’re wearing ‘em but you keep stealing them anyway.” He has to pause to let his tears fall. “God, I love seeing you in my clothes.”

A strangled sound bolts up his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“You’re always bossin’ me around, doll.” His forehead is back to yours. His eyes burn. “You’re the only person in this world who can boss me around. And I let you. ‘Cause I love you. ‘Cause I’d do anything for you.”

His fingers skim quickly over your jaw, your cheek, tracing the curve of your lips like you are something fleeting.

“I know you’re there. I know I can get you out. Y/n, please,” he begs, wantonly, the roughness of his voice all over the place. “Come back to me. Come back.”

Desperation is not a strong enough word for what is happening inside Bucky. Not even close.

It is deeper. Darker. It is a force that grabs at his rips and wrenches. A gaping, bottomless chasm inside him that is growing wider by the second.

And you stand in the eye of the storm.

Not lifeless. But not alive.

Bucky is breaking rapidly. His hands are all over you - cupping your cheeks, holding your wrists, squeezing your shoulders, smoothing through your hair. If he stops touching you, you might vanish into that void Hydra left behind.

His quivering fingers are at your jaw. “Come on, doll,” he whispers, his voice so unbelievably undone. “Please. Please just- just say something. Anything.”

Nothing.

Bucky sobs.

Bucky shifts closer, chest against yours, forehead pressed firmly to your temple. His breathing comes in short bursts, stuttering over every inhale. “You’re okay,” he cries, over and over and over again. “You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you, baby. You just- you just gotta come back to me.”

Your muscles don’t shift. Your breathing does not change. You only watch him.

Not seeing. Not processing, just observing.

His panic nearly makes him double over. His vision is foggy, his body fights with the effort to stay upright.

“Come on,” he whimpers. He tugs and crushes you further against him, forcing your body to mold against his own. His nose drags along your hairline, his lips moving over your ear. “You love me,” he pleads. “I know you do.”

His arms are a vice. A shield. A cage.

The air is too thick. It clogs his throat, his chest, a heavy hand squeezing his rips together, determined to extinguish his breath. His lungs seize with the force of it, panic rising in his throat, bending tight and tight and tight until he is sure it will strangle him.

“You love me,” he repeats as if trying to remind you. As if you simply have forgotten.

A sob escapes his mouth.

He cannot do this. He cannot lose you like this. He’s not strong enough.

His body is curling over yours, shielding you from everything. He clings to you.

But when he goes to look at your face again, to continue pleading, he halts. Stalls. Stops. Freezes.

Because you are not looking at him.

Your head is tilted, gaze wandering past his shoulder. Fixed on something.

Something small. Something yours.

A mug.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath.

It’s your favorite mug. The one you use every morning, the one you refuse to replace even though the paint is chipping at the rim. The one Bucky gifted you in his first year at the compound, before you got together.

It sits abandoned on the nightstand.

And you are looking at it.

Not at him. At it.

A slow, almost undetectable furrow forms between your brows.

Bucky’s entire body is on edge. Focused so insanely.

His breath is stolen, his fingers dig into your sides.

Oh, god.

Oh, god, please.

His lip trembles. His face crumbles.

“Tea,” he breathes.

A glint. A twitch of your fingers.

Bucky sobs. It’s short and uncontrollable and it startles from his body in an almost aggressive way.

He doesn’t dare disturb your fixed gaze, but he presses in closer again.

“You remember,” he beseeches, his lips parting in something between a cry and a prayer. “You- you know that mug, don’t you? It’s yours, doll. You drink tea from it every day.”

You blink.

Bucky laughs. It is a gruff, uneven, broken sound, and it hurts.

But you blinked.

And he saw it. He saw it. Because it happened. You did it.

He clutches you to his chest, laughing and crying, sobbing and gasping, trembling and breaking all at once. His entire body feels too tight, too much, too everything.

But you blinked.

You saw something that wasn’t him.

And you frowned.

A reaction. A real, actual, human reaction.

“Okay,” he lets out shakily, his fingers threading through your hair, clutching, gripping, grounding. His heart is hammering, his lungs are burning. But he does not care. You are still here.

And now he knows how to find you.

His hands are on your face now. “You got this, baby. You can do this. You’re the strongest fucking person I know, and you will snap out of this.”

You look back at him and Bucky crowds into you, terrified to let even an inch of space remain between you.

“You’re gonna come back to me, you hear me?” he tells you with a strained voice. His eyes move over your face so rapidly, fingers wiping at your skin.

There is something in your eyes.

A fight.

And Bucky starts nodding. He gasps. “Yes, that’s it, baby. That’s it! God, I'm so proud of you. Fuck, I'm so proud of you. You’ll make it, Y/n. Come on!” He laughs wetly. It verges on hysterical.

He sees it beginning.

Like the first crack of sunlight over the horizon. Like the slow, agonizing change of winter to spring. Like life struggling to emerge from a place it was never intended to leave.

Your mouth parts. Just a little bit. Your lashes lower, then rise again. And Bucky watches - watches like a man starved, like a dying thing gasping for air.

“Doll,” he pleads, forehead pressing to yours but he keeps his eyes on yours, thumbs stroking frantically over your cheeks, trying to memorize everything. “Please, sweetheart. Come on. Come back. Come home.”

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

And the third time is different.

The third time, there is recognition.

Faint. Flimsy. Almost not there. But Bucky sees it, and it hits him.

A vehement shudder ripples through his chest, vibrating you as well.

You are coming back.

Piece by piece, tiny fraction by tiny fraction, you are coming back.

“Come on, baby. You’re almost there. We’re almost there. You got this.” His eyes are so intensely fixed on you, his voice hoarse. He doesn’t sound like himself, doesn’t feel like himself. He doesn’t care. “Feel me. Feels my hands. My body. It’s me, baby. It’s Bucky.”

He needs you.

God, he needs you.

You breathe.

And the sound is so normal. So absolutely, painfully, beautifully normal that Bucky almost doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s too late.

Your lips part.

Your eyes start moving over his face, studying, seeing.

“Bucky.”

A sound punches out of his throat - something agonizing, something animal, something beyond human comprehension.

His knees buckle.

He goes down - hard, his entire weight dragging you with him, hitting the ground with an impact he barely feels. Because you just said his name.

You spoke. And you know who he is.

His arms wind around you, pressing you close, cinching tight. His hands clutch at your back, at your shoulders, at your hair - clinging, grasping, as though he needs to feel your heartbeat to remember his own. As though he is bracing against a storm and you are the only shelter he’s got.

Because you are something he can’t afford to lose. But he almost did today.

