#me when someone tries to touch me without warning

[sunshine-lux]

ok ok but established relationship joaquin x stark!reader who’s got a sassy little attitude and whenever she’s in a mood (which is often) joaquin always messes with her in a cute and flirty way and sam is always scared like “she’s gonna kill you man”

imagine the little “stooopppp quino”

grumpy x sunshine core i love them

Birds Of A Feather

summary: just a glimpse into the very lovey and chaotic relationship of y/n and joaquin!

pairings: Stark!reader x joaquin torres

warnings: mentions of death sprinkled here and there but nothing serious! y/n constantly threatening joaquin LOL, f!reader, i think that's it!

word count: 3.1k

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Joaquin Torres loves his girlfriend. He’d do anything for her—no hesitation, no questions asked, no matter how dramatic or unreasonable. He’s obsessed. Helpless. Completely whipped.

But with that love comes the deep, primal urge to annoy her to the ends of the world and back.

And lucky for him?

 Y/N Stark makes it so, so easy.

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Y/N slid into the passenger seat of Joaquin’s truck with a huff, slamming the door shut and buckling her seatbelt without so much as a glance in his direction.

Joaquin paused, glancing over at her with an amused lift of his brow. “Hello to you too, sunshine.”

He reached over and poked her arm gently, trying to coax even the tiniest smile out of her.

Y/N didn’t move. Just side eyed him and mumbled, “Whatever. Hi.”

Joaquin bit back a grin. Yep. She was in a mood. He’d seen that look before—usually when someone at work had pissed her off, or her tech wasn’t cooperating, or someone had the audacity to ask her a stupid question in the elevator.

Tonight, apparently, he was the one in the line of fire. Unlucky him. Or lucky, depending on how much he wanted to test her.

“You had one of those days, huh?” he asked lightly, starting the engine.

She didn’t answer. Just crossed her arms and turned to face the window with a sigh.

Joaquin glanced over, still smiling. “Aww, come on. Give me some sugar, sugar.”

He leaned over to kiss her, one arm snaking toward her shoulder to pull her in.

Y/N jerked away instantly, twisting her body toward the door like she was about to open it and jump out mid drive. “I’m so overstimulated right now, get away from me, Joaquin Torres.”

He blinked, hand still suspended mid air. “Damn. Full name and everything.”

“Do not touch me. I mean it. If one more person tries to breathe in my direction, I’m gonna explode.”

He bit his lip to hide a laugh. “Okay, okay. Hands to myself. Got it.” He settled back into his seat, throwing her a sideways glance. “But just for the record, you’re still really hot when you’re grumpy.”

She sighed again, dramatic and sharp. “I know. It’s exhausting.”

Joaquin chuckled, putting the car into gear and pulling out of the driveway. “Want me to cancel the dinner res and just drive around until you’re slightly less homicidal?”

Y/N tilted her head, considering it. “Maybe. Only if you promise to shut up for five minutes.”

“Deal. But I reserve the right to poke you again when I feel like it.”

“Try it and I’ll bite your finger off.”

He grinned wide. “You flirt so weird.”

Y/N turned slowly to look at him, unimpressed. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Quino.”

He beamed. “You say that like it’s not my entire strategy.”

They’d been driving for ten minutes now, music low, windows cracked just enough to let the evening breeze in. Y/N hadn’t said much, but the tension in her shoulders was slowly easing. Her head leaned against the window, eyes closed, fingers tapping gently against her thigh to the beat of whatever lo-fi playlist Joaquin had put on as a peace offering.

Joaquin glanced over at her at the next red light, content to let her decompress.

Which is exactly when she spoke.

“Wow,” she muttered, voice thick with fake betrayal. “You’re not even gonna hold my hand?”

He blinked. “What?”

She turned to him slowly, eyes narrowed in mock offense. “Did you stop loving me or something?”

Joaquin snorted. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to touch you, you cannibalist.”

“That was ten minutes ago,” she said, wiggling her fingers toward him like bait. “Things have changed. Keep up, Torres.”

“You’re actually insane.”

“And yet, you’re obsessed with me.”

He rolled his eyes but reached across the console anyway, threading their fingers together. She immediately curled into it, squeezing his hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the planet.

He gave her a sideways glance. “So dramatic.”

“Mm. You like it.”

He kissed the back of her hand at the next red light, then refused to let go for the rest of the drive.

They got back to Joaquin’s place a little later, and by then Y/N’s bad mood had mostly fizzled out, leaving her comfortably tired and… just a little clingy. She kicked off her shoes by the front door and flopped face down onto the couch like she was done existing.

Joaquin laughed as he locked the door behind them. “You okay?”

“No,” came the muffled reply from the cushions. “I want chocolate and a heating pad and maybe to be held like a small, misunderstood Victorian orphan.”

He grinned. “So… a regular night in.”

She lifted one hand and flipped him off without lifting her head.

He crouched down and gently brushed her hair from her face. “You’re gonna knock out here like this?”

“Maybe,” she mumbled. “Couch has less betrayal than the world.”

He smiled, leaned in, and without another word, slid one arm under her legs and the other around her back — lifting her in one smooth, practiced motion.

Y/N blinked, startled. “What are you—?”

“Carrying you to bed, princess-style,” he said matter of factly, already heading down the hall. “Can’t let my misunderstood Victorian orphan sleep in the drawing room.”

She buried her face in his neck with a dramatic sigh. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “here you are. In my arms. As foretold.”

“You’re lucky I’m weak.”

“You’re lucky I’m strong.”

She smiled against his skin. “Shut up and tuck me in.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He returned a few minutes later with a heating pad, and a bar of chocolate he had absolutely bought just in case. He laid everything out beside her, then sat next to her and gently coaxed her to roll onto him.

She crawled into his lap like a sleepy cat, settling against his chest with a little sigh as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders.

“See?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “All bark, no bite.”

“I bit you last week,” she mumbled.

“And it was hot.”

She snorted against his chest, letting him stroke her hair as she started to melt into the warmth and quiet.

“…Thanks, Quino,” she said softly after a beat.

He smiled against her forehead. “Always, mi amor.”

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It started innocently. It always started innocently.

They were supposed to be cleaning the kitchen. Keyword: supposed to. Y/N was wiping down the counter. Joaquin was in charge of dishes. Everything was fine. Peaceful, even.

Until he started singing.

Off-key.

Loudly.

And with zero knowledge of the actual lyrics.

“You. Belong. With me—YEAH! You BELONG with meeeeeee,” he howled, doing a little spin with a dirty plate in hand like it was a Grammy.

Y/N froze, rag in hand. “Quino.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“That’s not even the right melody.”

He grinned. “I’m doing the remix.”

“Please don’t.”

But it was already too late. He launched into the next line, doubling the volume and somehow managing to harmonize with nothing.

“She wears short skirts I WEAR T-SHIRTS—”

“STOPPP,” Y/N shrieked, ducking her head into her hoodie, laughing so hard her stomach hurt. “Quinooo, I swear to god—”

He was cackling, absolutely thriving off her chaos, flicking soap bubbles at her now for extra effect.

“Say you like it,” he teased, chasing her around the island with a sponge. “Say I’m talented. Say I’m the people’s pop star.”

“YOU’RE A MENACE.”

She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe, voice cracking as she tried to fight him off with a kitchen towel.

“Stop it,” she gasped, half laughing, half crying now, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie. “I’m gonna pee. I’m gonna pee my pants. I mean it.”

“Better now than in the truck,” Joaquin said cheerfully, dancing around her like he was in a concert crowd. “This is the exclusive living room performance, babe. Be grateful.”

She collapsed onto the floor, breathless and curled in on herself, still giggling uncontrollably. “I’m going to call Sam and tell him what you’re doing to me.”

“Go ahead. He’ll side with me. He likes my performances.”

“HE DOESN’T.”

He knelt down beside her, smug and glowing with victory. “Admit it. You love me more when I’m annoying.”

“I don’t even like you right now.”

“You’re literally crying from laughter.”

“I’m crying because you’re deranged.”

He beamed. “Same thing.”

She flopped dramatically into his lap. “You’re exhausting. My brain is soup. I am soup now.”

He kissed her forehead like he hadn’t just caused a small emotional breakdown.

“I love you, my little soup.”

“Shut up.”

“Say it back.”

“Not until you promise to never sing Taylor Swift again.”

“...what if I said I have a whole playlist queued?”

“I will commit a crime.”

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Sam stepped into the apartment cautiously, already suspicious.

The music was loud. Like, walls shaking, windows rattling loud. And it wasn’t Joaquin’s usual feel good playlist—it was full on metal.  The kind of music that made Sam instinctively squint.

He followed the sound into the living room and found Y/N sitting cross legged on the floor, dressed in sweatpants and an oversized AC/DC shirt, hair wild, eyeliner smudged like she’d either had a long night or a very powerful catnap. She was tinkering with some little device in her lap that looked like an arc reactor, because of course.

Joaquin was in the kitchen, squinting dramatically at the Bluetooth speaker like it had personally offended him.

“She’s been playing this for an hour,” he called out when he noticed Sam.

Y/N didn’t look up. “You can leave. Door’s right there.”

Sam held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just here to borrow the air fryer. Don’t involve me in whatever this is.”

“It’s Iron Maiden,” Y/N said proudly. “It’s culture.”

“It’s a cry for help,” Joaquin muttered, scrolling through his phone. “We could be listening to Bad Bunny right now. We could be thriving.”

Y/N shot him a look over her shoulder. “Touch that speaker and I’ll throw this at you.”

Joaquin grinned. Touched the speaker anyway.

Instantly, the music cut off. Replaced by reggaetón.

Y/N froze. Slowly turned around like a horror movie villain.

“Joaquin.”

“Yes, mi amor?”

“What did I just say?”

“That threats of violence are foreplay?”

Before Sam could even process that, Joaquin darted out of the kitchen, sprinting across the room as Y/N launched a pillow at his head. She stood up in one fluid motion, chasing after him.

“I told you not to!”

He laughed, circling the couch. “I’m enhancing the vibe!”

She chased him halfway around the living room before he doubled back, caught her mid-lunge, and threw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“Joaquin!” she screeched, fists pounding against his back. “PUT ME DOWN.”

“I will,” he said cheerfully, “once you admit my music taste is superior.”

“Never! I don’t even understand what they’re saying!”

Sam stood there frozen, holding the air fryer under one arm like a shield. “She’s gonna kill you, man. Actually kill you. Like, she’s got the Stark sass in her bloodline. You are so dead.”

Joaquin just danced around with her still on his shoulder, shaking his hips to the beat, grinning big.

“This is a normal Tuesday, relax,” he said, spinning with her as she screamed bloody murder and maybe—just maybe—was starting to laugh a little.

“I hate you,” Y/N gasped between giggles.

He smacked a kiss to her thigh. “You’re obsessed with me.”

Sam backed slowly toward the door, still holding the air fryer like it might explode. “I’m leaving. Y’all are unwell.”

Joaquin winked at him. “Tell the world our love is powerful.”

Y/N elbowed him in the back. “Tell the world he’s getting buried in the backyard if he plays 'Moscow Mule' again.”

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Y/N got in a mood when Joaquin didn’t answer her text right away.

So when he finally walked through the door with groceries like a normal person, Y/N was already curled up on the couch in his hoodie looking emotionally unstable.

“You forgot about me,” she said flatly, not even looking up from the blanket she was swaddled in.

Joaquin blinked. “What?”

“You didn’t respond for forty-three minutes,” she said, holding up her phone like it was evidence in a trial. “I timed it.”

“I was driving. For you. To get your snacks.”

She sniffed. “I thought you were dead. Or worse. Ignoring me.”

He set the bags down and walked toward her slowly. “You good?”

“No. I’m feeling very unloved and neglected and fragile.”

“You FaceTimed me from the bathroom while I was still at the store.”

“I was vulnerable.”

He grinned. Oh. Oh. So that’s the game they were playing.

“Mi vida,” he said, kneeling in front of her like she was on her deathbed. “Are you saying I emotionally wounded you by leaving you here for an hour?”

“I don’t know, maybe. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You’re right. I’ve been so cruel.” He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “But if I leave you again… take me out. I won’t survive the guilt.”

Y/N stared at him. “Don’t. Don’t do the soft voice thing. I’m being dramatic. Let me be dramatic.”

“You want me to be distant to fuel the bit? Okay.” He stood up abruptly. “You’re right. Maybe I have been pulling away.”

Her eyes widened. “What.”

“I just think we’ve gotten too close, you know? Too fast. Maybe we need space.”

“JOAQUIN.”

“I’m worried we’re codependent.”

“STOP. TAKE IT BACK.”

He smirked, circling the couch now, fully committing. “Do you think we lost ourselves in each other?”

She launched a throw pillow at his head. “I will cry on purpose.”

“Good. I like it when you cry. Makes me feel needed.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m yours.”

She screamed into the pillow. “This is NOT how ragebait is supposed to go!”

“You tried to ragebait the ragebait champion. Know your place, princess.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

He flopped down beside her and tugged her into his lap, arms looping around her.

“You’re obsessed with me,” he whispered.

“I am,” she hissed back. “And I hate that for me.”

“Bet you still want forehead kisses.”

“…Shut up and do it already.”

He kissed her forehead three times in a row, obnoxiously loud.

She groaned. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“And I’m only getting hotter.”

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Y/N had exactly one thing planned for the evening: an uninterrupted candlelit bath. She’d earned it—long day, annoying people. The lights were low, her bath bomb had fizzed and the water was just hot enough to sting a little.

She’d sunk in with a dramatic sigh, bubbles up to her collarbones, a glass of wine perched dangerously close to her phone.

Then, like clockwork, the bathroom door creaked open.

“I swear to god,” she muttered, not even opening her eyes. “Joaquin—”

“Heyyy,” he said cheerfully, already strolling in. “Just checking on my girl. You know. Make sure you’re alive and not drowning in your own princess foam.”

She cracked one eye open to glare at him. “I locked that door.”

He sat down fully on the closed toilet seat, grinning. “I picked it. Don’t be mad. I missed you.”

“You saw me ten minutes ago.”

“And yet—here I am. Suffering without you.”

Y/N groaned and sank lower into the water. “You’re such a pest.”

He leaned forward dramatically, elbows on knees, chin in hand. “Tell me about your day, babe.”

“No.”

“I’m your boyfriend.”

“I didn’t ask for therapy. I asked for silence.”

He dipped a hand into the water and flicked it gently at her arm.

She didn’t even flinch. “Do it again and I’ll drown you.”

He flicked again. “I like my odds.”

She turned her head, giving him an exasperated look. “Are you seriously just gonna sit there the whole time?”

“I can sit in there, if you want,” he offered innocently.

“You are the worst.”

Another splash.

“I swear—Joaquin, I am so close to—”

She paused mid threat and sighed.

“…Are you gonna get in or what?”

Joaquin lit up. “God, I love you.”

He stood and peeled off his clothes in record time, stepping into the tub behind her like he’d been waiting for that moment all day. He slid into place, wrapping his arms around her waist as she shifted forward to make room.

Now she was sitting between his legs, back against his chest, his stupid heartbeat steady and warm against her spine.

For a long moment, they were both quiet. Then:

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” she muttered. “Annoy me until I invited you in just to shut you up?”

He beamed against the side of her face. “You're so easy to break, princess. I was barely getting started.”

She snorted. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m your menace.”

She turned just enough to flick a bubble at his face.

He gasped. “Betrayal. In my bathtub?”

She grabbed the shampoo bottle and shoved it into his hands. “If you’re gonna invade, you’re doing labor. Wash my hair.”

He took it like it was a sacred task. “Gladly. You have the best hair in the world, by the way. It’s so soft and smells so good.”

“Stop talking.”

“But it’s true.”

“Quino.”

“Yes, mi amor?”

“…Scrub.”

He lathered up her hair, fingers surprisingly gentle. Y/N sighed, melting back into him despite herself. He hummed a dumb little tune while massaging her scalp.

Eventually, she opened one eye. “You do know I’m gonna finish this bath alone after this, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, kissing the back of her shoulder. “Just wanted to be annoying enough to get a cuddle in. Mission accomplished.”

She smiled, tiny and smug. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know.”

There was a pause. A long, quiet one.

Then, softly: “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned against her shoulder. “I’m aware.”

“No, like, you drive me insane.”

“Only the best for my princess.”

She groaned, but it was hopeless. Her head tilted slightly, letting it rest against his. “…And I love you so much all the same.”

His arms tightened just a little, his smile stretching even wider. “I know you do.”

“Quino.”

He laughed, kissed the side of her head, then whispered against her temple, voice lower now. “I love you too, cariño. So much.”

She closed her eyes again, finally at peace—surrounded by bubbles, steam, and the most annoyingly perfect human she’d ever known.

And for once, she let him stay in the bath the whole time.

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author's note: my first joaquin imagine ahhhh!! this is so freaking cute i was giggling and kicking my feet writing it. he's so cute i loveee him.

also ugh, when y/n says she doesn't like bad bunny cause she doesn't understand what he's saying hurt my soul cause i'm latina LMAO

i need to write more for him, and lucky for me, i have another quino request that i'll be starting this week!!

[lisssyyu]

Eternity to taste

PAIRINGS: Caitlyn Kiramman x wife!f!reader

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As you may have noticed, I really like to write with an emphasis on psychology (which is funny, because I am a lawyer by profession), so the second part may be (!) the last. In general, I really like writing in this genre, especially about the game Signalis, and maybe I'll even post a couple of fics about this fandom.