He gasps incoherent, cracking words into your hair, your neck, burying inside it. They barely make it past the ragged breaths and shudders tearing through him. It only sounds something like you’re here on a loop.

His chest heaves. His fingers are digging into you, pressing you against him, needing you closer, closer, closer.

Your arms move immediately.

Your hands rise.

Without him telling you to.

And for the first time since you woke up, you actually touch him.

Your palms press against his back, against his neck, against him.

And it is everything.

It is the dam breaking, the world shifting back onto its axis, the breath of air after drowning.

Bucky cries.

The tears don’t stop. They just keep coming, breaking past every wall, every defense, every piece of him that ever tried to hold anything in.

And you are watching him.

Seeing him.

Holding him.

Speaking to him.

“Buck-”

His name.

And this time it sounds even more like you. So soft. So incredibly concerned. You.

He collapses deeper into you, losing himself completely.

He feels your hands trembling against him, but they are moving.

Not because he made you.

Not because of an order coming from his mouth.

Because you want to.

Because Bucky is falling apart in your arms and you cannot let that happen.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, fisting the material. Your other hand slides into his hair, cradling the back of his head, pulling him in, as close as he can get.

He is gasping, sobbing - breaking. His whole body quakes. His breath stutters between cries, hauled from the deepest part of him.

And you don’t hesitate.

Your lips press to the top of his head, over and over, again and again and again. Whispering into him. Murmuring soothing nonsense, anything, anything.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” Your voice is soft, achingly tender. A touch in the darkness.

His grip almost hurts, almost suffocates, but you don’t pull away.

And he clings to you like he will never let go.

Because he is afraid. Afraid that if he lets go, if he blinks, if he breathes too hard - you will be gone.

Even with your hands on him, even with your voice in his ears - your real voice - even with your lips brushing against his skin, he is still afraid. So fucking afraid.

It’s an abyss of fear, not a momentary plunge, but an endless descent into the very structure of his being.

It’s a poison seeping into his system, crystallizing in his bones, becoming a part of him.

He doesn’t think it will ever go away.

So he clutches you tightly.

And you hold him right back.

Your fingers card through his hair, smoothing, soothing. Your lips press to the part of his temple you can reach.

“I’m here. I’m okay, honey.” Another soft whisper against his skin. “It’s okay.”

Still, he sobs.

Still, he shakes.

Still, he clings.

His chest heaves wildly against yours. His pulse is unstable. He can’t tone it down. He can’t control himself.

His forehead presses deeply into your neck. His breath is hot, damp, shaking.

And you keep holding him, keep murmuring, keep soothing.

“It’s okay, Bucky, it’s okay,” you hush, so patient, so loving, so sweet - everything he’s missed so incredibly bad. A kiss to his hairline. Your hand trails up and down his back. “Breathe, baby. Breathe.”

A painful and gravelly wail bursts from his chest. His fingers twitch frantically against you.

And he hears the way it’s hurting you. It’s in your voice. He hears how concerned you are. And he hates himself for it. But there is nothing he can do but crumble.

His frame shudders so violently you think he might collapse in on himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

He believes you.

Because otherwise, he would not survive.

“You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.”

- Terry Pratchett

Taglist: @cheekybarnes @gotminho @rlphunter @normanreedus-blog @winterelfqueen @hello-lisa1026 @lilulo-12 @nikt-wazny-y @reemoony @orangeheliophile @seolahhh @oikawasbuddy @dancer3205 @yourstupidblues @greatmistakes @inf4ntdeath @hoe-for-writing @sept3mberchild @mrsnikstan @augustjoy

[camzeecorner]

𝙼𝙰𝚃𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙾 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳

Over the last few weeks you’d found it incredibly hard to give yourself pleasure. Sure you knew exactly what your body liked and how to get yourself dripping wet, but you couldn’t cum. You shrugged it off the first few times reminding yourself it was ‘just stress’. But after the fifth time, you noticed this wasn’t normal for you.

Every night you’d fight with yourself, trying to force the cum out of you. You’d stay up late, the buzzing sound of your small toy could be heard around your room with your pathetic cry’s. Your body would shake while sweat rolled onto your bedsheets. You couldn’t help but wonder what had happened.

It’s not like you masterbated too much, maybe once every week, but surely there were people who did everyday. The built up sexual tension was all you could think about. Maybe you just needed help.

You grabbed your phone clicking on X, immediately going to your bookmarks. You scrolled as you tried to find a video, one that looked interesting and would do the job. You clicked on a video setting your phone up as you slid your pants down. You watched the video as you slowly toyed with your folds, bringing two fingers together as you slid across your slickness.

You moaned in pleasure as you felt your clit throb at the contact, clenching around nothing. As you dipped your fingers into your hole you bit back a whimper, the pleasure seeping into your mind. You went slow trying to build a pace, then going faster matching the thrust on the screen.

Your eyes closed in pure bliss as you sat back working yourself. Your body began to shake, your fingers began to twitch. Just as you thought you were so close your eyes snapped open, hearing a faint knock on your door.

“Y/n? Can I come in?” You heard Matt. You silently cursed to yourself as you sighed. You had completely forgotten about the plans you made, being so caught up in your own mess. You hurriedly slid your clothes back on as you exited the app shutting your phone off completely.

“One second I’m coming!” Your voice was heard outside of the door. You cringed at your words as you thought about what you said. You did wish you were cumming.

As you walked over to the door you straightened out your clothes and fixed your hair, as you opened the door you were met with Matt. Your eyes scanned over his body, he was wearing some loose grey sweatpants and a black fitted tee. Your eyebrows were raised slightly, since when did he get so hot?

You’ve always known Matt was attractive, but you never took the time to really think about it. Maybe it was his growing beard or his low eyes. Either way it still made you clench your thighs together, in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

As you walked to your bed Matt followed quickly behind you after shutting your door. You both sat on your bed, watching as he kicked his shoes off. You studied his features, trying to figure out what spell he put on you.

Of course Matt noticed your stare, it felt like a hot intense wave of heat crashed down onto him. He carefully turned his head towards you, just staring back into your eyes. He let out an awkward chuckle as he looked off to the side.

“What?” His voice soft. You blink rapidly coming back to reality. He watched as you tucked your lip into your mouth pressing them firmly together. You inhaled a sharp breath through your nose, as you closed your eyes.

Matt watched in confusion, debating whether or not he should ask if you were okay. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat as he grew nervous. Were you mad at him? He sat silently as he waited for you to speak.

“Matt.. can I talk to you about something?” You asked politely. Your tone sounded shaken as you avoided his attention. His face scrunched up as he slowly nodded his head. You picked at your nails as you thought about how to word this. Would Matt think you were weird?