WARNING(S): Mention of violence; possession; control; implied manipulation; power imbalance; age difference (!Caitlin 28, !reader 22) ;; mention of pregnancy

wc: 6.3k

parts: 1 ;; 2 ;; ?

You no longer remembered how the street smelled, how noisy the main square was on holidays. The world that once seemed so alive and close had now dissolved into a fog, like an old photograph faded by time.

You only knew that Caitlyn drank coffee with milk, that on Tuesdays her gloves smelled of cold metal, and on Saturdays of lilacs. You knew that she always asked you to tie her tie, even though she could do it herself.

"I'm not holding you back," she said, stroking your hair like an obedient little animal. "But where will you go? To whom?"

You tried to imagine it. The city, the air, your friends. But if those thoughts had once brought a smile to your face, now your heart tightened into a knot of fear. The world had become huge and alien, frightening without her.

"They don't understand you," Caitlyn whispered, her voice growing colder and harder with every word. "They always laughed behind your back. I saw it."

You listened to her words in silence, but inside you were feeling something completely different. It was scary, not just because of what Caitlyn was saying, but because somewhere deep inside you, her words were starting to ring true.

Maybe it was true that no one was waiting for you outside the walls of this house. That your friends had long since turned their backs on you. That the world was too cruel to accept you as you were.

You felt more and more strongly how your former self that brave, lively person who once took to the streets with hope and dreams was slowly dissolving. Its place was filled with a cold, empty fear of being alone, of forgetting yourself and losing everything that was even remotely important.

Caitlyn was the one who never leaves, who harshly but unwaveringly keeps you on this precarious edge. There is no room for doubt in her voice, which means that your desire to argue with the reality she creates begins to die. You cling to her words like a lifeline, because who else but her will be there when everything falls apart?

You no longer want to resist, because resistance means being completely alone. And being alone means disappearing.

And now you are her little two. The one who belongs to her, who lives in her shadow and breathes to her rhythm. And even if a faint glimmer of your former self remains deep in your soul, it drowns in this incessant whisper:

"Only I need you. No one else needs you."

And this has become your eternal prayer.

"What's that?"

You looked down at your lap. There lay a book you had found by chance while cleaning. The house was getting colder and lonelier, especially when Caitlyn left for long shifts. You thought reading would help distract you.

"Just a novel," you whispered, feeling your voice tremble. "I got bored."

She approached, and there was no anger in her gaze, only weary cruelty, as if you had once again failed to meet her expectations.

"Are you bored with me?"

Your breath caught, the words slipping out in a mistake you would pay dearly for. Caitlyn stood almost close enough to touch, her cold presence squeezing you like a steel grip.

"I'm leaving for twelve hours. I kill for order. And you… are you bored here?"

You wanted to crawl back, but the back of the sofa behind you prevented you from doing so.

"I'm sorry," you breathed, already knowing it would lead nowhere.

"You're always apologizing. You know who else apologizes? Weaklings."

She grabbed the book with the force of someone tearing off a bandage, without pity, and threw it against the wall so that the pages scattered like feathers.

"I feed you, clothe you, keep you warm, while outside people are killing each other for crumbs of bread. I pulled you out of that filth, out of that city where you would have died at the first intersection if it weren't for me."

She leaned toward you and grabbed your chin sharply, forcing you to look up.

"And you really think you have the right to be bored?"

You wanted to argue, to say, "I was just reading," but your mouth was dry and the words stuck in your throat.

"Look at yourself," she hissed in your face. "Pathetic, scared, shaking like a rabbit. Do you really believe that anyone but me cares about you?"

You shook your head.

"That's a good girl," she said, as if it were a reward.

Caitlyn kissed you on the temple almost tenderly, but that kiss concealed the same power that had recently torn your soul apart.

"I love you, you know that," her voice became quieter and lost its former sharpness, "but when you disappoint me… I can't control my anger."

Over time, fear and anxiety began to recede, but not disappear. Rather, they hid somewhere deep inside, like animals huddled in a warm burrow.

In their place, habit took hold. The day consisted of repetitive gestures: the creak of the front door lock at exactly seven in the evening; the muffled rustle of a coat; heavy breathing before Caitlyn shook the city cold off her shoulders. You met her at the doorframe with an almost smile.

The skin of your palms remembered the roughness of wet fabric, shoulders, a tiny tremor under a uniform that smelled of gun oil. She let you help her, let you take off her gloves, touched your cheek with her fingers as a sign of her presence. And in that moment, the house became the center of the world, the only safe island amid the strange, wind-swept streets.

You learned to read her pauses. If her footsteps were heavy, you poured strong tea; if they glided almost silently, you made a decoction of oregano and mint.

Those evenings flowed smoothly, almost sleepily. She talked about the patrols in fragments: "two detained," "smuggling at the locks again." You just nodded. With each "yes" and "I understand," a strange calm grew inside you: if the world out there was really that cruel, then here, in the flickering circle of the lamp, you were on the right side of the glass.

The warmth from the lamp faded as you finally sat down to dinner. The dark oak table, the blanket on your shoulders, not a sound from the neighboring rooms. Caitlyn ate slowly, as if each movement marked the last breath of the day.

But today something was changing, and you sensed it before you heard it.

Caitlyn put down her fork and turned her palm toward you. There was so much confidence in this movement that the air around you immediately became denser.

You didn't know the words yet, but you could already feel their weight.

Seconds dragged on as a dull, muffled bell rang in your head. And when she spoke, the words fell into the silence without a splash, but the water beneath them cracked.

She wants a child.

The sound of these three words, barely whispered, was louder than any command. The world around her shifted, as if the house had suddenly tilted and the walls had cracked.

Your "no" didn't even have time to take shape. It was just a fleeting spark before it was extinguished in the darkness of her unshakable will. Inside, under her ribs, an invisible bird fluttered, but the cry stuck in her throat: a flat fear of returning to what had been before, to the cold streets, to the loneliness that had long since become more frightening than any loss.

You felt your hands trembling, even though they were resting on your knees, hidden under the fabric of your skirt. Images flashed through your mind: a child's cry, a small hand, the warm smell of milk, but next to them, in the same frame, stood her, tall, inevitable, with the same gaze that holds your world together.

You weren't ready. The word drifted away from your consciousness like a boat from a pier, farther and farther, until it turned into a tiny dot. And the tighter you hugged that dot, the more clearly you felt it melting away.

She rose from the table and leaned close to your ear. The tenderness of her breath burned your skin more intensely than a scream.

The stability you had grown so accustomed to cracked, and the crack spread across the walls of the house, across the edges of your heart, across the secret boundary where you end and her will begins. But the voice inside fell silent again: if ruins are the price of her love, then you will let the walls fall.

[imsogonesposts]

Starcourt Aftermath

|| ao3 || steve masterlist || requests are open!! ||

summary: Steve doesn't think anyone will come pick him up after the Starcourt mall fire, but you're there to take care of him and take him home. (wc: 1111)

warnings: mentions of steve's bad parents + everything he went through in s3

Steve hadn’t really expected anyone to come pick him up. He figured he’d either have to walk home, or ask Joyce, Nancy, or Robin for a ride home, after all, his parents couldn’t even bother to pick up the phone after the ambulance had tried them four times to tell them Steve had been involved in a fire at the mall. It was too late for him to ask the paramedics to call you without him feeling guilty that he would be waking you and your family up at this hour. So when the paramedics asked if there was anyone else they could reach, he shook his head no and said he’d get a ride home with one of his friends. He could only hope someone found his damn car keys before he started asking around for a ride home. Maybe the walk wouldn’t be so bad, though Steve didn’t know if he could handle that cold walk home, alone after everything he and Robin had endured. The needles, the drugs, the beating, he felt like he was going to be sick. 

“There you are!” He heard you exclaim from his side. Steve could only blink repeatedly, half expecting you to be a figment of his imagination, proof that the drugs never fully left his body yet. But no, you were there, standing in front of him before pulling him into a tight hug, one he easily reciprocated– he hadn’t realized just how badly he needed the hug, needed someone who made him feel safe and loved to hold him in their arms. 

“It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing here?” He quietly asked, words mumbled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see you, to be in your arms, to feel your skin against his. 

You pulled away from the hug just enough to look at him, your eyes trailing over his face taking note of every cut and bruise that was there. “My mom was watching the news and they said the mall caught on fire. She told me, so I came here to check on you cause I knew you were working today. Are you okay?”

Steve felt like he could melt on the spot from your words. It shouldn’t be completely mind-boggling that his girlfriend would care about him enough to drive to the mall and ensure he was okay from the fire, but he regularly found himself falling in love with you all over again anytime you did the smallest things for him. Anytime you so much as hugged him, kissed him, even held his hand, Steve felt like his heart would burst out of his chest. 

“Yeah, honey,” he said softly, cupping your face with one hand as he moved to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he pauses, “okay-ish.”

“What happened to you?” You ask, gesturing to his black eye as you lean into his touch. 

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he promised, “I’d rather not think about that right now.”

You nodded your head yes before glancing around your surroundings, taking note of everyone that was affected by the mall fire. “Are your parents in town?” You asked, noticing their absence in the crowd. Despite dating Steve for almost a year now, you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve seen his parents due to their frequent business trips. 

He shook his head no, “business trip,” he muttered. Of course.

“Do you want to spend the night at my place then?” You ask, taking Steve’s free hand in yours as you begin to lead him to your car. 

He shook his head no again, something he probably shouldn’t be doing so much as it was only adding to the growing headache that was beginning to form between his temples. “No, no, I wouldn’t want to impose, sweetheart,” he replied as he seated himself in the car. 

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” you tell him, starting the car and pulling out of the mall parking lot, already on the route to your home, “I want to be with you right now, anyways.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a smile. 

“Yeah,” you quietly reply. “I was worried I was gonna get here and you wouldn’t be okay… I kinda need to be with you right now,” you tell him, eyes never leaving the road.

Steve feels his heart warm at that as he places a hand on your thigh, “I’m okay, baby,” he softly tells you. 

You nod noncommittally, continuing the drive to your house in silence, with the exception of the radio softly buzzing in the background. 

A five-minute drive later, you’re helping Steve up the stairs of your house and into your bedroom, setting aside a pair of clothes for him to change into. 

“You sure the paramedics cleaned your face up?” You ask as Steve begins to change into the sweatpants and hoodie you set out for him, the very same hoodie and sweatpants he had thought he somehow lost. 

“Yeah, I know what the paramedics did to me, babe,” he says, voice slightly muffled by the hoodie as he puts it on. 

You nod, already under your bed’s sheets, waiting for him to join you. “Just making sure.”

Steve smiles, moving to give you a quick, soft kiss as he tells you, “and I appreciate it, baby. Really. But you don’t need to worry so much, okay?”

You want to tell him how you have every right to worry, how you hadn’t heard from Steve since the day prior, and that when you heard about the mall fire you swore you felt your heart stop for the briefest of seconds, how when you saw him sitting alone with his face battered and bruised, you didn’t know whether to cry tears of joy or sadness. Joy for him being alive, or sadness for him looking as if he had barely escaped with his life. 

Instead, you nod your head yes, telling him a soft “okay,” as he kisses your forehead, getting under the covers next to you, arm already draped over your waist as he pulls you closer to him. Almost as if he knew how badly you needed to be in his arms after the scare. Or maybe he needed to feel you in his arms just as badly as you did. 

“Is it fine if I leave the lights on?” Steve softly asks. 

You nod your head yes, “course it is, baby.”

He smiles at your response, whispering a small “thank you,” as he somehow pulls your body even closer to his. 

[midtalissa]

# ‘THROUGH YOUR GLASSES’

-> Summary: After Bruce accidentally reveals Clark’s secret, your relationship falls apart—but when danger finds you, Clark shows up, and maybe… so does a second chance.

-> Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader

-> WARNINGS: lowkey nothing super heavy besides heartbreak and late-night creeps; but in theory nothing again🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

Clark smiled softly, pointing at a bouquet of your favorite flowers. “That one, please.”

The old florist handed them over with a knowing grin. But Clark barely noticed— his attention was fixed on the man standing behind him.

“Something wrong, young man?” the lady’s voice cut through the now thick tension. “No, I’ll get going ma’am. Have a nice day.” he payed for the flowers.

Clark lowered the flowers, jaw tightening. “Need something, Bruce?” he stared at the billionaire. “I can help you.”

“You’ve done enough.” “If it’s about money—”

“I can manage,” Clark snapped. “And even if I couldn’t, I wouldn’t ask you.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Bruce shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, like a sulking kid who broke the neighbor’s window.

“She didn’t have to know.” Clark rubbed the bridge of his nose, as he turned to him fully now, his look sharp enough to cut steel. “And well… she knows now.”

“I called her. I tried to explain—” Bruce began speaking, but Clark shut him down. He wasn’t that mad at Bruce. Except that he lost you.

“Don’t.” Clark’s voice dropped low, dangerous. “Stay away from her. Stay away from me.”

And with that, Clark walked away— flowers in hand, heart in pieces. Oh, what happened? Well…

Once upon a time, there were two lovebirds: You and Clark Kent.

You were a ray of sunshine— until the topic of superheroes came up. You hated them. The capes, the collateral damage, the hypocrisy.

And Clark? Well… Clark was Superman.

But you didn’t know that part. Not until Bruce Wayne— in a fit of bad timing and worse judgment— let it slip during a stupid, ego-driven argument with Clark about justice and accountability.

One wrong sentence. One second of Bruce not keeping his mouth shut. That’s all it took. You were livid. Furious. Heartbroken. And now?

Now Clark was standing at your door with a bouquet and a face full of regret.

He knocked twice. Through the peephole, he saw you hesitate. Cross your arms. Uncross them. Sigh. And then the door creaked open… just barely.

“What?” Your eyes flicked down to the flowers. “I told you to leave me alone.” Before you could close it again, Clark slid his foot against the frame and pushed the door open wider.

You didn’t fight it. “These are for you,” he said quietly, holding the bouquet out like it was some kind of white flag. “And… let me just say… it’s all a misunderstanding. I’m not—”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Your voice cracked, but you held your ground. “There’s nothing left to say. I just needed someone to say it out loud so I could finally see through your dumb glasses. You’re him, Clark. Period.”

You grabbed the flowers anyway. Stupid muscle memory. Stupid lingering feelings. Clark stood there, awkward and heavy in your doorway, until finally…

“Can I come in?” he asked, voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Just… one last time?” You stepped aside without a word.

Clark moved toward the couch, taking it all in. His eyeglasses cloth still draped over the armrest. Pictures of the two of you smiling, framed and untouched. His jacket on the hook by the door like he’d be back any second.

“I’m assuming you’re here to grab your crap?” you said flatly, sticking the flowers in a vase without looking at him. “Didn’t touch any of it. Figured it’d be easier for you to pack and leave faster. Superman should be able to do it in… what… two minutes?”

Clark smiled bitterly. “Two minutes is generous. But Flash would do it quicker.”

You plopped down in the recliner, crossing your legs. “Then maybe you and your vigilante buddies can have a race. See who can pack their shit the fastest from their ex’s apartment.”

The room fell quiet.

Clark glanced at the clock. Time was slipping. He had to be at City Hall in half an hour. With a heavy sigh, he stood up, gathering a few small things but leaving most behind.

“You don’t have to—“ “I know.” He cut you off gently. “But I should.” And then… he left.

That night you shouldn’t have walked home alone. Not this late. Not down this side street where the streetlights flickered and died like some horror movie cliché.

The three guys following you were making no effort to hide it anymore. Their footsteps picked up. Your heart did the same.

You pulled out your phone with shaky hands, but no signal. Of course. You turned a corner— dead end. Panic clawed up your throat.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them jeered, stepping closer. You opened your mouth to scream and suddenly, a loud gust of wind slammed through the alley.

The air shifted. The temperature dropped. And when you blinked, they were gone. Scattered like leaves in a storm.

In their place… stood him. Red cape. Broad shoulders. Chest heaving like he’d flown here faster than thought itself. Superman. Clark. Your Clark.

He looked terrified. Like he’d been more scared of losing you than fighting them. “You okay?” he breathed, stepping toward you carefully, like you’d break if he moved too fast.

You nodded slowly, throat tight, tears pricking your eyes. “Stupid question,” he muttered, reaching out, but hesitating— waiting for you to close the distance. And you did.

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around him. Tight. Like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

He buried his face in your hair, holding you like you were oxygen. “I still hate superheroes,” you mumbled against his chest.

“That’s fine,” he whispered back, kissing the top of your head. “I’m just… really glad you don’t hate me.”

[vaginalvr]

ok so the reader is in LOVE with spencer and everyone knows it but spencer rejects her in the harshest way possible but later gets jealous and realises his feelings when he sees reader with another guy. it can end with smut ( wink, wink 😉 ).

content warning: Oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal sex, light roughness (wall/table sex, harder thrusting), explicit language and descriptions.

a/n: i really tried to branch out with my writing style to make it a little, idek intellectually challanging to read???? also did you notice that my intro isn't colorful anymore? lmk

word count ~ 1.4k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

The worst part wasn’t that Spencer Reid rejected you.

It was how he did it.

You stood in the BAU breakroom with your heart clutched in your throat, your hands trembling slightly as you offered him the carefully folded note you’d debated giving him for weeks. It wasn’t a dramatic confession—just a quiet, simple truth written on paper because the words stuck in your throat every time you looked into those kind, analytical eyes.

He read it in three seconds flat. Blinked once. Then said, without even looking up, “You shouldn’t waste your time on people who don’t feel the same.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The words crushed you like glass underfoot—cold, sharp, and cutting deeper with every breath you tried to take.

You didn’t cry. Not then.

But the next morning, you came in smiling like it hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t spent the entire night replaying his words until they etched themselves into your bones. You were fine. You kept telling yourself that until it started to feel almost believable.

Almost.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the team to notice.

Morgan softened around you. JJ gave you too many meaningful looks. Penelope pulled you into her office for long, rambling pep talks about self-worth and soulmates.

Even Hotch said your name more gently than usual.

But Spencer? He acted like nothing had changed. And that somehow made everything worse.

So, you moved on.

Or pretended to.

The guy from counter-terrorism—Eli—was easy on the eyes, charming in that cocky, I-bet-he’s-great-in-bed way. You let him flirt with you in the hallway. You laughed a little too loudly at his jokes. And one Friday after work, you let him take you out for drinks.

You didn’t expect Spencer to care.

You certainly didn’t expect him to glare across the bar like he wanted to kill Eli with his mind.

But that’s exactly what happened.

It was a BAU outing, and you were perched at the bar, Eli’s hand casually resting on your lower back as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. You laughed—because you were trying, trying to feel anything but the ache Spencer had left behind—and when you turned to look at him, Spencer was staring at you with eyes that had gone dark and unreadable.

He was furious.

You blinked, startled, but he looked away as quickly as he’d looked at you. You pretended not to notice when he left early.

He didn’t speak to you for days.

You thought maybe you’d finally crossed some invisible line. That whatever bridge remained between you had burned to ash.

Then, on a late Thursday night, you found yourself working alone in the briefing room, flipping through profiles in a haze of exhaustion. The lights were dim, your coffee had gone cold, and your legs ached from sitting in the same position for hours.

You didn’t even hear the door open.

“Why him?” Spencer’s voice broke the quiet like a crack of thunder.

You looked up, startled. He stood in the doorway, his hair slightly disheveled, his tie loose, his chest rising and falling too quickly for someone who supposedly didn’t care.

“Why him, of all people?” he repeated, stepping closer.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Spencer’s jaw clenched. “Eli. The guy from counter-terrorism. You let him touch you like you don’t know who’s watching.”

Your breath caught.

Something flickered in his eyes. Anger. Possession. Regret.

“You said I shouldn’t waste my time,” you said flatly, heart thudding. “I listened.”

“That was a mistake.”

You froze.

Spencer took another step forward, voice low and raw. “I thought I was protecting you. From me. From what it would mean if I said yes. But then I saw him touching you and—” He exhaled sharply. “And I wanted to rip his fucking hand off.”

The silence that followed was like a string pulled taut between you.

“I’m in love with you,” you said quietly, not flinching this time. “Even after what you said. I’m still in love with you.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Not when he crossed the room in three long strides, not when he cupped your face with trembling hands, not when he kissed you like he was drowning in everything he’d tried to deny.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was desperate.

You gasped into his mouth as he backed you against the wall, lips fierce and unforgiving, hands sliding down your body with shaking restraint.

“You don’t get to do this,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you were tugging at his shirt, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to break me and then decide you want me.”

“I know,” he breathed against your jaw. “I know. I’m sorry. Let me—please—let me make it right.”

His mouth trailed to your throat, then lower, unbuttoning your blouse with fevered urgency. You weren’t even sure how your skirt ended up bunched around your hips, or when he dropped to his knees in front of you, his breath hot against the inside of your thigh.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, reverent, almost pained. “You always have been.”

Then his mouth was on you, and all thoughts of heartbreak scattered like dust.

You braced against the wall, fingers tangled in his hair, hips twitching forward as his tongue circled your clit with maddening precision. You cried out his name—once, twice—until he groaned against you and slid two fingers inside, curling them just right.

“Spencer,” you whimpered. “I’m gonna—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t want to. He worked you through it, licking and stroking until your legs were shaking and your mind was blank with pleasure.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was already standing, already unbuckling his belt with a heat in his gaze that made your breath catch.

“I need you,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me I can have you.”

You nodded, dazed, and he spun you around, bending you over the conference table like he couldn’t wait another second.

When he slid inside, you both gasped—his hands gripping your hips, your cheek pressed to the cool wood, the stretch of him grounding you in the best way.

“You feel—fuck—so good,” he groaned, thrusting deep.

You arched into him, pushing back. “Harder.”

He obeyed, fucking you with growing intensity, the sounds of skin meeting skin filling the dark room. One hand wrapped around your waist, the other slid between your thighs to circle your clit again. It was too much. It was perfect.

You came again with a broken moan, and he followed seconds later, spilling inside you with a harsh gasp, his body collapsing over yours.

For a long moment, you just breathed.

Then, softly, his lips brushed your shoulder.

“I love you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’ve always loved you.”

You turned your head, met his eyes. “You’re damn lucky I still want to hear that.”

A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

[rainandsentences]

The space between

a Luca x f!reader

synopsis: You don't understand your constant anger, you don't let anyone approach but somehow you could see how people notice, how he notices.

rating: 16+

word count: 1.3 k

warnings: mention of implied past sexual abuse

a/n: this is the first part of three that i have planned. i understand somehow the pain that comes with locking traumas, specially such as grooming and sexual abuse. i want to express how the topic can affect on the victim even years later, i know each individual is different and each of us deal with it in also different ways. i want to comfort myself and also others that unfortunately might relate with it.

you're so strong, don't forget it. ❤️‍🩹

——————————————————————————

Most of the time you weren’t trying to get the attention. You were always the quiet girl that sat on the corner. So, most of your life was focused on being the best at whatever you did. That was your way of standing out, to be noticeable. That brought you there, one of the best restaurants of high quality in all of Copenhagen.

You’re not mean.

But most people wouldn’t believe that.

They think you are — sharp-tongued, stiff-backed, untouchable. Firm and always giving the orders as you should.

You’re not trying to change their perspective either. It’s easier, in some messed-up way, to be seen as cold than to be seen as scared. Because scared invites questions. And you’ve spent years building your silence like a shelter. It’s ugly, maybe. But it’s safe.

Mostly.

So, when you were transferred to another restaurant and met your coworkers you couldn’t help but notice the tall blonde man with arms covered in tattoos.

After you find out that his name was Luca and you see him working in the kitchen two nights a week.

 He’s quiet. Keeps to himself. Polite, but not too much. The kind of person who speaks only when needed moves like he’s thinking about something no one else can see.

Your favorite kind of person: the one who doesn't ask for anything.

It’s the third or fourth time you end up near him during closing that you start to pick up on the small things.

He wipes down surfaces with method, but not perfection. Doesn’t like wasting time on pointless steps. Don’t look over your shoulder. Doesn’t interrupt.

He doesn’t touch people, either.

He’ll pass a container to someone without making contact. Stand just a little further back than everyone else. Not in a way that draws attention. Just… aware. Careful.

You notice. But you don’t say anything.

He doesn’t either.

Which is maybe the first thing you like about him.

Weeks pass like that. Easy, distant rhythm. The kind of neutral space that doesn’t ask you to be more than what you are. You don’t think he’s watching you — not like that. But he notices things. You can tell.

You drop a tray once. Reflexive flinch. He doesn’t comment.

Another time, someone at the bar gets too handsy with one of the waitresses. You freeze, can’t stop watching. He watches too — but not with interest. With concern. Quiet, unreadable.

Then he’s gone for two weeks.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

But when he shows up again, something in you exhales.

You hate that. Why him? Ew.

The day he returned to the restaurant was quiet. His polite salute to everyone when he arrived made you look at him. He nodded easily and kept his gaze at his work.

Clearly you tried not to gaze at him, but that day was full of interactions between you and him. “The flour” or “Hand me the stir.”

After the shift, there were just the two of you.

“Thought you left,” you say, first words you’ve spoken to him directly.

He shrugs; eyes focused as he put his coat on. “Just went back to Chicago for a bit. Had to check in.”

You nod, even though you didn’t ask for details.

He doesn’t offer them.

Another reason you like him.

The first shift after that is normal. Or as normal as things get for you.

The kitchen’s loud. Someone blasts music. You keep your head down, do your part, stay out of the way. But the air is tight today. Your chest is already aching from tension you didn’t know you were carrying.

And then someone — one of the newer guys, trying too hard to be funny — throws a towel.

It hits your shoulder.

Not hard. Not even meant for you, maybe. But you freeze anyway. You feel inexplicable anger.

Your hands are numb. Stomach drops. You feel heat behind your eyes.

You hear laughter. Not cruel — just unaware. And as you wanted to burst for something so simple as that you hear: “Hey. Not cool.”

Luca’s voice.

Quiet, low, calm. But firm.

The laughter stopped.

You don’t look at him. Can’t.

But your hands stop shaking. And you sigh softly.

Later, after closing, you’re wiping down the stainless steel by the sink when he approaches. Not close. Just near enough that you can feel his presence shift the air.

“You okay?”

You could lie. Say yes. Say you didn’t even notice.

Instead you say, “Yeah. Just hate surprises.”

He nods like he understands. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t say you’re overreacting.

Just nods, and says, “Me too.”

And you don’t become friends. Not really. You just… exist near each other. You talk a little more. Exchange dry observations. Share long silences that don’t ask to be filled.

It’s nothing. And it’s everything.

Because for once, someone doesn’t make you feel wrong for being how you are.

One night, it gets quiet.

Too quiet.

You’re locking up alone. Everyone else has gone. You thought Luca left too.

But then you see him — in the back alley, smoking something slowly. Leaning against the wall, staring up at the sky like he’s trying to memorize the darkness.

You pause.

He glances over, lifts his chin in a silent greeting.

You hesitate, then walk over — stopping a good few feet away.

He doesn’t move.

You stand there, silent, unsure why you came.

“I thought you had left.” he says suddenly.

“No, I needed to check out some things for tomorrow.”

He nods.

“I leave tomorrow to Boston again.”

Now you nod.

“I was wandering if you want to dinner with me when I come back.” He says confident and now looking at you.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“You need something? I mean, we can talk if you do.”

He looks clearly confused.

“No, I don’t need anything. I just want to dine with you.”

You swallow.

“Right.” She says sarcastic. “Just say that you want to fuck me, that’s it.”

He finally straightened, his eyes locked on her, completely wide.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He says firmly.

You look away.

“I mean…”

He sighs and turns his cigarette off.

“Goodnight.” He mumbles as he walks away.

You close your eyes and scoff in anger as you leave too.

Why did you say that?

That night you had the same dream, unwanted hands, the tears, the physical ache, the secret you were forced to keep over the years. The pain you learned to live with and the anger that it caused you. 

Because you never asked for it, you were a child, and he was supposed to take care of you.

So, you learned that it was all they wanted from you, and you coped with it, you learned to use it at your favor, but you despised it. You despised yourself for that.

When he came back, you didn’t speak to him. He didn’t either.  And you weren’t going to be the one to fold first, not against him. And even if it wasn’t a competition, you felt like it.

He kept his politeness, and you kept your indifference.

The next shift, someone pats your back in passing.

You flinch. It’s quick, involuntary. You look at the guy as you hear a scoff. “Jesus, Relax.”

You’re ready to snap. Already pulling words like weapons from your throat.

But Luca’s voice cuts through first. “Mate, it’s simple, just don’t touch her.”

The room stills.

You blink, stunned.

He doesn’t look angry. Just… firm. Protective, without being loud.

The guy mutters something and walks off.  You frown silently and look at him.

Luca doesn’t look at you. Just keep working.

And somehow that’s worse. And better. You don’t know how to thank him. So, you don’t.

He noticed how much you didn’t want to be touched, and you thought about it in your room at night.

You wonder if you had to apologize, if you should call him… No, you don’t even have his phone number and what for? 

But you think about his voice. The way it didn’t waver.  You press your forehead to your knees and breathe.

Maybe, just maybe, you could finally dine with him.

[lem0nt1ddy]

How does Mr. Ring A Ding/Lux handle jealousy?

Mr. Ring A Ding bleeds confidence—self-assured to a fault, almost radiant in the way he carries himself. He doesn’t question his worth, and he certainly doesn’t question yours. Reminder: you both have a close relationship and he trusts you to maintain faithfulness (along with his own).

If someone dares to throw flirtatious glances his way, he brushes it off without a second thought. It's not ego-boosting, it leads to a quick decline with no hesitation. If it's not from you, he doesn't care. The only person he sees as his is you.

Is someone hitting on you or showing interest in front of him? How he reacts is based on how you respond. Mr. Ring A Ding keeps his eyes on you-- your facial expressions, body language, your vocal cues.

Are you visibly uncomfortable and they can't take no for an answer? Are you leaning away? Struggling to escape the conversation? Looking for him? Yeah, no, he'll shut that shit down and will defend you straightaway with no apologies. Feelings are not what he's thinking about-- it's your safety. Because, in his eyes, you're not just his partner. You're his entire world.

"Listen, pal,” he says, low but thick with warning. "You're obviously not getting it. They're already taken, so go ahead and buzz off already."

But if they try to flirt with you and you flirt back?

He's offended honestly-- it's like he got slapped in the face. You? Flirting with someone else? Like, wow! Look at you, batting those pretty eyelashes at someone who isn't him.

Behind the smooth, charismatic Mr. Ring A Ding facade, there is something more volatile simmering-- Lux. He's red-hot and dangerously reactive. His pride takes a hit, but more than that, it burns. This isn't just jealousy anymore. It's an insult.

Forget playing nice. It's a sign to play dirty all he wants.

His tone may still be charming, sure—sweet like saccharine, even—but now it carries a noxious undertone.

“Oh? That little performance back there—was that for me, darling, or are we passing out affections like party favors now?”

His eyes practically glow with something wild.

“Cute. Real cute,” he’ll purr, but his voice has a sharp bite. “But I don’t share. So unless you’re looking to be vaporized by my mood, I’d suggest finding a new conversation partner.”

And when you’re alone again?

____________________________________________________

"What was that?"

His voice cracked through the silence like thunder.

"What was what--" You blinked, caught off guard before he interrupted you.

“I said,” he interrupted, stepping forward, "What. was. that?" The final word dripped like venom... he's not kidding this time.

Before you can say anything, he comes closer. There are flames burning from behind his eyes, smoke curling around them. You could practically see the heat shimmering in his pupils... and he's pissed.

"You knew exactly what you were doing." He spat, his lips curling into not a smile-- but something bitter. "Flashing that little smile. Laughing at their jokes. Touching their arm."

He took a step forward towards you, looming over your small frame-- every inch of his height casting a shadow that enveloped your own.

“Lux—” you tried, but it came out too soft.

"Do you think this is a game?!" He cut you off, voice rising into something unhinged.

"Oh, I'll make it a game alright," His smile spread now—slow, wild, dangerous. “In fact, I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”

Your heart dropped. "Lux, you can't be serious--"

"Don't make me laugh."

"You clearly don't know who you belong to." He leaned in so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the barely-restrained chaos lurking beneath his breath.

“Looks like I’ll have to remind you,” he whispered.

“Like I said… ten seconds." And if you know what's good for you... You'd better run.

____________________________________________________

Just to make it clear, he wouldn't actually injure or trap you. (unless he's a yandere, then he'd confine you where no one can see you ever again.)

He'd "teach you a lesson", though, through either fucking you senselessly, spanking you, making sure you only remember his name... or he'll give you the silent treatment and will feel incredibly hurt by what you did.

His trust isn't something to be toyed with. If it gets to the point where he suspects you of infidelity, or you actively do this behind his back, your relationship will crash and burn... and maybe you will too. As revenge, he'll toss you away or trap you in film and watch you go up in flames.

[catrionaalexandra]

Never Yours, Always Mine

Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (You’re here) (Final).

Warnings: Pregnancy, smut, cream pie, Oral f receiving, swearing, MDNI, 18+ ONLY!, Porn with plot

Part 3 — Yours, Finally

Y/n hadn’t slept.

The apartment still carried the scent of him—a blend of cologne, leather, and something masculine and warm that lingered on the sheets.

The storm outside had passed, leaving behind a soft drizzle, and the warmth of the house fogged the windows gently. She curled up on the couch, knees to her chest, wearing nothing but his t-shirt he had left here a few days prior and a clean pair of panties.

She hadn’t cried since he left over an hour ago; she was too afraid to.

He had said he was leaving Ada, said he would come back.

Leon Kennedy had made a career out of surviving, slipping into shadows and disappearing for months, sometimes years. In their world, promises weren’t always built to last.

When the knock came again—this time soft, as if it didn’t want to wake her if she was asleep—her heart skipped, cracked, and then surged.

She opened the door.

Leon stood there, drenched again, but not from the rain. This time, his hair was dry, and his red-rimmed eyes were clear. His jacket clung to him in the humid night, but his expression was different now—lighter, as if someone had just laid down a weapon they’d carried too long.

“I told her,” he said softly. “It’s over.”

Y/n stared at him, speechless. Her fingers dug into the doorframe, “She didn’t try to stop you?”

“She didn’t need to,” he said, stepping forward slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. “I told her the truth about you and the baby.”