Fighting against your thoughts, you decided you’d face whatever answer he threw at you. “Can you.. help me with something?” He chuckled lowly as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“Help you with what?” He asked, his voice was clear and still which made a shiver run down your back. “I’ve just been having a hard time with.. you know..” you trailed off, you’d hope he’d save you the embarrassment and finish your thought. But just as you figured he was left clueless once again.

“I can’t..I can’t cum..” you whispered. Matt’s eyebrows raised as he heard you. He was surprised you were bold enough to even admit this to him. “You.. can’t cum? What do you mean?” He spoke carefully. He words sent a sharp bullet to your stomach, feeling the embarrassment settle into your mind.

“Like.. no matter how hard I try to make myself cum, it’s just doesn’t happen. I spend all my nights hoping to get rid of this built up frustration yet I’m still left unsatisfied.” Your bottom lip pouted as you spoke, thinking of all the failed attempts you’ve made and how it left you feeling uncomfortable.

Matt nodded his head as he took your words in, letting them linger and sink into his brain. “Okay. I’ll help you.” The words made you look up, taken aback that he’d agree. “Really? You’re not worried this might change things?” Speaking calmly and carefully. His eyes started to roam over your face, trying to find any clue that you were just joking. Yet your face remained still and serious.

He shook his head as he watched a small smile form onto your face. “No, you would do the same for me right?” Watching as you nodded. “It’s just what friends are for.”

Your eyes watched as he slid to the bottom of the bed, pulling you down laying you flat on your back. You could feel yourself grow even more wetter as his fingers slid down your stomach and in towards your thighs. He caressed your skin, feeling small bumps appear.

Slowly he slid your shorts off tossing them aside, he could see the visible wet patch on the center of your teal panties. His cock twitched from the sight, almost making him moan. He had to remind himself this was about your pleasure, he shouldn’t be selfish.

Bringing a finger up he ran it over your core earning a faint moan in return. Your body jolted from the new sensation, his touch lingered sending a wave of pleasure straight to your dripping pussy.

He took notice how sensitive you were, you must’ve been like this for a while. Carefully he slid your panties down tossing them. He stared at the sight in front of him, watching as your slick arousal dripped . Fuck you were so wet.

“Baby.. you’re so wet..” his voice cooed. You felt as he ran his fingers over your folds before pressing down lightly. You moaned as he teased you, building up a pace. “Oh- sh-shit” you cursed. He studied as your face twisted in pleasure, your back arched slightly off the bed.

Dipping two fingers into your hole you immediately shut your legs. His grip was strong and fierce as he held them open. You whimpered at his touch, feeling his fingers pump into you at a slow pace.

“Feel so good ‘round my fingers baby.. wonder what you taste like.” He called out. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip before he sunk his head between your legs. You felt as he placed his tongue flat against your clit before licking up your juices.

Your body froze as you sucked in a breath, he felt so good against you it almost made you cry. He moaned against you tasting the sweet juice linger in his mouth. He placed a loving kiss right into you clit before sucking your swollen bud.

You were quick to reach for his hair tugging lightly as he ate you like a starved man. “Right t-there Matt” he moaned as you continued to throw praises at him making him need you even more. You thighs tried to shut only being blocked by his shoulders forcing you to keep them open. His fingers clawed at your skin leaving his nails imprinted.

He slurped up every juice that dripped from you making you moan, feeling the build up in your stomach. You were so close you could taste it. “I’m close..so -so close” you cried. Matt heard your voice lace with desperation making him work even faster.

He was determined to make you cum. He brought his fingers back letting them toy with you. Pressing his thumb harshly on your clit rubbing incredibly fast while his pointer and middle finger plunged into you.

Your eyes rolled backwards as you mouth hung low. Your stomach tightened as your legs shook. “Oh I’m cumming” you moaned. You panted as you felt the intense pressure crash down, sending a wave of pure euphoria. Your stomach tightened making you choke on your own sobs as you felt yourself cum, for the first time again.

Matt lapped up all the juices, leaving nothing behind. He felt as you clenched around him smirking to himself. “That’s it babygirl.. give it to me..” his voice cracked.

As you panted from your orgasm your hands remained balled into fist locking into his hair. Slowly you released his hair as your body completely relaxed, feeling all the tension slowly disappearing. Your eyes felt heavy as you turned to the side.

“Feel better?” Matt asked, stroking your cheek. You melted into the touch letting your eyes flutter shut. You nodded at him, mumbling a small yes. He could sense the tiredness as your body grew limp.

Grabbing wipes and a fresh set of new clean clothes he changed you and wiped away all the juices and sweat that stuck to your skin. Your bodies laid side by side as you hugged him tightly.

“We definitely should’ve spoken way sooner, you were amazing”

Tag list - @shaquilles-0atmeal @monroesturnns @blahbel668 @mattssluttywaist @jetaimevous @ribread03 @meatballlover10 @mattslolita @sophand4n4 @riasturns @nickysturnss @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @sturnshood @riasturns @strnilolover @chrisbrowser @cayleeuhithinknott @blushsturns @snoopychris @chrissweetheart @watermelonstarzz @sosasturns @chrissweetheart @eeyoresturnz @phone4pills @raesturns @priscillaog @angeliolo @amyiasturnl @sunrisemill @lezleeferguson-120

[gf2bellamy]

spencer’s little chin dimple is so cute. i just want to press my pinkie finger into it…

oh! do you think you could do a headcanon/fic about that? reader absent-mindedly pressing their finger into the dimple of his chin, catching him by surprise? maybe they are in a secret relationship and reader does it at work, without thinking? or maybe they are at his place and he just looks so handsome and pretty and cute and reader just cant resist?

i spend most of my free time consuming spencer / criminal minds content but i never noticed his dimple

the first time you do it , the two of you are curled up on the couch, a documentary playing but neither of you really paying attention anymore. he turns his head slightly toward you, looking all soft and cute. and there it is. that tiny dimple.

without thinking, you gently press your index finger into it like it’s a button. spencer blinks in surprise, utterly confused for a second.

“did you just… poke me?”

you just grin as you press again. "it's cute."

later, he’ll pretend he’s reading when he subtly shifts his jaw just to make the dimple more noticeable. he won’t admit it, but he loves when you do it.

one evening, you're both in the bullpen, working at your desk. he glances over something on your screen, leaning in close and there it is again.

you're tired and your brain’s on autopilot ( and he looks so pretty you can't resist ) , so you just lightly reach out and press your finger into the dimple like it's second nature.

he flinches slightly in surprise, eyes wide. he blinks rapidly, hazel eyes wide as he starts blushing.

you freeze. “oh my god. I forgot where we were,” you whisper, horrified, hand retracting like you touched a hot stove.

a shy smile forms on spencer's face as he leans in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “i like it. just maybe not… here.” Cue a quick, secretive glance around the bullpen.

from then on, it becomes a thing between you two: the dimple poke, a silent way to say “you’re cute and i love you.”

you sometimes wonder if he purposely turns his chin toward your hand so you’ll do it and if he does, well, you don’t mind at all.