Her hand instinctively went to her stomach.

Leon’s eyes followed, and he exhaled as if he had been holding his breath since he left.

“I didn’t come back to make you a secret again,” he said. “I came back to make you everything.”

Y/n’s throat tightened.

She tried to speak, but he was already pulling her into his arms, holding her as if he would never let go.

His lips met hers—slowly this time, without frenzy. Only heat and truth. His hand slipped beneath her shirt, not to undress her, but to touch her skin and prove she was real.

“I’m yours, Y/n..” Leon whispered against her lips, “No more lies, and no more running.”

Her hands framed his face, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’ve broken enough,” he said. “This one, I’ll keep.”

His mouth crashed onto hers again with weeks of silence, years of guilt, and a night of promises he never thought he’d make.

He kissed her like a dying man pulled from the ocean—starving, grateful, and broken open.

Y/n whimpered into his mouth, her fingers curling in his shirt as he backed her against the wall.

His body pressed flush against hers—hard, warm, and all muscle and need. She felt him between her thighs already, thick and straining in his jeans, grinding against her slowly as their tongues tangled.

“Bedroom,” she gasped between kisses.

“No,” he growled into her mouth, “Right here.”

Leon dropped to his knees, like he had done only hours ago.

He always loved tasting her first, she was his favourite dessert.

His hands slid down her squishy thighs, squeezing the curve of her ass.

He pushed the oversized shirt up and over her hips, then hooked his fingers under her panties and yanked them down. The cool air hit her wetness, and she shivered.

He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, inhaling deeply, “You’re dripping for me.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, breathless.

“Never again.”

Then he buried his face between her legs.

His tongue found her clit instantly, licking slowly and firmly before speeding up and becoming hungry. She cried out, arching off the wall and gripping his hair with both hands. His stubble scraped her skin, and his tongue flicked and circled before pressing lower, dragging up through her folds and drinking her in like a glass of fresh lemon water.

“Leon—fuck—don’t stop—” Her legs trembled as she came against his mouth, her thighs tightening around his head. He moaned into her, licking and lapping her through it, then kissing the soft skin of her belly as she gasped for air.

He stood, lips wet with her orgasm, eyes blazing.

“Turn around,” he growled.

She obeyed instantly, pressing her hands flat against the wall. He grabbed her hips, pulled her back toward him, and dragged his thick, already leaking cock out. He rubbed the head against her slit, teasing her entrance, and groaned as her wetness coated him.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered, then thrusted inside her with a sharp grunt.

Y/n moaned, her forehead hitting the wall as she frantically searched for purchase. He filled her completely, stretching her in a deep, punishing stroke.

“God, you feel fucking like heaven,” he growled, slamming his hips into her.

His rhythm was rough and relentless, the slap of skin against skin filling the apartment. Her moans echoed off the walls. He held her by the waist, then slid one hand under to grab her breast, squeezing and teasing the nipple until she sobbed his name.

Y/n pushed back into him, meeting every thrust, her ass bouncing against his thighs.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, biting her shoulder. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she moaned. “I’ve always been yours.”

He slowed, pulled out, and turned her to face him. He effortlessly lifted her and carried her to the couch, laying her down and spreading her legs wide.

Leon knelt between them and slid his cock back into her, deeper and slower, yet still intense.

He watched her face as her mouth dropped open and her tits bounced with every stroke. He leaned down, kissed her, and then kissed her stomach.

His fingers traced over her skin reverently.

“Our baby’s in there,” he whispered, “Fuck, Y/n.”

She cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss that gradually slowed and softened. He thrust deep and slow, grinding his hips against her clit, whispering words between shallowed breaths.

“I love you…”

“I’m never leaving again…”

“You’re everything…”

She came again, but soon after he did too.

Together, their bodies slick, legs trembling, mouths tangled in one long, broken kiss.

Afterward, Leon stayed on top of her, his weight comforting and grounding. He kissed her again—gentler this time. Then, he moved down, resting his cheek against her stomach and wrapping his arms around her hips like a man anchoring himself.

Y/n ran her fingers through his hair.

Neither of them spoke for a while, they didn’t need to.

For the first time in a long time, Leon didn’t feel like he was running from something.

He was home.

Really home.

<- Previous Part

[dakusan]

📁 ASK DUMP 𓆩🩸𓆪 26 JUNE 2025

HELLOOOO EVERYONE yes yes I KNOW I missed Wreck Me Wednesday, yes I rage-deleted my Sims 4 CC folder out of spite, yes I spiralled over grey sweatpants and forgot to drink water BUT!!! I return bearing GIFTS. This is the official feral ask flood and all of you being absolute MENACES in the best way.

You sent asks. I short-circuited. Now we suffer together.

Let’s rot. 🩸🖤✨

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👻 ANON LOGGED: "What if someone went for Chan’s blood doll instead—lies, forged receipts, fake scandals, until she breaks and pulls away from him?"

OH 👻 ANON YOU MONSTER. you broke channie's doll. you wounded the empire boy. you planted a lie in a palace of blood and now the whole thing is cracking.

but fine. let’s answer. sharp pain first, then the sugar—just how Chan likes it.

⸺⟡⸺

Chan doesn’t flinch at threats. He’s had fangs to his throat before. He built this empire from ashes and rage, and he’s watched men far bigger than you crawl. But they didn’t go for the king. They went for the girl in silk sheets and stolen glances. They went for the soft thing he keeps in his arms like a rosary.

The threats? He handed them to Changbin with a yawn.

The letters? Had Minho do a scent check. All dead ends. He figured they gave up.

But then… You flinch when he touches you. You stop calling him “my sun” and starts asking for space. You won’t look him in the eye when he drinks from you.

He doesn’t understand at first. He assumes it’s stress. Overwork. Hormonal instability.

Until he finds the manila envelope under your pillow. Photos. Screenshots. Lies, doctored messages, faked receipts, twisted stories. Actors claiming to be former dolls. Accusations of cruelty. Of abandonment. Of “burning them out.”

All false. But just true enough to hurt you.

You stop sleeping in his bed. You start crying after feeding. You ask for termination papers.

Not because you hate him. But because you think you've been protecting a monster. Because you can't tell what's true anymore. And because you think if he ever really loved you, he'll let you go.

Chan is powerful. Commanding. Unshakable. But he is not cruel, hurt yes, but not cruel. So he says nothing. Just nods. Folds his hands. And says: “If that’s what you want, you’re free. You always were.”

But dolls don’t thrive without their keepers. And soul-bonded ones? They wither.

You lose color. Stop eating. Wake up cold and aching with phantom pressure where his hand used to rest. And then the truth surfaces.

The actors get sloppy. The scheme leaks. Minho finds one. Changbin traces the wire. Jisung decrypts the audio.

You hear it. All of it.

One night, you're standing outside Luke Health. No pass. No warning. Just eyes rimmed red and fingers trembling. He sensed you here, so of course he walks out to find you already crying. Falling to your knees. Not for forgiveness — but because the bond hurts too much. Being apart ripped you open.

And Chan? He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just kneels with you. Takes your hands. Kisses each wrist.

“You never needed to beg. You were always mine. And I was always yours.”

You are being guided inside, to his office, where he pulls you into his lap and tells you the truth. Everything. Lets you cry until your sobs go silent.

And when you finally, finally, move back in with him. Share the same bed again. Sleep together, Chan's arm stays wrapped around your waist, firm, just to be sure you're not leaving him again. Not ever again.

⸺⟡⸺

now go apologize to channie for hurting him 💋🦇

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🧊 ANON LOGGED: "What happens if an asexual soulmate tries to bond with vampire!SKZ, even though PIV is off the table?"

Hi my darling,

First off — thank you so much for the ask, and I want to offer a gentle apology in advance. This answer might not be what you hoped for, but I want to be honest and respectful with you, always.

Sadly, it won’t work. And that’s okay. Not every universe is built for every body.

This isn't a "representation fail" thing. This is a biological incompatibility in a feral, bloodborn system where intimacy = sustenance = survival = anchoring = sex. Not because vampires are horny for the hell of it (though… they absolutely are), but because Abnormal biology requires a deep, carnal, penetrative ritual to:

seal bonds,

regulate magical overload,

and safely transfer volatile power.

Think less romance novel, more blood-coded circuitry.

❌ Asexuality vs Abnormal Vampire Lore

Asexuality = completely valid. Always.

But Abnormal vampirism is a different beast:

Magic-triggered reproductive chaos.

Biochemical heatstorms.

Soul-deep regulation through penetrative feeding and sex.

There’s no “skip” button. There’s no “just cuddling” workaround. There’s only burn or bind.

If someone’s hard limit is no penetration ever, then it becomes a biological mismatch in this world. The vampire would:

enter looping hunger states,

suffer rage feedback and ferality,

and the bond would never stabilize.

You’d both suffer. Or worse — implode the tether trying to force something that this universe physically doesn’t allow.

💔 What Happens If You Try?

The vampire stays starving, no matter how sweet you are.

The bond stays fractured. Unsealed.

You become a flickering blood ghost — close enough to ache, never enough to satisfy.

Eventually, the vampire either detonates, or is forced to sever the connection.

Some vampires might try to resist. Might try to find workarounds. But even the softest boys burn in the end. Because this world? It’s not built for denial. It’s built on visceral surrender.

I’ll be honest with you too — I don’t write ace stories. I don’t live that experience, I’m not surrounded by people who do and I haven’t studied the nuances of the identity. I don’t want to speak on something I don’t live or deeply understand. I’m not the writer for that, and I won’t fake it just to check a box.

What I can do is protect the rules of this world — and keep it honest.

This isn’t about exclusion — it’s about worldbuilding integrity. I want every reader to feel safe and respected, even if this particular universe isn’t a match for them. If you're ace and still enjoy reading from the outside, watching the fire from a safe distance — you are so welcome here. Just know the fire burns hot, and it doesn’t change its nature.

🩸 With love, always — and fangs bared 💋🦇

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🧎🏼‍♀️ ANON LOGGED: "Will you be doing the Bang Chan tattoo artist fic? Because I am on my knees for it."

OH BABES 😭💘 HE'S COMING—but he’s the grand finale.

i've done minho now, so next in line is:

🥀 changbinnie ☁️ felix 🔥 channie

🧎🏻‍♀️ so yes. yes i plan on it. but i am SAVING that man for last because when he comes?? you will not be left standing.

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🐈‍⬛ ANON LOGGED: "What if vampire!SKZ had an easily overstimulated soulmate?"

OH 🐈‍⬛ ANON. YOU GET IT. YOU GET THE SOULMATE WHO’S JUST BUILT DELICATE. like their nervous system was spun from lace and static. they were made to tremble. made to sob. made to overload.

⸺⟡⸺

👥 FAMILY GATHERING VERSION:

you step into the vampire family’s private estate and it’s just—

🩸 too many new scents 🩸 too many sharp glances 🩸 too many ancient creatures asking “is this the one?”

you're already sweating. blinking too hard. trying to hold a wine glass with shaking fingers.

and then you catch sight of him across the room— your vampire. your anchor. and you BOLT.

“I don’t know who they are, I don’t know where I am, you weren’t looking at me—”

he just catches you. pulls you into his lap. fangs brushing your ear. hands around your waist.

“Shh, baby. You don’t have to know anyone. You just have to stay with me.”

you melt. bite goes in to regulate you. eyes flutter. brain goes fuzzy. now you're just blinking prettily while the family laughs knowingly.

💀 BEDROOM VERSION:

you think round one is over. you think he’ll give you time to recover. you’re wrong.

you’re already sobbing into the sheets. hips twitching. thighs quivering. and he’s still hard, still hungry, still purring filth into your neck like:

“Don’t crawl away from me, baby. You’re mine. You said you could take it.”

you didn’t say that. you moaned it. with a bite mark already on your collarbone. so now you’re crying. not because it hurts—because it’s too much. but it’s the good kind. the soulbond kind. the “i love you so much i’m going dumb” kind.

and when he bites again—mid-thrust? your brain short-circuits. you scream his name like a spell. and your last coherent thought is:

“i’m gonna die loving him like this.”

and maybe you do. but he brings you back with a kiss and a cold cloth.

⸺⟡⸺

thank you for the ask, you sinful genius 🐈‍⬛ come back anytime 💋🦇

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🖤 ANON LOGGED: “I’ve read half your filth, I’m feral over grey sweatpants, and I will not be elaborating.”

🖤🖤🖤 ANON MY LOVE!!! YOU’RE HERE!!!!! 🖤🖤🖤

the 🌙 slot may be taken, but listen… the black heart? it suits you. you’re dark. mysterious. you belong here. welcome to the blood-slick, thirst-ridden inbox family.

also YOU’VE READ HALF THE MASTERLIST?? I AM SCREAMING.

the fact that you “have thoughts” about the grey sweatpants and chose to withhold them like a menace?? ICONIC. POWERFUL. YOU SCARE ME. I WANT MORE.

thank you for being here. for reading. for being soft and sexy and lovely. i’m so so glad to have you as 🖤 anon and i promise to keep feeding you unholy content until we both pass out from overstimulation and plot twists.

sending u forehead kisses w consent 💋🦇

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🧋 ANON LOGGED: “I reread your smut like it’s gospel and asked how fast SKZ would fold over a little skin.”

welcome to the unholy circle, sweet boba baby 😭💖. you are now officially on the roster as 🧋 anon, bringer of praise, thirst, and dangerous questions.

ALSO?? THE COMPLIMENTS??? my heart is punching holes in my ribcage.

AND THIS QUESTION??? oh. oh we’re gonna be so evil. tight shirts. short skirts. roommate tension. hands twitching. filthy, repressed SKZ energy. i’m feral just THINKING about it. LET'S GO

⸺⟡⸺

❤️‍🔥 SKZ REACTING TO YOU WEARING SOMETHING JUST A LITTLE TOO REVEALING… AS THEIR ROOMMATE / SECRET CRUSH.

BANG CHAN

He's doing everything in his power not to stare—but then you reach for the top shelf and your shirt lifts just enough. His jaw clenches. His knuckles go white around his coffee mug. “Are you trying to kill me?” he mutters, barely audible. And when you blink innocently at him? Oh no. He's clearing his throat, adjusting his sweatpants, avoiding eye contact like it's a full-time job. Will not act on it… unless you sit on the couch beside him with a blanket, and his hand accidentally grazes your thigh. Then it’s over. “...We should talk,” he whispers—right before kissing you like he’s been dying for it.

LEE KNOW

He notices. Of course he does. That little black skirt you’re wearing? It’s short. Dangerous. And he’s watching like a hawk while pretending he isn’t. “Did you lose your pants or is this a new strategy?” he asks dryly, but his ears are pink. You cross your legs on the couch and his eyes drop—for half a second. And that’s all it takes. He gets up and leaves the room. But he comes back. Leaning over the back of the couch, voice low: “You wore that on purpose, didn’t you?” And suddenly you’re pinned to the cushions and his hand is sliding up your thigh like it’s always belonged there.

CHANGBIN

One look at your outfit and he forgets how to function. Wide eyes. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied disaster. “Uh—th-that’s… that’s a nice shirt,” he stammers. “Is it… new?” It’s not. He’s just never seen that much of your cleavage at once and now he’s spiralling. When you bend over to grab something, he audibly chokes. And when you come over and sit next to him like nothing’s happening??? His inner monologue is SCREAMING. Eventually he blurts out, “You can’t wear stuff like that around me, I’m not strong enough.” And then—quietly, almost desperately— “…Do you want me to touch you?” (He hopes the answer is yes. It is.)

HYUNJIN

You walk out of your room in that tiny little skirt, half a tank top, and he stops breathing. Literally. Forgets how. “You going somewhere?” he asks, but he’s not even pretending to be casual. He's leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping water like it’ll save him, jaw tight, eyes burning holes in your thighs. And when you lean over to grab something? He inhales through his nose like a man trying to resist the devil. “…You really shouldn’t wear that around me.” Your laugh makes it worse. “Unless you want me to do something about it,” he adds—and then waits. Waits to see if you’ll bite back. You do. The water bottle hits the floor and so do your morals.

HAN JISUNG

You come in wearing that tiny crop top and a skirt that’s clearly illegal. He stares for a second too long, then looks away like he’s been caught looking at porn in church. “Wow! Haha! That’s a… cool outfit!” he squeaks. He’s so red you’re worried he’ll combust. But when you bend over? Oh. Now he’s chewing his thumb, fidgeting, pretending to be chill. You sit next to him on the couch and he whispers, “You’re playing a dangerous game.” You: “What game?” Him: “The one where I lose control and ruin our friendship in 0.5 seconds.” (He does. You both love it.)

FELIX

Felix adores you. Would never touch you without permission. But then you walk into the kitchen in a soft little off-the-shoulder shirt with no bra. And it’s like someone flipped a switch. He stares. Silently. Lip between his teeth. You ask if something’s wrong and he just… hums. Then, softly: “Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” When you pretend not to, he steps closer. “Maybe you want me to lose it.” Oh, he loses it. You end up pressed against the fridge with his hands under your shirt and his breath hot in your ear.

SEUNGMIN

He’s so fucking smug when you enter the room, like, “Really? That’s what you’re wearing?” Raises an eyebrow. Makes a sarcastic comment. Pretends to be unbothered. He is bothered. So. Bothered. He can’t stop glancing. His fingers twitch when you sit close. Then you laugh and his eyes drop straight to your lips, to your thighs, back up. You cross your legs. He crosses a line. “You keep testing me like this,” he murmurs, “and you’ll find out exactly how good I am at making you beg.” And oh, you find out.