[rafayelxsylusho]

hiii can I request for a ❄️xreaderx🍎 pleaaase (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I really badly need Zayne and Caleb at the same damn time

I hope you like it! Work was a bit(h today so I'm not sure the smut is smutting on this one.

I think I'm losing that horny spark 🥲🥲.

Enjoy!!

TW: Smut

A few days before the explosion

Zayne's tongue explores every inch of your most intimate area, his mouth covering your pussy completely as he licks and sucks with wild abandon. He grips your thighs tightly, holding your legs spread wide open, allowing him unrestricted access to your dripping sex.

"God, your taste... it's intoxicating," Zayne rasps, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh. He takes another long, slow lick from your entrance up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue. "I could devour this sweet cunt forever... "

His eyes flick up to meet yours. In this moment, he looks almost feral, consumed by his desire for you. Without breaking eye contact, Zayne seals his lips around your clit and suckles greedily, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive nub.

Your mind reels, hardly believing this is happening, you, in grandma's Josephine house, sprawled on your childhood bed. You know she won't be back for hours, her errands a gift of privacy and Caleb, remains hundreds of miles away, not due to return until tomorrow.

Zayne plunges two fingers deep into your cunt, pumping them in and out as his tongue continues its assault on your clit. Your back arches off the bed, a moan tearing from your throat as pleasure courses through you.

"Fuck, you're always so sooooo tight" Zayne growls, his fingers curling inside you, stroking that spot that makes your toes curl. He then suckles hard on your clit, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you closer to the edge

Your hand fists in his hair, pushing his face harder against your pussy. His other hand leaves your thigh to slide up your torso, helping you push your shirt up and expose your breast to the cool air of the bedroom. Strong fingers find your nipple, pinching and rolling the hardened peak, sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to your cunt.

"You are gripping my fingers so fucking tight," Zayne rasps, his voice muffled against your sex as he scissors his fingers inside you.

The old bed frame creaks and shakes, the springs protesting. The window is open, you can hear the distant sounds of the neighborhood, the occasional car passing by, a dog barking, but they all fade into the background of your racing heart and the blood pounding in your ears.

You turn in panic when you hear the familiar sound of your bedroom door, as the door creaks open and Caleb's eyes meet yours through a small crack, Zayne suckles hard on your clit, pulling the sensitive bud into his mouth and at the same time, he plunges his fingers as deep as they can go, curling them just right.

"FUCK!" you cry out, your body seizing as your orgasm crashes over you. Your walls clamp down hard on Zayne's fingers, pulsing and fluttering as ecstasy whites out your vision. Through it all, you remain locked in the intense moment with Caleb, his expression a mix of shock and arousal.

Zayne doesn't let up, drawing out your pleasure even as your mind reels at the thought of being caught so intimately with him. The forbidden nature of it all only heightens the intensity of your orgasm, your body shaking and trembling with the force of it.

Zayne's fingers slow their movements as your orgasm begins to subside, your body going limp beneath him. He releases your clit from his lips, giving it a final tender kiss before lifting his head to look at you. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, your breast still exposed.

Just as you blink in confusion, trying to process the shock of being caught, the door clicks shut. Zayne glances towards it, a flicker of something crossing his features before his gaze returns to you, his expression softening with satisfaction at the sight of your pleasure.

He carefully withdraws his fingers from your sensitive sex, bringing them to his lips and making a show of licking your essence from them. "Delicious," he murmurs, his voice rough from his own arousal.

Suddenly you hear the sound of the front door opening, Zayne sits and helps you tug your skirt back down to cover you just as footsteps echo through the old house. Panic rises in your throat as you frantically try to compose yourself, smoothing your hair and shirt.

The footsteps grow closer, and your heart pounds in your chest. You both sit frozen, hardly daring to breathe, a knock sounds at your door, and you jump slightly.

Caleb opens the door and peeks in, a friendly smile on his face "Hey pipsqueak, I'm back a day early. Figured I'd surprise you"

🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎

You stand by the open door as you watch Zayne say his goodbyes. He shakes hands firmly with Caleb, the two exchanging a look that speaks of their long standing friendship. Zayne turns to Grandma, his expression softening into a warm smile as he thanks her for the delicious meal.

Grandma beams at him, patting his cheek affectionately. "You're always welcome here, dear. I'm so glad you could join us today," she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles up at him. Zayne's gaze flicks to you briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he returns his attention to Grandma.

"I appreciate you having me, ma'am. The food was excellent, as always," Zayne says, his deep voice warm with sincerity. He glances at Caleb again, a grin spreading across his face. "Let's catch up this week, yeah? I'll give you a call."

Caleb nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leans against the wall. "Sounds good, man. Talk to you soon," he agrees, his tone easy and casual.

With a final nod to you and a wave to Grandma and Caleb, Zayne steps out into the night, the door clicking shut behind him.

🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎❄️🍎

After the explosion

The explosion that tore through Grandma's home left you reeling, convinced that both Caleb and Grandma had been lost in the devastating blast. The days that followed were a blur of grief and despair.

Months pass and you discover that Caleb had somehow survived and in the aftermath, life slowly began to return to a new normal. Zayne, ever the rock, was there to support you through the ups and downs.

Now, you find yourself often at Zayne's spacious home, a sanctuary away from the ruins of your past. On his days off from work, Caleb joins you, the three of you falling into an easy, comfortable routine. Movie nights, takeout dinners, and long conversations fill the hours.

Caleb's presence here feels right, like he's always belonged. Your childhood friendship with Zayne blossomed into something more, a love that has only grown stronger. And now, with Caleb here, it's as if your family is complete once more.

Zayne's friendship with Caleb also grows stronger, the two men bonding over their desire to protect and support you.

On a weekend night you and Caleb sit on the couch of the living room, each nursing a cold beer as you laugh and joke about Zayne's notorious lack of tolerance for alcohol. It's a well known fact that Zayne can barely handle more than a couple of drinks before the room starts spinning and he's ready to pass out.

Zayne looks up from the paperwork he was reviewing, his eyes narrowing slightly as he catches you and Caleb in the middle of your laughter. Normally, he would just join in on the teasing, laughing at his own expense, but tonight there's a different energy about him.