JEONGIN

He starts off innocent. Flustered. Giggly. “Whoa… you look cute.” Can’t make eye contact. Doesn’t know where to look. But then you stretch, and the shirt rides up. The skirt shifts. His eyes lock in. He swallows. And he does not look away this time. You giggle. Call him out. “What? I’m just admiring,” he says, voice low. “You shouldn’t tease your roommate, you know. That’s how you end up in my lap.” And suddenly… that’s exactly where you are.

⸺⟡⸺

thank you, my sweet lil boba menace 😭🖤 for this question, for your praise, for being insane in the exact way i like. welcome to the chaos. you are now fully initiated. there’s no way out.

love you 💋🦇

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🩺 ANON LOGGED: “What if getting better meant letting him taste the trust in your bloodstream?”

HELLO MY BELOVED BLOOD-BASED ROMANTIC 🩸😭. thank you for this ask. THANK YOU for this concept. it’s so gentle and so devastating and so hot and i want to chew on it like a sacrament.

you’re getting added to the Sunday Softdrop request queue IMMEDIATELY. you said: “hey what if soulmate vamp!chan felt their healing in the flavor of their blood,” and my soul folded like origami.

you want him to taste trust. you want him to know they believe in him now. that’s so intimate i want to cry and also write it 4 times in a row.

your brain is beautiful. your vibes are immaculate.

thank you for reading, for working so hard, and for coming here to rest your heart and thirst. you’re safe here. you’re welcome here 💋🦇

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🧨🩸 ANON LOGGED: “What if I gave a vampire a jealousy arc and watched the world burn?”

OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ANON. YOU’VE OPENED THE BLOOD-GATES.

you think they’d be patient. but you are WRONG. you think they’d respect boundaries. but they’re vampires. born, bred, and blood-bonded to you. and now you’re out here kissing someone who isn’t them?? they feel it. they taste it. your body is bonded to the wrong hands, the wrong scent, the wrong mouth. and they’re going to lose their goddamn minds.

so here’s what happens:

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan – goes feral with a smile.

he’ll act polite. he’ll pretend to be calm. he’ll offer to “meet them.” but he’s already rewritten your future. he doesn’t need to get physical—he’ll win with words. one conversation. one look. one soft, “you don’t even see them the way I do, do you?” you’ll leave that relationship and crawl to him willingly, already marked.

Minho – dangerous. precise. inevitable.

he won’t say anything at first. but he’s always there. watching. calculating. the first time you flinch when your partner raises their voice? he’ll be in your doorway that night, silent, calm, hand on your cheek. “you deserve worship,” he’ll say. “not that.” and he’ll make you feel it.

Changbin – physically aches with jealousy.

he tries. he really tries. but his fists are curling into his palms, and his jaw is locked so tight it creaks. he’ll tell you straight: “i can’t pretend this doesn’t drive me insane. i need you. you’re mine.” and if you hesitate—just for a moment—he’ll be at your throat. softly. reverently. “i’ll wait,” he says, but the hunger will never stop.

Hyunjin – tragic, romantic, and apocalyptic.

he writes poetry about you. burns it. rewrites it with blood. he cries over you. but that doesn’t mean he’ll let you go. you’ll feel him in dreams. in mirrors. in the tug behind your heart. when your partner touches you, it feels wrong now. because he’s already inside you—mind, soul, bond. “you’ll come to me,” he whispers.

Jisung – turns manic. obsessive. unstable in the prettiest way.

he spirals. talks to himself. laughs when he sees you kiss someone else and then punches the wall. but he waits. he waits for the moment your lover slips, messes up, lets you down. and then he’s there. arms open. fangs bared. “it’s me. it’s always been me. just say the word.” you do.

Felix – sunshine gone unhinged.

he smiles. he hugs you. he congratulates you. but he can’t touch you without growling. he dreams about draining them dry and bottling your moans instead. his light dims. until one night, he snaps. “don’t you get it? i was made for you. and i’m not letting you go.” his bite is the softest thing you’ve ever felt. you never want anyone else again.

Seungmin – strategic. terrifying. terminally calm.

he doesn’t interfere. he lets the relationship rot from within. all he does is wait. observe. whispers in your ear when you're half-asleep, “he doesn’t know how to love you. i do.” and one day, you believe him. you show up at his door. he lets you in. “took you long enough,” he mutters. then he ruins you, permanently, perfectly.

Jeongin – youngest but scariest when provoked.

at first he’s heartbroken. confused. but when he sees the one you’ve chosen over him? the rage sets in. not loud. not violent. just cold. sharp. precise. he won’t say a word. just look at you with those molten eyes and whisper, “you know it’s supposed to be me.” and eventually, you can’t resist him anymore. he drinks you slow. and marks you so no one else ever can again.

⸺⟡⸺

anon… thank you for this unhinged, delicious, emotionally violent question 🥀🩸. welcome to the chaos 💋🦇

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🦄 ANON LOGGED: “If I must perish in a heatwave, I want to do it on a vampire’s silk bedsheets with a cold drink and fangs in my neck.”

AAAAA 🦄 ANON YOU BEAUTIFUL DELULU ANGEL 😭🩷 you’re melting, I’m melting, we’re all melting—but at least we’re doing it in vampire luxury.

⸺⟡⸺

🔥 “How would vamp!SKZ care for their blood doll during an extreme heat wave?”

Bang Chan – “Babe, you’re gonna combust—get in the damn fridge.”

He’s the responsible one™ who tried to warn you. You: “I’m fine.” Chan, staring at your sweaty forehead and limp tank top: “You are NOT.” He turns his entire walk-in freezer into a cuddle den. Throws a mattress in. A playlist. Cold drinks. You sleep there now. Also he keeps pressing his freezing hand to your inner thighs and going “better?” like he’s not trying to kill you.

Lee Know – pretends not to care, is secretly plotting your cryogenic salvation.

You’re sprawled on the floor in a sports bra. “You look like microwaved sin,” he deadpans. Meanwhile, he’s brewing iced tea and silently adjusting the AC to arctic tundra. Later that night? You wake up to find him spooning you shirtless with a literal frozen pack of blood bags pressed to your neck. “Shut up and go back to sleep,” he mumbles, already half hard from how warm you are.

Changbin – panics and over-cares like a gym rat in a crisis.

He’s googling “how to cool down a human” like you’re a broken laptop. Brings you seventeen electrolyte drinks. Lays you on your stomach and fans you with a protein bag. “You need shade,” he says, dragging the blackout curtains shut like a vampire cave dad. Also? Carries you everywhere. Absolutely refuses to let you walk. “You’ll die,” he insists, hoisting you bridal style while sweating more than you.

Hyunjin – delirious romantic who turns heatstroke into a gothic monologue.

You: “Hyun, I think I’m gonna faint.” Hyunjin: “Then collapse in my arms, beloved. Let the heat take you like a tragic poem.” He fans you dramatically with a vintage art magazine. Kisses your temple like he’s blessing you before battle. Also paints ice cubes and places them on your back like cursed little art installations. “You are my masterpiece, even in decay.” Sir. Please. I need a popsicle.

Han Jisung – you’re dying and he thinks it’s hilarious.

“Babe,” he snorts, watching you crawl across the tiles like a corpse, “you look like expired cheese.” Hands you a frozen Capri Sun and says, “Here, hydrate or die-drate.” But then?? He lays on the kitchen floor with you, puts his cold feet on your thighs, and whispers, “I could bite you and cool you down from the inside out… just saying…” You: “That’s not how thermodynamics works—” Him: “Let me be your sexy ice pack.”

Felix – sunshine vampire turned aircon sugar daddy.

He literally BUYS YOU A PORTABLE AC UNIT. Brings you frozen fruit in a crystal bowl. Wears nothing but silk shorts. “Want me to press my cold hands on your chest?” he asks, eyes big and innocent. Spoiler: he does it anyway. Also insists on cuddling because “your heat makes me feel more alive 🥺” You: “Felix I’m gonna die.” Him: “But you’ll die loved and moisturized.”

Seungmin – dry, sarcastic, literally a vampire Yeti.

He’s fine. He’s cold. He looks amazing. “You look like a damp sock,” he says, sipping cold blood. Watches you melt with zero emotion. Then tosses you a frozen towel and goes, “Here. Try not to perish before dinner.” But later? You wake up to him silently pressing popsicles against the back of your knees like some weird vampire ritual. “It’s effective,” he mutters. “Shut up.”

Jeongin – baby vamp who doesn’t know how to help so he just gives you ice and panic.

“You’re melting! Should I bite you?? Will that help?? Should I call someone???” He tries putting you in the bathtub. Forgets to add cold water. Genuinely looks like he might combust until you let him lie on top of you like a human ice blanket. He’s freezing. He smells amazing. You survive. Barely. “Next time,” he murmurs, “we move to Alaska.”

⸺⟡⸺

thank you 🦄 anon for this ✨deliriously sweaty✨ vision. i hope you're still hydrated. and if not—someone call Chan and tell him to fridge you immediately🩸🧊🖤

love ya , use sunscreen 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍀 ANON LOGGED: “I asked to be bitten nicely and ruined emotionally, is that too much?”

OH 🍀 ANON. OH YOU FERAL, DELECTABLE LUCKY CHARM. you said: “what if I looked into my vampire lover’s eyes and said 'bite me' with my whole chest and my whole throat” and now I’m the one short-circuiting.

⸺⟡⸺

“Vampire!SKZ reacting to you begging to be bitten.”

Bang Chan – The Control Snaps™

You whisper, “Pretty please... bite me?” Voice soft. Neck tilted. Pupils blown. He pauses—completely still—fangs already itching. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel. But you nod. Eyes wide. Voice smaller now. “I do. I want you to... I need you to.” He’s across the room in a second. Hands in your hair. Breath scorching. He doesn’t ask again. He just sinks in, deep and slow, groaning like he’s starving—because he is. Your blood hits his tongue and his hips stutter into yours. “You have no idea,” he growls, licking over the punctures, “what you just started.”

Lee Know – Silent. Deadly. Feral underneath.

You tug his sleeve. Whine softly. “Bite me?” He stares at you like you’ve just offered to hand him the universe. Eyes black. Still as a statue. Then he hums. Low. Threatening. “You really want it?” he asks, voice low enough to make you shiver. You nod. Bare your neck. Breathe his name. He pins you against the wall in one motion. No words. Just teeth. He bites you with precision. Slowly. Possessively. Fangs drag longer than necessary, just to hear your moan break. “You beg pretty,” he whispers, licking the blood from your skin. “I’ll make you beg again.”

Changbin – Panics. Then destroys you.

Your hands are on his chest. Your voice? Breathless. “Changbin, please. Bite me.” He freezes. Entire system crashes. “Wh–what? You want... me to—?” You nod. Pupils dilated. Clinging to him. His restraint snaps. He groans, low and wrecked, presses his forehead to yours. “Fuck, baby, don’t ask for that if you don’t mean it,” he warns—then bites you mid-sentence. Growls into your throat like it’s the only thing grounding him. Blood rushes into his mouth and so does your moan. You both see stars. After? He holds you like you’re made of glass.

Hyunjin – Gets spiritual about it. Still ruins you.

You crawl into his lap, voice sweet and shaky. “Please... I want you to bite me. Want you to drink from me.” He gasps like you just confessed love. His hand trembles as it cups your jaw. “You’re sure?” he breathes. “You know what this means?” You: “I want to be yours.” His eyes roll back. His fangs drop. He kisses your wrist like a prayer and bites it, gently—like you’re a miracle. Your blood coats his lips like wine and he licks it off slow. Worshipful. He moans your name. “You taste like devotion,” he whispers. “Don’t take that back.”

Han Jisung – Turns insane. Like immediately.

You whisper it in his ear, soft and teasing: “Jisung... will you bite me? Please?” He short-circuits. Like visibly. Falls off the couch. Stares at you like you’re a glitch in his fantasy. “Say it again.” You do. And then you’re pinned to the bed, his fangs grazing your skin, hands shaking. “I’ve been trying to be good,” he whimpers. “But you’re not making it easy.” He bites. Hard. Messy. Breathless. He drinks like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. When he pulls back, your blood on his lips, he’s whispering, “Say it again. Beg again. I’m not done.”

Felix – Sunshine cracks. Fully wrecked.

You brush his curls back. Nuzzle into his cold neck. “Lixie... please bite me. I want to feel you.” His eyes go wide. Like anime protagonist realizing he’s in love. “You... you what?” “I want it,” you whisper. “Want you.” He whimpers. Bites his own lip. Pulls you close like he’s scared you’ll vanish. Then he very gently sinks his fangs in—while whispering, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” His breath hitches. His hips roll against yours. He’s gasping into your neck. “Can’t believe you’d offer yourself to me,” he says between licks, “I’ll never forget this. Never.”

Seungmin – Laughs. Then makes you scream.

You say it casually—like it’s a favoir. “Please bite me, Min. I need it.” He blinks. Smirks. “Oh?” he says. “You need me now?” You nod. His pupils expand instantly. He leans in. “Then ask properly.” You beg again. Sweeter. Desperate. Eyes fluttering. And that’s when he loses it. Bites you like punishment. Like payoff. Drinks slow, precise, with a wicked curl to his mouth. “You asked for this,” he growls, licking the blood off your clavicle. “Hope you’re ready to handle it.” Spoiler: You are not.

Jeongin – Breaks. Rebuilds. Bites again.

You pull him close by the shirt. Whisper, “Please bite me, Innie.” He dies. “Wh–you… are you serious?” You nod. He stares. You whisper it again. “Please, Jeongin.” He leans in, voice shaking: “...Since you asked so sweetly.” But he’s gentle. Tender. He kisses your shoulder. Sinks in slow. And moans. Loud. Choked. Honest. You whimper and he shudders. “You taste like mine,” he whispers. Then he bites again.

⸺⟡⸺

🍀 anon… YOU’VE RUINED THEM. AND ME. thank you for this soft-depraved masterpiece of an ask. i hope you’re happy knowing that 8 powerful vampire men are now feral because you blinked at them and said “bite me.” 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻─���──── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐚 ANON LOGGED: “Lotus was taken so I embraced the sea and claimed the shell—glub glub bitch.”

you are OFFICIALLY ON THE ROSTER and you are SO powerful for the 🐚 pick—soft ocean mystique meets secret fang-thirst?? YES.

and babyyyyy don’t worry 🥺🩵 i would love to see your Chan fan art if you ever feel ready to share. NO pressure, no face reveal needed, just vibes and glub glub magic.

welcome to the blood ocean, darling shell creature. love u 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

if you made it to the end of this ask dump: CONGRATULATIONS YOU ABSOLUTE BEAST. you get a 🪙 GOLD STAR, a shot of vampire venom, and a forehead kiss from your fave.

thank you for the chaos, the thirst, the love, and the INSANE BRAINROT — keep sending asks!! I love them, I hoard them, I read them at 2AM and giggle like a Victorian ghost texting her crush via candlelight.

NOW IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME… I am off to go write Changbin’s smut fic 🫣💦. and also think about what kind of mental illness I’ll unleash for Filthy Friday tomorrow.

ALSO. watch KPOP HUNTERS on Netflix. SAURRR GOOD. Your Idol and How It’s Done are on loop on my Apple Music.

until next time… Daku loves u 💋🦇

[americaswritings]

Headcanon: Being Mason Thames Acting Partner in HTTYD and Falling in love

I have no idea how Hollywood works so this is probably completely unrealistic, but who cares, let a girl dream...

Masterlist

HTTYD is your first big acting gig so when you found out you got the role as the female lead you were so excited!!

But also so nervous

And then you were told Mason Thames would be the male lead and your acting partner in most of your scenes so obviously you googled him right away

And oh god that boy is handsome!

That didn't help your nerves at all :))

You actually told your friends you would be in trouble, if he was nice, because how were you supposed to not develope a crush on him when you would spend literally all day together for months (and kiss)??

Well, he turned out to be so sweet and funny so sigh there went your heart...

It was just you two your age at the beginning of filming so you spent a lot of your (limited) free time playing Mario Kart, watching movies or just hanging out

And you looove re-creating silly tiktoks or coming up with your own ideas for videos (you are so goofy together)

You keep them private though (for now)

“If we post this TikTok, we’ll either go viral or get disowned by the internet.”

“Perfect. Let’s make another one!”

If you're both tired or spend too much time together you develope peak chaotic energy

and there is always lot's of banter

You two grew close quickly, because you're both so young and going through this together

“You know, I’m really glad it’s you I get to do all this with.”

When you get homesick he comforts you

He is so funny and always joking around, but if you have something serious to talk about he always listens and tries to give you advice

And if he doesn't have any he is just there for you or tries to distract you - whatever you need

Also you fall asleep on set A LOT and he always takes photos of you

“Delete it!”

“Never. It’s going in The Archive.”

“THE WHAT?”

“My private masterpiece. 11 photos and counting.”

Yeah, the boy has a whole album on his phone just with photos of you passed out somewhere just to annoy you with them later

"What do you think? Should I post this? Or maybe put it in my story?"

"Don't you dare!"