He rises from his chair, setting the papers aside with a determined expression. As he approaches the couch, he extends a hand towards you, palm up. "Hand me a beer," he says, his voice serious.

You and Caleb exchange a shocked glance, both of you freezing with your bottles halfway to your lips. It's not like Zayne to suddenly want to join in on the drinking, especially after you've been teasing him about his low tolerance.

He waits, hand still outstretched, for one of you to hand over your beer.

Caleb, ever the easy going one, immediately opens the can of beer and hands it to Zayne without a second thought. He leans back on the couch, a curious smile playing on his lips as he watches his friend's unexpected actions.

Zayne takes the cold can, his fingers brushing against Caleb's for a brief moment. He brings it to his lips, tilting his head back as he takes a long, deep swig of the icy liquid. He swallows, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before focusing his gaze back on you.

At your questioning glance, he shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm off work tomorrow," he confirms, as if that explains everything. And in a way, it does Zayne is not one to do anything on a whim, especially when it comes to alcohol. If he's deciding to drink tonight, it's because he knows he has the time to recover properly.

He takes another sip of the beer, his eyes never leaving yours as he does. There's a new energy in the room, a crackling tension that wasn't there before. You can feel the weight of Caleb's curious gaze bouncing between the two of you, sensing that something has shifted.

He then settles himself between you and Caleb on the couch, the three of you falling into an easy, cheerful conversation as the beer flows.

As Zayne finishes his second beer, he sets the empty can down on the coffee table with a satisfied sigh. A mischievous glint enters his eye, and a slow grin spreads across his face. He looks from you to Caleb, then back to you again before speaking.

"Remember how we used to play Truth or Dare back in the day?" he asks. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, a flicker of memory sparking in your mind. You and Caleb used to play that game all the time when you were younger, often with Zayne joining in the fun. "Wanna play again?"

Before you can answer, Caleb chimes in, a wide grin spreading across his face. "I'm game if you two are!" he says enthusiastically, always the eager participant in any challenge or adventure you and Zayne propose. He leans forward, grabbing another beer from the six-pack on the table and tossing it to Zayne, who catches it deftly.

Zayne flashes Caleb a grateful smile before looking back at you, one eyebrow arched questioningly.

You shake your head, a note of concern in your voice as you reach out to try and take the third can of beer from Zayne's hand. "Come on, you two are acting like a couple of overgrown children," you say, trying to grab the can before Zayne can bring it to his lips. "And I think you've had enough beer for one night, don't you?"

Zayne's grip tightens on the can, his eyes locked with yours in a moment of silent challenge. He opens the can and takes a slow, deliberate sip of his drink before setting it down on the table. Then he reaches up and removes his glasses, folding them carefully and setting them aside.

Leaning in closer to you, Zayne's voice drops to a low, intimate tone as he states his dare. "Well, if you don't want to play, that's fine. But Caleb does," he says, turning his head towards him "And I dare you to kiss y/n. Really kiss her, like you've been wanting to for years now."

Your breath catches in your throat, a flush spreading across your cheeks. Caleb chuckles nervously, sensing the sudden shift in the room.

"Or am I wrong?"

Before Caleb answers to Zayne's bold dare, you suddenly stand up from the couch, startling both of them.

You grab Zayne's arm, trying to pull him up and away from the tense situation. As you do, you turn to Caleb and mumble an apology. "I'm so sorry. I think I should take Zayne to bed, he's already had too much to drink tonight," you say, your voice tight with a mix of embarrassment and a hint of something more.

Zayne resists your attempt to pull him away, instead using your momentum to tug you back down onto his lap and suddenly you find yourself straddling him, your knees on either side of his thighs, your face mere inches from his. His hands come up to grip your waist, holding you in place as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your lips.

"I'm not drunk at all," Zayne whispers, his voice low and intense, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes bore into yours, the pupils dilated with an emotion far more powerful than alcohol. "I know exactly what I'm doing."

Zayne turns to Caleb, his grip on your waist tightening possessively as he keeps you straddling his lap. There's a new fire in his eyes, a determination that makes it clear he has no intention of backing down from this challenge. He stares at Caleb, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration.

"Well, Caleb?" Zayne asks "Are you going to kiss her or not? After all these years of hiding your true feelings, are you still going to run away?" He pauses for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. "Or are you finally going to man up and take what you truly want?"

You sit frozen on Zayne's lap, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you look from him to Caleb. Zayne's words echo in your mind, stirring up feelings you thought you had long buried. The fire you felt for Caleb in your teenage years, the longing and desire you had secretly harbored for so many years, begins to resurface with a vengeance.

You had always assumed that Caleb saw you as nothing more than his best friend, a friend to protect and look out for, but never someone he could truly desire. You had pushed down your teenage crush so deeply, telling yourself it was just a product of your hormones and youthful imagination.

Caleb move and leans in closer, the distance between your lips shrinking with each passing second. Your heart races as you feel his breath mingling with your own, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable level. Just as your lips are about to touch, Caleb pauses, stopping a hair's breadth away from your own, his voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks.

"I will kiss her," his lips brushing against your own as he speaks, "but only if she is ok with this. I won't do this unless she wants me to."

You can feel Zayne's intense gaze on you, his fingers digging into your hips as he watches to see how you will react.

As Caleb's tongue darts out to wet his lips, the action proves to be your undoing. Unable to resist any longer, you close the remaining distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that is immediately hot, messy, and brimming with the pent up desire of years.

Zayne's eyes darken with satisfaction and a primal, possessive hunger as he takes in the sight of you and Caleb losing yourselves in the passionate kiss.

Your fingers tangle in Caleb's hair, pulling him closer as your mouth moves urgently against his. Years of longing and unspoken feelings pour out of you, the force of the kiss speaking to the depth of your desire. Caleb's hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he angles your head to deepen the kiss further.

As you and Caleb lose yourselves in the heat of the moment, you can't help but feel the prominent bulge growing beneath you. Zayne is rock hard, his arousal evident as it presses insistently against your core. The knowledge that he is just as affected, just as turned on by this only serves to heighten your own desire.

Zayne's hands slide up from your hips, his fingers splaying across your ribcage before brushing the underside of your breasts. Your nipples are already hard and straining against the fabric of your shirt, aching for his touch. As if reading your mind, Zayne cups the soft mounds, his thumbs and forefingers pinching and rolling the sensitive peaks through the thin material.

Caleb swallows your moan, his own breathing growing more ragged as he continues to plunder your mouth with strokes of his tongue. His hand slides down from your face to your neck, his fingers curling around the delicate skin as he pulls you impossibly closer.

Zayne's hand boldly slips underneath the hem of your shirt, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. With a flick of his wrist, he unhooks it, freeing your breasts from your bra. His large, warm hand cups the soft swell of your breast, his thumb and forefinger finding your hardened nipple and rolling it between them.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips, your back arching instinctively as pleasure courses through your body. Zayne's touch ignites a fire within you, his boldness and confidence in his actions making your head spin and your core throb with need.

Caleb takes advantage of your parted lips, his tongue delving deeper, stroking along the length of yours and exploring every inch of your mouth.

Zayne abruptly pulls you away from Caleb's passionate kiss, breaking the heated moment. Before you can react, he grips the hem of your shirt and swiftly pulls it up and over your head, leaving you bare from the waist up. Your bra shortly follows, discarded carelessly onto the floor.

Dazed and breathless, you find yourself suddenly laid down on the sofa, Zayne looming over you with a hungry expression. His gaze rakes over your exposed skin, taking in every curve and dip.

He places his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he applies pressure, silently commanding you to lift up. "Lift your hips," he demands. You hesitate, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face as you glance over at Caleb still sitting nearby, a witness to this unexpected turn of events.

A blush stains your cheeks as you realize the implications of going through with this, knowing Caleb will see every intimate detail. Slowly, hesitantly at first, you lift your hips off the sofa, allowing Zayne to peel your pants and panties down your legs in one smooth, swift motion.

Zayne's eyes never leave your body as he bares you completely, drinking in every inch of your skin. He tosses your clothes carelessly aside, leaving you laid out before him like a feast for the taking.

Zayne steps back and takes a seat across from you and Caleb, he turns to look at Caleb with a glint in his eye and he leans forward slightly.

"I have another dare for you, Caleb," Zayne says "I want you to eat her pussy until she cums, and I want to watch, just like you did that day months ago."

Zayne's words hang heavy in the air, a blatant reference to a moment you remember all too well. You can see the recollection flashing across Caleb's face, the memory of that charged encounter when you came undone under his lustful gaze.

Zayne turns to face you directly, his eyes blazing with intensity and a hint of mischief. A small, smug smile plays on his lips as he confirms your suspicions. "Yes, love, I saw him watching you that day, saw the way you came apart for him," he murmurs "That's why I worked you fast, to make you cum on my mouth, knowing he was there to witness it all."

His gaze drops briefly to your thighs before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "And now, I want to watch you come undone for him again, to see your beautiful face as you come all over his mouth" he says "But only if you want it, Y/N"

You turn to look at Caleb, your heart pounding as your eyes meet his. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch in your throat. Seeing the desire and anticipation etched on his face, you feel a thrill of excitement and a flutter of nervousness. Your lips part slightly as you whisper the words Zayne is waiting to hear:

"I want to..."

You watch as Caleb's gaze darts to Zayne, catching the subtle nod of silent approval. And then Caleb's hands are on your knees, his fingers curling around them. His eyes lock with yours as he applies gentle but firm pressure. "Open them for me," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

You slowly allow your knees to fall open, exposing your glistening soft folds to Caleb's hungry eyes. Zayne leans back, watching intently as the scene unfolds, his eyes dark with anticipation.

Caleb's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of your dripping cunt, now bare and vulnerable before him. A deep, approving groan escapes his lips. "Fuck," he breathes out "It's the most perfect pussy I've ever seen... and I can't wait to taste it."

Without giving you a moment to process the intensity of his words, Caleb removes his shirt, tossing it carelessly aside. Then, with a hunger that can't be sated, he leans down and presses his mouth to your bare sex.

You barely have time to gasp before you feel his strong hands gripping your thighs, pulling your legs up and over his broad shoulders. Your back arches off the couch as his tongue delves between your folds, stroking along your slit with confident intensity.

At the first swipe of Caleb's tongue along your folds, an appreciative moan rumbles from deep within his chest. The vibrations send delicious shivers through your core, making you gasp and clutch at his hair.

Zayne chuckles from his position across from you, his eyes glinting with amusement. He leans forward slightly, his gaze locked on Caleb's face, now buried between your thighs. "Fuck, Caleb, that pussy is the sweetest you'll ever taste," Zayne confirms, his voice filled with a hint of envy and admiration. "Enjoy every fucking second of it."

Caleb is too focused on the task at hand to respond to Zayne's comment, his hunger for you consuming his every thought. His mouth remains latched onto your sex, his tongue swirling and circling your sensitive clit with skilled, purposeful strokes.

As the pleasure mounts, you find yourself instinctively moving your hips, grinding against Caleb's eager mouth. Soft, breathy moans spill from your lips as he devours you, his tongue delving deeper, stroking along your slit and plunging into your entrance.

"She likes a finger or two in that tight little cunt, Caleb," he says, "Don't be shy, give her what she needs."

As if on cue, you feel Caleb slip two long, thick fingers into you. He pumps them slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to the sudden intrusion. But soon, he picks up the pace, fucking you with his fingers in tandem with the strokes of his tongue.

As your orgasm begins to crest, your body tensing and trembling with the impending release, you sense a presence kneeling beside you on the couch. You turn your head to the side, finding Zayne's intense gaze locked onto your face, his eyes blazing with a feral hunger.

Zayne's fingers grip your chin, tilting your head towards him as he leans in close. His eyes bore into yours, filled with possessive desire. "Open up," he commands and when you part your lips, Zayne's head dips down, and he spits a stream of saliva into your open mouth, the warm, slick fluid coating your tongue. At the same time, Caleb sucks your clit hard, his fingers pumping faster and deeper into your clenching walls.

The sensations are too much, and with a sharp cry you come undone. Your body convulses, back arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. You swallow Zayne's spit as your sex clenches and spasms around Caleb's fingers, your juices gushing out to coat his chin and hand.

As the final shocks of your orgasm subside, you feel Caleb's strong arms wrap around your trembling body. He lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against his broad chest as he sits back on the couch. Your naked, sated form is now nestled in his lap, your head resting against his shoulder.

Zayne adjusts his position beside you both, his large frame taking up the space next to Caleb, His hand is on your bare thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as he watches you catch your breath.

"That was incredible... you're breathtaking when you cum." Zayne leans in to whisper in your ear.

You turn your head towards Zayne, unable to resist, you capture his lips with your own, your mouth moving eagerly against his. Zayne responds with a hunger that steals your breath, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head to deepen the kiss.

As his tongue dominates your mouth, claiming every inch of you, you feel his fingers inching higher up your thigh. They brush over your sensitive, slick folds, teasing your entrance as you tremble in Caleb's lap.