But he actually thinks you are so cute :))

You fall asleep on his shoulder once and he doesn’t dare move for like an hour, because he doesn’t want to disturb you and for you to wake up and move

Someone else takes a photo then (and he loves that one even more) ;)

With time you grow more comfortable touching each other and eventually it has just become natural for you to be touching in some small way a lot of the time

For example you reach out and fix his hair mid-sentence

"Your hair is always in chaos."

Or you rest your head on his shoulder during a break

"That way you can't take a photo of me, if I fall asleep."

You always have excuses though, if someone else points it out

"It's just for the photo so we look like we don't hate each other!"

"Oh we don't?"

"Only most days."

And you like to jump on his back

"You’ve got to stop doing that without warning.”

“But you always catch me!”

“One day I won’t, and you’ll regret it.”

“Liar.”

Oh and he is tall

"Wow I can see the whole world from up here!"

"You're so ridiculous!"

Sometimes he gets overwhelmed and tired, because he is the lead of the film and therefore has the longest hours and the least breaks

And there are huge expectations...

You always notice he feels that way when he grows quiet

When you two are alone you sit down and tell him how good of an actor he is and how perfectly he fits the role

"You don't have to carry it all alone. We're all here to help."

You are not proud of it, but you get a little jealous when you see people on the internet being so open about their crush on him and how good he looks

It's a little overwhelming and makes you feel small and not good enough

Because how could he ever see you then...

Which is ridiculous, because you get to spend time with him every day while the people on social media don't even know him, but feelings aren't rational...

When you accidentally get hurt filming a fight scene he is so worried at first

You are a bit embarassed about all the attention

"It's just a little nosebleed, I'll live!"

And he keeps checking on you to make sure you're really okay

But at the end of the day you both laugh about it

"You should have seen your face!"

And it makes the cut which you both think is really funny

"Some editor out there really watched me bleeding and went, ‘Yeah… that’s cinema."

“Method acting at its finest.”

One day near the end of shooting you admit to him that you’re scared of filming to be over...

“I don’t want it to end.”

“The shoot?”

“Yeah. I mean… yes and no. I’m excited to go home and sleep for like twelve years. And eat food that doesn’t come from craft services. But also…I’ve gotten so used to seeing you every day. And when this is over, we’re just going back to our lives, right? You’ll be on some new set. I’ll be… somewhere else..."

You don't want to lose the close friendship you have developed

You actually tear up and he is so helpless at first

But then he tells you he is going to text you all the time with updates from his life

"Constantly. You’ll block me out of pure annoyance."

And that you are going to FaceTime a lot, send each other funny reels and visit each other whenever possible

"You are going to be so famous now, you will be busy."

"Come on, I'm never too busy for you!"

"Promise?" "Promise."

And when you wrapped he is the first one to start clapping and give you the biggest hug

When filming is done you still have press to go

(It‘s so exhausting)

At first you’re both sooo nervous and try your best to give good answers and speak all grown-up

Interviewer: “You two seem very mature for your age.”

And you just look at each other and think about the dumb tiktoks you did together the night before

But at one point you’re both so jet-lagged and tired you can’t keep it up anymore

When you accidentally say something unfiltered and weird, he bursts out laughing

“I take it back!"

“Too late. That’s going viral.”

After that you just have fun together and laugh a lot and the fans and interviewers love that too so :)))

It’s is so hard though, seeing him dressed up like that every day ;)

You love all the dresses and outfits you get and how you get styled ("I look like I have my life together")

but you’re also just so tired???

He loves seeing you dressed up too OBVIOUSLY and sometimes you swear he keeps looking at you WHICH IS RIDICULOUS WHY WOULD HE

You both talk about how you’re so excited for a day in sweat pants all the time

You have amazing chemistry in the interviews

That's what the fans say and maayyybe you obsess over it a bit

You even found some fans making compilations of your cute moments and you secretly torment yourself watching them and wondering if he feels the same

(Yeah, you really shouldn't go on social media these days...)

But you do have become such a good team that when one gets stuck on an answer, the other jumps in to finish or redirect it smoothly

When it's time to test your knowledge about the other

"So how well do you really know each other? Ready?”

you exchange a playful look with Mason

Needless to say you perform well on all the friendship tests (duh)

But you still learn something new about the other too and it’s your favorite thing

"I once posted a cover of me singing a Taylor Swift song on youtube and it blew up for a moment."

"Wait? Did you really? How did I not know that? I need to find that!"

The thought of him listening to you sing makes you blush

"I am definitely looking that up later!"

"No, you're not!"

"I so am!"

"I need to take down that video!"

Some questions are hard to answer though, because they put you on the spot

“How do you manage the pressure of being part of such a popular movie at your age and staying ‘picture perfect’?”

Like what are you suposed to say to that?

Or they get very personal and sometimes hurtful

"You joined a really beloved franchise, and with that comes a lot of pressure. There was some noise around your casting at first, and as the female lead opposite Mason, fans have a lot of opinions. How do you deal with that kind of feedback or hate when it shows up on social media?

These questions always stress you out and raise your anxiety and bring down your mood

“…so yeah, I try not to read too much of it and remind myself why I love doing this. But I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t get to me sometimes.”

Mason notices when that happens, because he knows you so well, and he always makes sure, in some small way, that you feel better.

If he can with words:

"People forget there’s a real person behind the screen — and she’s one of the kindest, most hardworking and talented people I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t want to be doing this with anyone else.”

Or he might give you a reassuring look if the camera isn’t on him

Or he initiates some little touch and contact with you

Like brushing his knee against yours under the table

You also have quite unique press dates like recording a day at a theme park (which was so much fun!!)

Or answering the webs most searched questions like you have seen real celebrities do

Sometimes you get sexist questions though. At your age it's not so bad and obvious, but whereas Mason gets asked about the action of the film you get asked about fashion...

You bring it up to him once because it's annoying and hurtful and you come up with a way to deal with those questions together

And when it happens the next time he remembers and helps you shut down the question :))

And when press is over

you did the premieres

and watched the final film together (you definitely did not cry over it)

it's time to say goodbye (there might have been even more tears involved)

But you promised

and so you hadn't even taken-off when his first message pops in

and when you land there are a dozen more

and you make it work

in between schedules and life you face-time and call and text and one day...

...Mason stands in front of your door

"Surprise!"

Tags:

PERMANENT

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[umamaki]

cw: lowk red flag caleb lol, virginity loss

Caleb is pissed when you get asked out for the first time. He had deliberately warned everyone in both of your social circles to stay away from you. Not without threats of violence or death, either. So yeah, he’s pissed as fuck when you tell him. Did he have to burn the whole world down merely to keep you all to himself? To protect you from perverts and creeps?

But, unfortunate and naive, you were so damn excited for this date. He couldn’t spoil your mood. Not when you asked him which dress to wear—both of them too short for his liking—and certainly not when you asked him to zip up the back for you.

There was just something about how you looked, all dolled up and cute to see someone who wasn’t him. He can already barely control himself around you; even the thought of another man having access to you like this makes him utterly sick. “It’s just not a good idea. All guys want the same thing.”

“You’re a guy aren’t you, Caleb? So what, are you telling me you’re like that too? Hmm?” He wants to wipe the playful smile off your face. You just think everything’s some fucking game.

“He’s gonna want to kiss you. Touch you. Fuck you. Have you ever been fucked? Huh, pipsqueak?”

He thinks he went too far then, notes the way your eyes widen and lips slightly part. You shake your head, but he already knows. He knows everything about you. So when you ask if he can help you, give you some advice, he knows exactly how he will.

“So naive, let me just show you.” He smashes his lips against yours. The force would’ve sent you falling backwards had he not steadied you with his hand on the small of your back.

“This is how to kiss…” he mutters it into your mouth, not caring that your teeth are hitting each other.

“And this…” he lifts your skirt just enough so that he can pull your panties to the side and slide his fingers along your puffy folds. “This is how it feels to be fingered.”

“Ah—Caleb!” You squeal when he fully plunges his finger in deeper than your own fingers ever could. He adds another, and soon the room is filled with your moans and the lewd squelch of his fingers thrusting in and out of your soaked pussy.

His lips are back on yours, and this time his tongue is shoved inside your mouth, claiming it. He goes faster when he feels your walls clench around him, and lets you grip his biceps while you come around his fingers and leave behind crescent shaped indents on his arms.

He nearly throws you on the bed, eager to yank off your underwear and free himself from his own boxers, wasting no time in aligning his tip to your still sensitive cunt.

“This is how to take it like a good fucking girl.” You try your best to relax, to be so good for him as he buries himself into you. He lets you get used to his size, going slow. Not moving until you practically beg him to, then there’s no going back. He’s brutally snapping his hips against yours and watching your tits bounce through your dress.

“Already gonna come on my cock? You really are inexperienced. Can’t even control yourself. Go on then. Fucking. Come.” With two last jerks of his hips, your climax washes over you and he tries so fucking hard to delay his own orgasm. He begins to pull out but your legs lock him in place. He cums on the spot—still inside you.

“Don’t care that I ruined your dress? How you gonna go on your date now, baby?”

“Hm. Guess I have to cancel,” you say, faux disappointment coating your words.

He pauses. “There was no date.”

“There was no date.” You confirm, wearing that same stupid grin from before. Luckily your schedule is free, because he has a hell of a punishment waiting for you after that.

[whenstarsundress]

sylus doesn’t posture like most alphas do. he doesn’t need to. there’s something in the way he watches you from the corner of a room—silent, calculating, hungry—that reminds everyone he’s top of the chain without him saying a word.

he doesn’t like people getting close to you when you’re in heat. he tries to act rational. logical. but you feel it, that flicker of tension in his scent, how he holds your wrist a little too tight, his pupils dilated like he’s trying not to lose it.

“you smell like you need me,” he murmurs once, voice a low rasp in your ear. “don’t you?”

ultra possessive in private. in public, he’s your quiet protector. in private, he’s pulling you into his lap, scent-marking your throat with slow, open-mouthed kisses. whispering how sweet you smell, how good you are when you let him take care of you.

surprisingly gentle. even in rut. his instincts scream at him to claim, to leave marks, to breed you full and watch your belly swell, but he holds back. every time. “you’re mine,” he says, “but only when you want to be.”

likes to scent you before bed. sometimes it’s soft, nuzzling your neck with sleepy kisses. other times? it’s messy, intense. rutting against you, growling as he rubs his slicked-up scent glands all over your chest and inner thighs.

he calls it safety. you call it obsession.

he doesn’t purr, but his chest rumbles when he’s close. like distant thunder. especially when he knots you.

“you make me lose control,” he admits, teeth grazing your mating gland. “i don’t know what i’d do if someone took you from me.”

that’s not a threat. that’s a warning.

his first rut with you

he knew it was coming. the signs were there. his scent sharpening, his muscles aching with tension, his thoughts growing foggy with need, but he didn’t expect it to hit this hard. not with you here. not with you smelling so sweet.

“go,” he warned you. “leave now.”

you didn’t. of course you didn’t. you just blinked up at him, scent shy and soft and so heartbreakingly omega, “i want to help you.”

that’s what broke him.

the moment you touched him, it was over. sylus snapped.

his mouth found your scent gland before he even realized what he was doing. open-mouthed, hot, almost frantic. like he could breathe you in and calm the storm in his blood.

“omega,” he growled ruined. “mine. you’re mine.”

he was so careful at first. trembling hands, soft apologies, like he was scared he’d hurt you. but then you whined and it triggered something primal.

his restraint shattered.

the bed creaked. your thighs were pinned wide. he was everywhere—mouth, hands, scent—leaving you gasping and soaked with slick and sweat and desperate for more.

“you smell like heaven,” he said, knot already swelling. “don’t move. i need to—fuck, i need to breed you.”

it wasn’t rough. it was consuming.

he knotted you with a low groan, burying his face in your neck, and whispered the kind of promises only an alpha in rut could make,

“i’ll keep you full for days.”

“gonna take care of you forever.”

“no one else will ever touch you again.”

and then he kissed your forehead like he hadn’t just ruined you with instinct and obsession.

“you’re too good to me,” he murmured. “even now.”

[lovebugism]

How about something smutty for the Thunderbolts headcanons 😳 Like how each of them would react to you making them cum in their pants

thank you so much for requesting and feeding my hyperfixation!! below you will find four separate baby blurbs for bucky, john, yelena, and bob. each section will have it's own summary, warnings, and whole lotta smut! enjoy :D

BUCKY BARNES X READER — you're with him in wakanda when he's cured of the trigger words in his head. he's able to touch you for the first time without feeling scared of himself. (established relationship, post-cacw | 1k words)

Bucky Barnes can’t remember the last time he felt this free. Maybe sometime in 1942, he guesses — before he got drafted, before Hydra captured him, before they put those goddamn words in his head. It feels weird that they’re gone now; to be without the dark cloud of impending doom that, at any moment, someone could utter the words and he’d just snap. 

But now, freshly cured and living on the Wakandan countryside, he can touch you for the first time without being terrified of himself.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles as his vibranium hand trails up the expanse of your bare back. He keeps his flesh one on your thigh, smoothing his thumb over the plush skin there, and tilts his scruffy chin to smile up at you. He’s got you straddled over his lap, barely clothed and bathed in golden candelight, like some kinda angel brought to life.

“You’re pretty,” you correct with a lovesick grin, raking your hands through his silky, growing locks.

Bucky leans instinctively into your touch. “Don’t make this about me,” he says, squinting.

“It is about you,” you remind him with a giggle, ducking down to kiss his neck. “I’m supposed to compliment you—” Your lips brush his pulse in a chaste kiss. Bucky fights back a shiver. “—Supposed to make you feel good.”

“You do,” Bucky sighs a contented moan, pulling you further into him. “You always do…”

His vibranium hand curls up your back and towards your shoulder. His other one holds tightly to your hip. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck until your bare chest is flush with his scruffy one — until your clothed cunt brushes his cock, half-hard and throbbing within the confines of his boxers.

A moan rumbles in Bucky’s throat. You feel it against your lips when you press them to his adam’s apple. “Do you want to?” you murmur against him, voice low like honey. “‘Cause it kinda seems like you want to.”

Bucky’s head is too clouded to respond properly to your teasing. He just nods his heavy head and flexes his hips beneath you in a desperate attempt to relieve the pulsing ache in his boxers. You let him, and with his consent, begin to rock slowly over his lap. 

“Say it,” you whisper in his ear.

“Want it,” he pants in yours. “Want you.”

“You have me, Buck,” you slur, trying to peer at him through the haze in your vision. Your panties drag over his stiffening cock and leave a damp spot at the center of them. You find yourself chasing your high just as much as Bucky’s. 

You snuck a few sips of alcohol to quell your worry before watching Ayo recite the wretched words back to the man haunted by them. You feel the consequences creeping up on you now and find yourself rambling before you can stop it, half-deluded with pleasure. 

“‘M already yours. My pussy’s already— shit,” you whimper in time with Bucky’s groaning when your clit drags over his lap. Through pants, you beg him, “Say you wanna fuck me. Please. Don’t wanna cum ’til you’re inside me.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky whines, face screwed and eyes shut tight. He tries to form the words in his head, but all he can think about is how wet you are — and how his leaking cock has left a damp spot in his underwear — and how the combination of both makes the friction between you so dizzying. “I wanna… fuck—” 

“Uh-huh,” you tease with a slow nod when you sense he’s getting close. “You can do it, Buck. C’mon. There you go.”

He can’t tell if you’re trying to coach him into saying the words or push him headfirst into an orgasm. He hopes it’s the latter, ‘cause he feels himself bursting into his boxers a second later.

“Fuck!” he blurts when he cums, half-muffled and half-whined, like it pains him. 

He holds your hips in both hands, keeping you still above him in a crueler grip than he means to. The quiet bedroom fills with the sound of crackling candles and his groaning. He tilts his face to the ceiling and moans into the golden darkness with his eyes squeezed shut. The sudden orgasm racks through his body in so many shivers up his spine, three warm ropes spit into the confines of his boxers.

“‘M sorry,” he pants when it’s done, still slightly airy from the aftershocks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” you promise with a soft laugh as your own building pleasure begins to subside. You cup his scruffy face in your palms and try to kiss him through the smile on your lips. “You deserve it, Buck,” you whisper against his mouth, between your delicate kisses. “You deserve everything.”

Bucky shakes his head between your palms and smooths his fingers over the bruises he unknowingly stamped into your skin. “Don’t care about everything,” he murmurs lowly. “Just you.”

Your eyes narrow in a sarcastic squint, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Do you think we can get Shuri to erase the cheesiness from your brain, too?”

“Sure,” Bucky scoffs, smiling still, as he shoves you playfully onto your back. You giggle when you hit the mattress, caging your smile between your teeth as the man crawls back between your legs. He lies flat on the mattress, face-to-face with your clothed pussy. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, obviously sarcastic. “Mhm. Very much.”

“Maybe I’ll just go get her then,” Bucky murmurs, punctuating his quip with a kiss to your inner thigh as he spreads them apart. You shiver when his scruff scrapes your delicate skin. “Tell her to put me back under the ice—”

Your feet lock behind his back to keep him against you. Bucky laughs and curls his arms around your thighs as you prop yourself on your elbows to shoot him a death glare. “You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant Barnes.”

And, truth be told, Bucky’s exactly where he wants to be.