Zayne breaks the kiss, his lips trailing away from yours as he takes your hand, guiding it down to the rigid length of Caleb's cock straining against his jeans. "Can you feel how hard he is?" Zayne says "It's all for you, love. That's how fucking crazy you make him."

Caleb's breathing grows heavier with each passing second as your soft hands work to free his aching cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers. The moment your fingers wrap around his thick cock, his head falls back, a groan tearing from his throat.

Zayne takes in the sight of Caleb's length, now rock hard and pulsing in your gentle grip. He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, "Stroke him... yeah...just like that. Feel how hard he is, how much he wants you"

Suddenly Zayne grips your hips tightly, positioning you above Caleb's throbbing, hard cock. As your folds brush against the sensitive head, Caleb's eyes snap open, his gaze locking with yours. But it's too late to stop the inevitable.

"Wait," Caleb gasps, but his words are lost in a groan as he feels your wet pussy enveloping the tip of his cock. His hands fly to your waist, gripping tightly "Fuck, Y/N, wait..." he grits out, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing with lust and a hint of panic.

Zayne ignores Caleb's plea, instead choosing to push your hips down. The head of Caleb's cock, already nestled between your folds, is driven deep inside your tight, clenching heat. A string of curses and a loud moan erupt from Caleb's throat  "Shit! Fuck! Shit! Oh god y/n..." Caleb groans, his head falling back against the couch again as his hips twitch.

"She's fucking tight, isn't she? You'd better control yourself, or this is going to be over before it even starts. And trust me, I'm looking forward to watching you fuck her properly."

Zayne's words spark something inside you and you start to move, bouncing on top of Caleb's cock. Your hips rise up until just the tip remains inside you, before dropping back down, taking him as deep as you can. Caleb meets your downward bounces with his own upward thrusts.

Zayne watches as Caleb's cock disappears inch by inch into your dripping pussy, stretching you around his thick girth. He smirks, enjoying the show, his own arousal straining against his pants as he takes in the erotic sight.

" Fuck, Pipsqueak," Caleb grunts, his voice strained with pleasure as he hilts inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. His hands grip your hips hard enough to hold you in place, not wanting this moment to end. "You take my cock so fucking well, like you were made for it," he pants out, his hot breath mingling with yours as his mouth hovers inches from your own.

As Caleb's words wash over you, you hear a low moan coming from beside you. Turning your head, you find Zayne with his hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself to the sight of you fucking his best friend.

Zayne's eyes are hooded, his gaze intense as he watches your hips rise and fall. He licks his lips, his breathing growing heavier as he pleasures himself, not taking his eyes off the scene unfolding before him.

Zayne's fingers grip your chin, holding your face in place as his piercing eyes look into yours. "Look at me, Y/N," he commands "I want to see your face, want to watch your expression when you cum on my best friend's cock. Keep your eyes on me, love."

Just as Zayne demands your focus, Caleb's teeth sink into the sensitive flesh of your nipple, the sharp sting mingles with the intense pleasure radiating from where you're joined, proving too much.

Your back arches, pressing your breast further into Caleb's eager mouth as your orgasm crashes over you. A scream tears from your throat, your walls clenching and fluttering wildly around Caleb's length. Zayne's fingers dig into your chin as he watches your face contort in bliss, your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open.

The way your walls clench and ripple around Caleb's throbbing cock is too much for him to endure. With a roar of your name, he hilts inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his release. "Y/N! Fuck, I'm cumming!" Caleb shouts, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm.

Zayne's hand pumps furiously over his straining erection, his eyes hazy with lust, remain locked in your face, taking in every detail of your pleasure and with a loud moan of your name, he reaches his own release, his hand pumping quickly as hot ropes of cum erupt from his cock.

Pearly ropes of cum land on your face and chest, his grip on your chin tightening momentarily before he releases you, his chest heaving with the force of his orgasm.

Caleb's hips continue to make shallow thrusts, working his softening cock deeper into your fluttering walls, as if trying to push his seed further into your core.

As the initial haze of lust and pleasure starts to fade, the gravity of what just transpired hits you like a ton of bricks. Panic rises in your throat, your heart racing as the realization of your actions sinks in. You try to pull away but Caleb's arms tighten around you, holding you close.

"It's okay," Caleb murmurs, his voice soothing as he feels your panic rising. "We've got you. You're okay." He strokes your hair, his hand cupping the back of your head and tilting it gently to rest against his shoulder. "Stay with us, princess. Don't run away, not now."

After a few minutes Zayne scoops you up effortlessly from Caleb's embrace, cradling you against his broad chest. He carries you towards the bathroom, his long strides eating up the distance. As he walks, he presses a gentle kiss to your temple, his lips lingering on your skin.

"Let's clean you up while Caleb makes you something to eat," He pushes open the bathroom door, stepping inside the spacious, modern room. Turning on the shower, he adjusts the temperature of the water before setting you down on your feet, keeping a supportive hand on your waist.

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, "You don't have to be scared. We're here for you, now and always. Let us take care of you."

[stealingyourbones]

After escaping the Guys in White, Danny flees. He doesn't know where he'll go or were is safe. All he knows is that everything is dangerous and he has to leave now.

All that panic fades when he takes a sharp turn on an Amity street to see that the block isn't as it should be. People milling about that he's never seen before, buildings and shops that aren't meant to be there, hell even incorrect street signage compared to Amity's custom ghost proof signage made with Fenton Font.

Sprinting as far as he can, chest heaving and body in sheer agony, his hands desperately trying to put pressure on his wounds but there was too many to count to properly cover. He tripped next to what looked like an old opera house entrance like the one in Amity's downtown.

Then the blasting and shouting from the men in white suits stopped.

Danny turned to look for the sudden absence of noise to find that he was no longer in Amity.

The injured boy stopped, turned, and stared at the miles and miles of wheat fields that were spread out around him. The strange Shouldn't Be There street still surrounding him.

Danny breathed hard labored breaths, his mind trying to comprehend what on earth just happened, people still were milling about, the Old Opera house, that was apparently not an Opera House but was instead a "Peeping Tom's Perpetual Cabaret", blinked it's signage at him with bright neon lights. Before Danny could even process the change, words appeared on a scrolling "OPEN" sign next to the buildings door with words that weren't the average greeting; "Hello Danny, nice name" the yellow lights scrolled past as Danny stared at the signage in confusion, "They won't find you here. You're safe now."

The words scrolled past two times to make sure the broken teen read it before the words changed back to a standard open sign.

Danny doesn't quite know why the words on the sign convinced him, but something deep down told him that the words said were true, he was safe, he didn't have to run anymore.

And with that, the shock and adrenaline rush from running away from his captors faded away and the pain of his wounds mad themselves even more known. The pain overwhelming and the all encompassing fear fading away, unconsciousness rapidly takes hold of the ghost hero and everything goes black.

[wordsofwhimsy]

this is for the fic you just posted loverboy what if it was all just a prank and when he bust down the door it's a surprise party!!!

stop it right now that is SO GOOD – had to write it right away 🙂‍↕️

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙗𝙤𝙮 - 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙏𝙬𝙤

Part One!

Mark’s pupils shrank as the blinding glow of party lights hit him.

The room was packed. Laughter and chatter echoed through the house, and a banner reading Happy Birthday, Mark! hung crookedly across the ceiling. Colorful streamers lined the walls, and balloons floated aimlessly, bobbing as if oblivious to the weight of the situation.

He froze in the doorway, his expression faltering as his gaze swept across the smiling faces of his friends—his friends—and there, in the center of it all, was you. You, standing there with a grin that was so wide it could barely contain your excitement. You were holding a plate of cupcakes, your eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Surprise!” you shouted, clearly thrilled, while everyone else cheered around him.

Mark blinked, his mind grinding to a halt as his chest tightened once again. “Took you long enough to get here,” you laughed while walking towards him, extending out the plate of pastries. “Come on, you know you love these. I made your favorite.” Your voice was so sweet, completely unaware of the storm that had just consumed him whole.

Mark stood there, feeling like he was caught between two worlds—one where he was about to tear everything apart and another where everything was normal, too normal. His hands trembled, the remnants of rage still simmering under the surface.

His breath was ragged, and his heart was racing in his chest. The manic, twisted grin that had been on his face only moments ago slowly faded into something unreadable. He looked down at the cupcakes, his mind still whirling, his power still surging beneath the skin.

He felt a moment of silence. A stillness that threatened to pull him under.

Finally, he glanced up at you, trying to swallow down the waves of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. “This… this was a joke?” His voice came out hoarse, cracked with the strain of the rage that still lingered.

You blinked at him, obviously confused. “Yeah, but it’s not a bad one, right?” You chuckled softly, pushing the plate closer to him. “I mean, I figured after everything that’s been going on, you could use a little something to lighten the mood.”

His mind was racing now, pulling in all the pieces, trying to make sense of it. The joke. The party. The betrayal he had felt—was it real? Had it all been nothing? Was he really that far gone that he had allowed a text message, a single message, to unravel him like this?

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come on, Mark,” you said softly, “It’s just us. No need to be so… intense.”

And suddenly, he cracked. His laughter started off slow, almost quiet, the rest of the people in the room smiling and joining in on the giggles. But rapidly the sound from his throat devolved into something twisted until it ended in a roaring cackle, stunning the room into silence. “Funny!” he shouted, turning his eyes onto an old classmate from high school who was standing just a foot to his left. Marks hand fell like a sack of bricks onto his shoulder, his fingers curling harshly into his flesh.

“H-Hey—“he stammered, his face faltering into a mixture of confusion and building fear.

Mark’s laugh echoed through the room, hollow and deranged, a sound that sent chills down the spines of everyone present. It was manic—too loud, too sharp. The absurdity of it all, the sharp contrast between the party's innocence and the darkness that had taken root in him, felt like a cruel joke. A joke that only he truly understood the depth of.

“Hey Tom—” he managed between fits of laughter, “Don’t you think this is funny?” His voice cracked, high-pitched with the kind of wild, unhinged glee that only madness could bring. His eyes were wild, glowing with something twisted, his smile growing wider, more unsettling. “Absolutely hysterical!”

Before anyone could respond, before they could even process what was happening, Mark moved.

It was too fast for any of them to react. His hand shot out and with a sickening squelch, Mark drove his arm straight through the man’s chest and out his back.

Tom’s eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a silent scream, but the only sound that came out was a low gurgle of blood pooling in his throat. Thick, crimson liquid dripped from Mark’s arm, staining his t-shirt as he twisted, pulling his hand out and watching the partygoer’s body crumple to the floor like a ragdoll.

Mark let out another laugh—uncontrollable, broken. He stood over Tom’s corpse like a predator reveling in its hunt.

“Now that’s funny,” Mark chuckled to himself, wiping the blood from his hand. The others in the room stood frozen, mouths agape, horror-stricken. They didn’t understand. How could they?

“Isn’t it hilarious?” Mark’s voice was thick with disbelief, as if he was the only one who could see the punchline, the absurdity of it all. “You thought you could be happy. You thought this was normal. It’s all a joke.” His gaze turned to the rest of them, his grin never fading. “You’re all so funny, just sitting here, all in on the joke.” His voice dropped into a sneer. “And stupid old Mark is the punchline.”

The next moment, Mark grabbed another partygoer, a girl named Sarah, by the throat and slammed her against the wall with a sickening thud. She gasped for air, her hands clawing at his iron grip, but Mark didn’t seem to notice. He leaned in close, his voice a low growl.

“You really think you matter?” He mocked her, his words dripping with venom. “None of you do.” With a sickeningly calm expression, he shoved his fist into her chest, feeling her ribs crack under the pressure. Her breath hitched, a final, desperate gasp escaping her lips, but it didn’t matter. Mark didn’t stop.

The room erupted into chaos as people scrambled to escape, screaming, but Mark just stood there, his laughter growing louder. Funnier.

One by one, he picked them off. The crowd of friends and acquaintances—people who had once trusted him—became nothing more than targets. His fists, his arms, his powers—they were all weapons now. The hero was gone. The boy who had tried so desperately to fit in, to be good, was nothing more than a sadistic god in a human-like shell.

He turned to look at you, his expression twisted into something unrecognizable, his eyes filled with madness. You had backed up toward the door, fear and confusion written all over your face. “And here I was thinking I’d lost the most important thing in my life,” he chuckled. “The only thing that ever mattered to me.” He was in front of you in an instant, his bloodstained hands softly tracing down the side of your face. “So glad you still love me, darling dearest! I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” His body was trembling with an electric, frenzied energy.

Your legs gave out beneath you, but his arm closed around your waist like a vice, keeping you on your feet effortlessly. You couldn’t move. There was no escape. You could see the complete and utter absence of the person you once knew in his eyes. This wasn’t Mark anymore. This was something… something darker, more dangerous than anything you had imagined.

His lips crashed harshly into yours, kissing you in a way he’d never done before. You felt nausea quell in your stomach, realizing you could taste iron on his mouth and knowing that was the fresh blood of one of your friends. You sobbed uncontrollably against him. He just sighed in bliss.