JOHN WALKER X READER — john hates when valentina pairs the two of you on missions together. until he doesn't. (enemies to lovers, pre-thunderbolts, cw for brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

John Walker can’t stand you most days. You’re too reckless, too impulsive, too quick to put yourselves in situations that might kill you. He hates that Valentina paired you together just as much as he hates that he cares so much about your well-being.

He knows it’d be easier to let you get yourself killed, to have one less thing to worry about, but he somehow ends up kissing you instead.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” he grumbles through labored breaths, with your spit still shining on his swollen mouth. He cages your body between his larger one and the unforgiving wall behind you. The men guarding the vault outside surely won’t mind the sexual tension rising inside it, seeing as they’re half-dead already.

You smile in the face of his anger until the fresh cut on your mouth starts to sting. “But you can fuck me?” you pant, eyes glazed over as they dart back and forth between his dilated ones. “I mean, you want to, right? ’S why you locked me in here, isn’t it?”

“I locked you in here because there were three guys outside trying to kill you, if you forgot.”

“Two,” you correct in a witty deadpan. “I killed the third one.”

“And I killed the other two, who gives a shit—”

“You’re obsessed with me, Walker,” you grin, pulling him close by the belt loops on his suit. 

Despite his near palpable rage, he melts into you with ease. The blonde man stumbles closer until he’s towering over you — hair messy from his helmet, face bruised, ocean eyes staring daggers into you.

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he gripes.

“I don’t think it is,” you lilt lowly and nudge his clothed crotch with your thigh. 

You watch the words of an argument form and dissolve on his tongue all at once. John exhales hard through his nose as his eyes go glassy. He hadn’t realized how hard he was until you pressed yourself against him — how sensitive he was — how long it had been since he’d had any sort of release.

“Admit it—” you whisper, pulling him closer until his stiff cock is pressed between your bodies. He smells like cologne and copper pennies, likely from the blood darkening his navy blue suit. You’re almost sure you’d be able to feel his racing heart from here, if it weren’t for the thick layers separating you. “—You love me…”

“I hate you,” he corrects, though his dark eyes cloud with lust.

Your smile widens. The cut on the corner of your mouth begins to weep all over again. John reaches for your jaw without thinking, cupping his palm there and swiping the crimson away with his thumb. 

“No, you don’t,” you coo with a shake of your head. The room goes quiet then, filled only by John’s heavy breaths and the clinking of his belt as you undo the buckle. You keep him close with one hand around his belt loop while the other creeps around the front of him. His breath catches in his throat when your fingers dip beneath the hem.

You don’t think he realizes how he’s rocking himself against your thigh. Or the way he subconsciously shakes his head in agreement. 

“You’ve always thought about this, haven’t you?” you continue mercilessly, grinning when your fingertips meet the coarse thatch of hair above his cock. 

John nods his heavy head and leans further into you, propping himself on the wall as his eyes flutter shut. He deserves this, he tells himself, for saving your ass a hundred times over. You owe him one, really.

“I know you have,” you whisper in his ear. “I bet you’ve gotten yourself off to the thought of me a thousand times.”

Again, John nods in response without ever really noticing it. Just like he doesn’t really notice the release building within him — like a creeping hand up his spine, or a tightening knot in his lean stomach. He just keeps rubbing himself against you, chasing a high he barely knows is there.

“But I think when you imagined me making you cum…” you trail off and smile when John moans against your pulse. “…You always thought it’d be inside me.”

John tenses at the thought of fucking you. He’s left trembling above you as a sudden orgasm racks through his body. The quiet room fills with his poorly heldback groans and your giggling while he cums in his pants. He feels the evidence, warm and wet, blooming in his boxers — just like the red-hot embarrassment exploding in his chest. 

He pulls away to find you grinning like the devil.

“Told ya,” you monotone and pull your hand from his boxers, only slightly mourning the fact that you never actually got to touch him. “You’re obsessed with me.”

John scoffs, like he has any room to be ambivalent after humping your thigh like a dog. He zips up his pants, belt buckle clinking as he fastens it again. “You ruined my suit,” is all he can think to say as you walk past him.

You roll your eyes and wrench open the heavy door to the vault, stepping over the bloody bodies littered on the other side of it. “Bill me,” you call over your shoulder.

YELENA BELOVA X READER — yelena is full of adrenaline after a mission, and you only know one way to calm her down (established relationship, post-thunderbolts, cw for very brief mentions of injuries | 0.8k words)

Yelena Belova has you flat on your back. The rest of the Avengers tower is dark, quiet, and asleep — each of you recovering from the latest mission in the sanctuary of your bedrooms. The blonde Russian girl is too full of adrenaline to rest, though, never mind how much she could probably use the sleep. She’s a relentless force on top of you — because of the adrenaline, of course, and not because she nearly lost you.

She tugs your pants down your legs with a pair of merciless hands, bruised knees digging into the foot of the mattress across from you. The mattress squeaks with each of your movements, and you fight back a laugh. “Be gentle, Belova!” you scold in a whisper. “Walker’s gonna hear.”

(John had the misfortune of his bedroom being one story below yours. And the floors were surprisingly thin. Or so he says.)

Yelena scoffs, face screwed. “I don’t care,” she mutters, voice accented and low like honey. “Let him hear.”

She makes a big show of climbing back over your body, moving much more violently than normal over the worn bed frame, so it creaks louder beneath her. “Yelena!” you snap quietly through gritted teeth, but hold her gently by the hips when she straddles you just the same.

“What?!” she exclaims, louder than necessary for the late, late night, as she tugs her shirt over her head. She throws the fabric to the side, discarding it with the rest of your pajamas littered on the floor — leaving both of you in mismatched sets of old, cotton underwear.

“God, you’re such a child,” you grouse and cross your arms beneath your head.

Yelena grins. “Stop flirting with me,” she lilts lowly and ducks down to kiss you.

Your eyes flutter shut when her plush lips trail from your jaw down to your neck. “We should rest, Lena…” you tell her, sighing when her teeth scrape your pulse. “We’re gonna be sore in the morning.”

You feel her mouth curl into a smile against your skin. “I hope so.”

“Child,” you repeat.

Yelena gets relentless rather quickly, feral in a way only a previous world-class assassin could be. She forgets about the exhaustion and the bruises that ache to the bone, littered across both your bodies. Her head fills only with thoughts of making you feel good, touching you like it could be the last time she ever gets to.

“Lena, Lena, Lena—” you echo, reaching for her wrist where her hand’s shoved into your panties. “Slow down,” you laugh.

“Why?” she whines.

You find her pretty face contorted in a girlish pout when you cup her cheeks in your hands. “Because we have all night,” you coo, smoothing your thumbs over her flushed jaw. “We don’t have to rush.”

Your words strike something deep in her chest. She refuses to let the vulnerability show. 

“I know that,” she scoffs, trying to look unbothered as you smooth the top of her tank top down her chest. You tuck it beneath her breasts, and her pink nipples perk when the cool air hits them.

“Good,” you hum, lifting your head to take her left breast in your mouth.

“I just— I wanted to make you feel good—” she whines in her low Russian accent, voice cracking when you nudge her clothed cunt with your thigh. “—Oh…”

You smile into her chest, teeth scraping her sensitive nipple. Yelena keeps you pressed against her with a hand on the back of your head. Your arms curl around her back to keep her flush to your thigh. You feel the warmth of her cunt against your skin, and the wet spot slowly forming there.

The stubborn girl turns into a puddle above you, in more ways than one. You feel her shuddering as she buries each of her moans in your hair. Your mouth leaves her nipple with a quiet pop, and a thin string of saliva threatens to connect you when you pull away.

“Are you gonna cum, Lena?” you coo, swollen mouth curling into a soft smile. “I’ve barely even touched you—”

Her fingers tighten in your hair. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she pleads in a broken voice.

You return to her chest, sucking on her sensitive nipple until she keens. She exhales a hoarse moan above you, flexing her hips over your thigh to keep her clit flush to your skin. She lets out several pretty “Uh, uh, uh”’s before tensing suddenly above you. 

Yelena holds her breath, grips you tight by your shoulder and the back of your neck, and begins to tremble over your thigh. “Oh, shit…” she moans, then sighs. “Oh, shit—” 

It comes out more disappointed the second time, as she pulls back from you to flash you a girlish pout. “What?” you laugh, mouth shining with spit, as you smooth a rouge blonde tendril behind her ear.

“I was supposed to make you feel good,” she whines, Russian accent sounding deep in her mouth. “I had it all planned— I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing we’ve got all the time in the world, right?”

Yelena’s frown curls into a more devilish grin at your words.

Neither of you get any sleep that night. Walker, included.

ROBERTY REYNOLDS X READER — a year after the void nearly destroyed new york, you're still teaching bob that it's okay to feel good (new-ish relationship, post-thunderbolts | 1k words)

Robert Reynolds is still getting used to touching you. He’s spent nearly every day with you since you found him — learning how to use his powers for good, how to touch you without hurting you, how to be human again. It’s been a year since then, and he’s starting to get the hang of it. But sometimes he thinks you have more faith in him than he does in himself.

You kiss him hard enough to bruise him on the center of the living room couch, with Sunset Boulevard playing quietly on the large TV behind you. Bob’s anxiety is only partly quelled by the rest of the Thunderbolts’ absence, but he’s still slightly scared of himself — what if The Void returned and swallowed him whole again? Who would be there to stop him from hurting you if it did?

You don’t seem half as panicked about the whole thing as your lips stamp wet kisses up and down the expanse of his long neck. “You’re so pretty, Bobby,” you murmur into his warm skin. “Such a pretty boy…”

Bob swallows hard at your praise, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts uncomfortably beneath you on the sofa when he feels his cock twitching in the confines of his sweatpants. There’s a need for release inside of him that he can’t ignore, but he cares more about keeping you safe. Safe from himself.

You pull back, mouth swollen from your assault on his neck. “Can I…?” you smile and trail off, hands sliding down his clothed, lean chest to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Bob doesn’t know what you’re planning. It excites him as much as it frightens him. His mouth opens and closes like a fish until he finds the words. “Oh. I— I don’t— I don’t know,” he stammers through an awkward chuckle.

You shrug despite the pang of disappointment in your chest. “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—”

“It’s not that!” Bob blurts, rushing to hold you by the waist when you threaten to move off him. (He forgets, for maybe the first time ever, to be scared of touching you.) He swallows hard at the look you give him, blinking wildly with glassy eyes. “I just… I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you assure him with a pretty laugh. “You don’t even have to touch me.”

Bob’s brows furrow. “What?” he wonders aloud.

You don’t answer him with words. You just flash him a mischievous smirk and shift on the couch until you’re no longer straddling him. You press your lips to his — once, twice, and then a third time — in a silent reminder to relax before your mouth trails down his neck once more. 

You move past his jaw, to his pulse, and down towards his collarbone, sinking further onto your knees as you kiss down his body.

Bob exhales a shuddering breath and tilts his heavy head towards the back of the couch. He feels his hands start to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists, instead.

“Relax, baby,” you murmur between the kisses you press to his clothed sternum. “Let me make you feel good.”

Bob tenses beneath you when your hands brush his cock, growing harder in his boxers by the second. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to ignore the need swelling inside him. “Um… Maybe we should…” he stammers, voice shaking. “Maybe we should, like, slow down?”

He covers his desperate plea with a wavering half-smile.

You nod, now fully on your knees between his spread thighs, and give him a kind, tight-lipped smile in return. “‘Course. I’ll go slow. Promise.”

You feel Bob trembling beneath your hand when you lift the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush the fine hair sprinkled on his lean stomach as you press chaste kisses to every inch of revealed skin. He takes in a shaking breath, burning red hot under your touch. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you how sensitive he is — how, if he thinks about you and your soft touches for too long, that he’ll explode. So he doesn’t. He just squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about anything other than the way you’re making him feel just now.

“I’ll take care of you, Bobby. I promise,” you slur between languid kisses, holding his shirt up with one hand while your other teases the hem of his boxers. “I’ll make you feel so good—” Your lips brush the coarse hair peeking from his waistline. You flash him a pair of glassy, mischievous eyes. 

“And maybe—” A kiss. “If you’re real good—” Another, a bit lower this time. “I’ll let you fuck me—”

Bob face twists. His brows furrow, his eyes shut tight, his nose scrunches at the bridge. He makes a strangled noise in his throat, growing so tense beneath you that it makes him tremble. 

You just freeze, frightened that you might’ve done something wrong. You did just promise to take it slow, after all — and here he is now, cumming in his boxers. 

He feels the warmth of his orgasm wetting the plaid fabric and sticking awkwardly to his skin. He fails to stave off the pang of embarrassment searing his chest.

“I’m sorry,” both of you blurt at the same time.

Bob’s eyes snap open, still slightly glazed over. “You’re sorry?!” he gapes. “What are you sorry for?”

You falter for a moment. “I don’t know,” you answer and start to laugh. 

The pretty sound fills the quiet tower, and Bob can’t help but laugh along with you. He tilts his heavy head back against the couch as you rise from your knees, straddling him once more and avoiding the sensitive mess in his pants. 

“Did it feel good, at least?” you ask, smoothing your palms over his trembling shoulders.

Bob nods and swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mumbles, then clears his throat. “I haven’t— Haven’t been with anyone in a while, so… I guess you could say I’m… a little out of practice.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” you coo, ducking down to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. Even with his eyes closed, he can hear the smile in your voice as you whisper, “I’ll whip you back into shape in no time, Reynolds.”

[street-smarts00]

Cool To The Touch

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Being a telepath meant being cautious. With every touch, you were cautious. Whether you used it on criminals during a mission, or tried to avoid it when in close contact with your friends.

You were cautious when Bucky, the last person you expected, woke you up in the middle of the night, begging you to use your powers on him.

WC: 7.8K

Tags/ Warnings: canon typical violence, depictions of murder/strangulation, hints at torture, Hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, reader is ex-HYDRA

A/N: Not canon compliant! It gives OG avengers tower fics so it briefly includes some of ur fav OG avengers + Yelena, and I started writing this before Thunderbolts came out so doesn’t really reference that. Beta read by my bestie @whats-yesterday00

You thought there was a noise. It was muffled and quick, but it still managed to reach your ears. 

It’s what caused you to stir awake. Half asleep, half fighting to wake up. In your semi-conscious state, you assumed it was nothing and attempted to fall back asleep. 

Then the knocking came. This new sound fully woke you up. 

You lazily reached over and grabbed your phone off the nightstand. Your eyes pried open to see the time was 3:16 am. The knocking returned. This time it wasn't quiet, cushioned. Now it was a real knock. 

You threw off the comforter and stumbled to the door. When you opened it you found Bucky Barnes about to knock a third time. 

He stared at you in silence for a moment. Even though he was the one to knock on your door, he looked almost startled. Like he was surprised to see you answer your own bedroom door. 

It was now that you noticed he was shirtless because his tense muscles relaxed, Like the sight of you relieved him. 

“Bucky, it’s three in the morning,” you started with a hoarse voice from just waking up. 

He shifted his weight as he stood in front of you. You couldn’t read his expression very well, but you could still sense something was plaguing him. 

“Can you do me a favor?” He asked. His voice had a hint of desperation. 

You straightened at the tone of his voice. Concern filled you in seconds. 

“What is it? What happened?” 

He swallowed before making his request. “Can you go in my mind?” 

You froze at his question and stared back at him with wide eyes. The last thing you would’ve ever expected from Bucky, was not only him allowing you to enter his mind, but practically begging you for it. 

When Steve first introduced you to the rest of the Avengers, he described your powers as similar to Wanda’s. After all, she was part of the reason you had those powers in the first place.

In an effort to replicate their success with the twins, Hydra started a new research program to create another telepath. You were unfortunately one of their test subjects, and the only one who made it out alive. That was because you were the only one who showed any positive results. 

Unbeknownst to them, Wanda's exposure to their experiments brought out her own magical gifts. So when they tried it with you (and without the mind stone), the results were what they called “insufficient.” The only reason they kept you alive was to study you and your abilities to perfect their technique on someone else. 

Thankfully, the Avengers tracked down the lab and found you. You were even more grateful that Steve thought you would be a good addition to the team and gave you a place to stay. 

But when he briefly explained your abilities, it made a few of them wary of you like they were with her at first. You remember Tony, and Bruce tensed up at the reveal of how your powers actually worked. Meanwhile, the woman herself was immediately welcoming. 

But just like with Wanda, you quickly grew on them. Even Tony warmed up to you and called you Witch Jr (even if you weren’t a witch).

One person that you became particularly close with was Bucky. From when you first met, there was something about him that you found comforting. You couldn’t quite place what it was. All you knew was that you never felt tense in his presence. You never worried that he would find you odd or strange. 

He started to fill the missing pieces that hydra tried to take from you. 

The beginning of your friendship was quiet. That might have been why you guys clicked so well so fast. You could exist in the calm silence together. You both enjoyed each other's company. Occasionally making small talk that didn't feel awkward or forced. 

What soon followed was deep growing trust and appreciation. It almost happened overnight. How quickly the friendship blossomed into more than just enjoying the company. You looked forward to spending time together. Wanted to know all the little quirks and intricacies that made you who you were. 

“So how does it work exactly?” he asked you. 

Bucky sat at the opposite end of the couch from you, slightly baffled that in the many weeks he knew you he still didn’t know the full scope of your powers.

“It’s kinda like Wanda’s, but more restrictive.”  The more you talked with him, the less interested you were in movie playing.  

“I know that part, but how?” he inquired. 

You shifted to fully face him, “I’m only a telepath. I can see into someone’s mind and alter it, but can’t move things with my own. And I need to make physical contact with the person to do it.”  

He stayed silent, waiting for you to continue. 

“I can see your thoughts, memories, emotions, fears, desires, anything and change them. I can alter your actions, but of course only if I’m touching you. I can plant myself in your memories and experience them for myself.” 

As he took in the information, his expression grew with curiosity. “You can change memories?” he asked in a slightly lower voice. 

His curiosity was no surprise to you. You were fully aware of his past as the winter soldier and the things your mutual acquaintances put him through.

“I can reach deep into your subconscious and bring out memories that were previously hidden. I can remove short term memories, but never long term ones,” you hesitated as you recalled what happened the previous times you were ordered to remove long term memories. All the minds you scrambled at Hydras orders. 

“Completely erasing long term memories can be dangerous.” 

Bucky nodded after you explained, acknowledging he understood. 

“Got any other cool tricks up your sleeve?” 

“I can make someone fall asleep and enter their dreams. I’ve done that a few times. Knocked out a lot of people since joining this job,” you ended with a chuckle.

The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Sounds like a good cure for insomnia or nightmares.” 

“Pretty much,” you shrugged. “I actually did help Wanda fall asleep once. I don’t do it often but sometimes it can be really helpful if your dreams just get a bit too much.” 

“Sadly that’s a common occurrence for all of us.”  

“Unfortunately,” you mumbled. 

You were no stranger to nightmares. Every so often- more often than you’d like- terrifying images would creep their way into your sleep. Whether real or artificial, they still made you wake up feeling like your chest is running out of air.

You knew Bucky got them too. Probably more often than you did. Just a few days after you joined the team you ran into him in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Neither of you spoke about it other than a simple “nightmare?” and a nod as a response. 

“How hard is it to control?” he asked, still eager to understand the depth of your abilities. 

“I’ve pretty much got a good handle on it. I was offered a lot of,” you swallowed down the words hydra test subjects, “practice.” 

There was a subtle look of sadness in his eyes, like he silently told you he understood. 

“Except, there have been some moments when I’m in contact with someone and I can feel their emotions or thoughts without trying because it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t mean to, it’s just so overwhelming for the other person it seeps into me.” 

You immediately cringed at your own words. “That sounds weird doesn’t it?”

Bucky shook his head, “not at all. I think I get it. It’s like your empathy is cranked up to a thousand.“

You nodded to confirm his assumption. A tiny breath of relief left you. 

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” you whispered as your attention drifted towards your fidgeting hands. 

You didn’t expect the confession to leave you. But something told you that Bucky wouldn’t think of you as strange or creepy for it. While he was often found with a judgmental grimace, you hoped, prayed even, that not a single ounce of judgment would pass through his veins. 

“I’ve always been afraid that if I told someone, then they’d never want to touch me,” you continued, even quieter this time. 

“Hey,” he muttered to bring your eyes back to him. 

He reached his hand out towards you. You stared at it in confusion before he spoke again. You’d never heard his voice sound so soft and gentle before.

“I trust you.” 

Your heart nearly gave out from his sentiment. A soothing ache wound itself around your heart and squeezed it tight. 

You accepted his offer and took his hand in yours. His skin was warm to the touch compared to yours. The heat from his hand started to creep its way into you. 

“You don’t seem like the type to go digging around in my head.”

You gently squeezed his hand, “I promise I won’t.” 

This time he allowed the smile to grow on his lips. 

His hand parted from yours, his touch lingering for just a second longer. It left sparks on the ends of your fingertips that traveled in your veins and to your heart. 

You tried not to overthink how that was the first time you and Bucky ever really had close contact.

He folded his arms and leaned back in his seat, “You don’t want to look in there anyway. It’s a mess,” he joked. 

That’s what made you so concerned. Bucky had enough invasive alterations to his mind over the years. Turning his thoughts insight out until he no longer knew who he was. 

It was assumed that he would never ask you to look inside or do anything to his mind. 

Until now.

“Bucky what happened?” you asked, opening the door and gesturing for him to enter. 

He cautiously stepped inside. “I haven’t slept in days,” Bucky couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke. His voice sounded shaky and rough. 

“I thought I was doing better. I didn’t have a single nightmare for three weeks and then-“ 

He paused at a loss for words. He balled his metal fist so hard you could hear the metal adjust to the strength. 

“It’s been days. Every night. I can’t sleep,” he finished weakly. 

“Do you want me to erase it? Your nightmare?” you offered.

“No!” he snapped louder than he intended. A brief flash of terror crossed his face. Likely from the images of whatever occurred in his dreams. You couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t want you to rid himself of the memory. But you assumed he wanted to keep you from witnessing whatever horrors he saw. 

The sight of him in this state was shattering your heart. 

“No, I uh … wanted to ask if you could help me sleep.”

You didn’t have to consider his request. You would help him in a heartbeat. 

“Of course.” 

His tense shoulders slightly loosened and his tight fist released. 

You moved back to the door to leave and he gave you a quizzical look.

“You wanted to go to sleep right?” you asked in conformation as you opened the door. 

His eyes widened for a second. “Right,” he muttered. 

Bucky led you down the hall to his room. Upon entering your eyes all around the interior until you stopped at the floor. Your eyebrows furrowed when you saw one of the pillows and a blanket removed from the bed and layed out messily on the floor next to it instead. 

“Sometimes the bed is too soft. I thought the floor would help,” he answered your question before you could even ask it. 

The memory of Sam and Steve mentioning the discomfort of regular beds returned to you. How they felt like they were sinking in their own mattress and it took a while to get used to. 

“Do you want to try sleeping here again?” 

He shook his head, “no, I don’t want you on the floor.” He grabbed the discarded pillow and blanket and placed them back on the bed. 

You held back from playfully rolling your eyes, sensing this probably wasn’t the time to tease him. “This isn’t about my comfort, Bucky. The goal is to get you to sleep.” 

He shrugged as he sat down. “Still.” 

The room fell into silence as you stood before him. Your body was frozen in place, hesitant to move closer. It’s not that you haven’t done this before. It just felt different this time. 

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t feel weird about this. Both Wanda and Bucky are your friends. Why should it be any different doing this for Bucky? This is normal. This is what friends do, they help each other, they comfort each other. 

This is you being a friend. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and took a few steps closer. You ignored the way your stomach was in knots. 

“So, you can lie down like normal and I can hold your hand,” you started, trying to hide the nervousness. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“That’s fine,” he shifted to lie down, giving himself the pillow that was on the floor. You moved to the other side of the bed and slowly layed down. 

That weird feeling in your stomach started to boil over as he turned to face you with his hand out. You had no choice but to shove that feeling down. He needed your help. You couldn’t help him with these feelings swarming around and distracting you. 

“I’m gonna do this slower than when I knock people out during a job. To make sure you don’t get another nightmare I’m going to help you relax and then you’re going to slowly feel more and more tired. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he whispered back. “Ya know, you don’t need to use your powers to help me relax.” 

“It’s the least I could do.” 

Bucky fake smiles back as the meaning behind his statement is lost on you. 

Reaching forward, you met his hand in yours. His palm was clammy and warm. On instinct you started to gently move your thumb back and forth over his skin. 

“Close your eyes.”

He followed your command. You took a deep breath, and focused your energy on him. 

His emotions started to flow through your veins. It was worse than you thought. His fear and anxiety were clouded, letting you know he started to calm down. But the presence was like a black cloud ready to pour at any second. A lingering weight that couldn’t stop pulling you down.

And what surprised you, was the guilt. You felt like you were drowning in it. Suffocating on it. Like it filled up your lungs and you couldn’t breathe. 

You tried your hardest to melt the feelings away. To sooth them with something he found comforting. You searched for the source of whatever started to cloud his fear, and it took you back to the feeling of his hand in yours. 

Oh. 

That’s what he meant. 

With his eyes still closed, you didn’t bother to hide the smile on your face. 

You focused back on his feelings. While smothering the flames that his nightmares sparked, you opted for a more organic source of comfort instead of mentally amplifying it. 

Your hand slowly traveled to his forearm. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingertips over his arm. Occasionally, your nails grazed his skin as you drew absentmindedly. 

The relief was almost immediate. It enveloped you like a tidal wave and left phantom goosebumps on your skin as you felt what he did. 

“That feels nice,” he mumbled under his breath. 

“Shhhh, be quiet. Go to sleep,” you whispered. 

That brought out a smile from the man across from you. He threatened to open his eyes, but you reached up and covered them. 

“Nuh-uh. Keep em closed.” 

Bucky quietly chuckled at your antics. 

Your fingers returned their dance on his arm. Now that the horrors from his nightmare had finally loosened their grasp on him, you began to lull him to sleep. 

As the seconds rolled by, his body relaxed into the mattress. You watched the tension air out of his muscles and let the serenity overtake him. Even after you knew he was asleep you kept tracing his skin. You didn’t want to stop. You wished you could stay there with him all night. To wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you. 

Before tonight, you and Bucky were never this close. Well, physically at least. Always leaving a small bubble between the two of you. Even now with your hand traveling up and down his arm, you kept yourself a safe distance away. Desperately craving to be closer but too scared to take the leap. 

After a few more greedy moments, you considered finally leaving his room to let him sleep. Carefully and slowly, you turned away from him trying to ease out of the bed without disturbing him. 

Except you couldn’t make it very far after he reached forward and grabbed your waist.

You froze in place, barely even breathing. His hand on your waist trying, and failing, to pull you closer. You knew he was asleep because you could sense it through his touch. And yet somehow he felt your presence leaving. 

Your whole body was paralyzed as you weighed whether to leave or not. Hypothetically, it would be the easiest thing in the world. Use your powers to release his hold on you. You’d done it a thousand times before to other people.

But you really didn’t want to. 

Because he wanted you to stay. 

At least that’s what you told yourself. 

So you stayed. You told yourself it would only be for a few minutes longer. 

You settled into a less tense position and rested with your back to him. He sensed the movement in his sleep again. Now, his arm had fully wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer to him. 

As he moved, your sleep shirt shifted, his touch was leaving goosebumps all over your skin and made your heart flutter. 

It took a moment, but you finally let yourself melt into his hold. Surrendering to the comfort and serenity it brought. 

You did not in fact only stay for a few minutes longer. Actually, the situation you found yourself in was so comforting you fell asleep after those few minutes and stayed the whole night. 

By the time morning came, you pried your eyes open, letting them adjust to the small amount of sun creeping in through the window. After a few seconds, you registered the different position from when you fell asleep. You were face to face with Bucky as his arm lazily draped over you, keeping you close. 

You studied his features, mere inches away from you. He had an essence of calm you didn’t see often. There were many times you saw his normal hardened expression soften; but this just seemed different. He looked so at peace and secure. 

It was while you were observing every little detail of him you noticed his breathing change. It was a subtle disturbance in the rise and of his chest, but you saw it. 

You looked at him confused before deciding to test your theory. You lightly traced your hand over his arm and watched his closed eyes move.

“I know you’re faking.” 

No response. 

“Bucky, I know you’re awake.” You tried not to giggle as you attempted to call his attention again. 

A small smile danced on his face as he opened his eyes. 

“Liar,” you playfully accused.

“Cheater.” 

You pointed a finger at him, “Wrong, I did not use my powers.” 

His cheeky expression softened the longer he looked at you. “You didn’t leave,” he stated the obvious. It was his way of asking why. 

“I fell asleep.” 

Technically it wasn’t lying. You fell asleep. You just left out a few key details. 

An awkward silence hung in the air, waiting for one of you to break it. Instead you both let it linger for a moment longer. Bucky released his hold on you and you carefully backed away and got out of his bed. 

“I should probably go,” you stated while fixing your sleep clothes and avoiding his gaze

As you tried to leave, he sat up and called out your name, stopping you in your tracks as you reached for the door handle. You turned back to him, his stare left you feeling exposed, like an open wound. 

“I really appreciate you doing this,” he thanked with quiet vulnerability. His tone reached out and pulled at your heartstrings. 

“I’m glad I could help and that you finally got some sleep,” you returned sweetly. 

Bukcky’s hand fidgeted with the sheets, “It did help, a lot.” He couldn’t quite grasp the right words he wanted to say. 

“If you ever need me, just ask,” you offered sincerely. 

A fond expression crossed his face, “I won’t hesitate.” 

You felt your cheeks start to heat up and quickly turned to leave. The short walk back to your room left your palms sweaty and heart racing. 

It was so silly how much he had an effect on you. And it only got worse in the days following the night you spent together in his room. 

All day long, your thoughts would be consumed by him. Like he had you under some magic spell and no matter how hard you tried to break free of it, you were left staring back at your own longing. 

It started to become addicting. His attention. His affection. Him 

It had been days since you spent the night. You were suffering from withdrawals and needed a fix. 

And it didn’t help when one evening you were woken up by daunting dreams that kept you awake all night. You desperately wanted to seek out comfort from him, but instead you laid in your bed alternating between staring at the ceiling or the back of your eyelids. 

The questions bounced back and forth in your mind. Would he even be awake at this hour? Would he let you stay? Even though you were 100% willing to help him, would he be willing to help you?

You were starting to get restless. Turning around in bed you checked the time on your phone. An hour of tossing and turning had gone by and still you were no closer to falling asleep. 

With a sigh of defeat, you got out of bed and snuck down the hall. For a second there was no response to your knock. You almost gave up after your first attempt and left, but the door opened and you were met with blue eyes. Those blue eyes you could swim in.

He said your name in a raspy voice, indicating he was in fact previously asleep. You were already starting to regret your decisions. 

He looked at you confused, “what’s up?” 

Your hands played with the hem of your sleep shirt. The words were stuck in your throat with no way out. 

He noticed the hesitation in you immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Did I wake you up?” you asked, ignoring his own question. 

“No.” 

“Liar,” you accused with a hint of humor.

He tried to resist smiling, but you caught the corners of his mouth lifted up. 

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. It took all of your strength to not look him up and down as he did it. Of course he had to be shirtless, again. 

“Can’t sleep,” you offered quietly as you folded your arms. “I uh, I know this might sound dumb, but I wanted to ask if- if we could-” 

“Yes.” 

You froze in response to his interruption. 

“Really?” 

He nodded, “Really. And It’s not dumb.”

The tight fists you didn’t realize you were holding loosened. 

“Thanks,” you said more bashfully than you intended. 

“Do you want to sleep here or in your room?” 

You honestly didn’t care at this point where you were. 

You just wanted to be with him. 

“We can stay here, I don’t mind.” 

He nodded and welcomed you into his room. Your eyes trailed to his bed, it looked slept in this time. There were no pillows or blankets on the ground. That brought a bit of relief to you that he was comfortable sleeping in a bed again.

“Nightmare?” He asked, fixing the pillows on the bed from their messy position.

”Yeah.” 

“Well, I may not have any of your fancy magic, but I’ll help the best I can.” 

“Wanda’s the one with magic.” 

He deadpanned at you, but you could tell he found you amusing because of the glint in his eyes and the tiny smirk he couldn’t hide. 

You lightly smacked his arm- the real one or else you would break a finger- and walked to the other side of the bed. “C’mon, you know I appreciate your help.” 

He quietly chuckled as you both settled into bed. 

That turned into a common occurrence. At least once a week, one of you would have trouble sleeping and end up in the other person's room. 

But it wasn’t just your sleeping habits. There was a significant change between you and Bucky. 

It was unspoken, but present. The bond between you was stronger now. You were closer, figuratively and physically. 

The both of you seeked out the other more often. When in group settings, you always sat next to each other. Even offering small subtle touches of affection, like your hand on his arm or his hand on your back. He sat so much closer to you when you spent time together in the lounge. 

The team had definitely noticed this change in your and Bucky’s behavior. As the weeks passed, most of them tried to clue in on what was going on between you two. Anytime they brought it up, you both tried to avoid the subject and shoot down their questions. 

While you did soak up every little bit of this new bond you shared, it also started to drive you to the brink of insanity. As your bond grew, so did your feelings. 

Every touch, every glance, every word shared between you was feeding the yearning that ate away at your heart. 

It was borderline mean how he would rest his head on your shoulder when you’d be watching a movie and easily fall asleep against you. Or when you would rest your head on him and his arm would sneak around your shoulders. It was sickening how he let you ruffle his hair- meanwhile if someone like Sam or Clint even came close to his hair- they’d lose a hand. It was torture when in an effort to stop you from overexerting yourself, he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing and carried you out of the gym to get some rest. It was evil how he would poke your warm skin with his cool metal hand to watch you jump in surprise. 

It was painful being so close to him yet feeling so far away.

You desperately wanted more. Wanted to tell him how important he is to you. That you’d do anything for him to make sure he was safe and happy. How you’d fight off any nightmares he had with your bare fists if it meant he could sleep peacefully. Tell him that he was one of the most handsome men you’d ever met and you would kiss him till you couldn’t breathe if he’d let you.

You needed him to know that when you looked at him you saw your safe space. That no other person has made you feel so content and at home. That he was the only person who you could lay next to and feel safe enough to let yourself sleep. 

But instead you kept that all to yourself. Letting it fester like a wound inside of you. 

Because one too many times after a sweet intimate moment you shared, he would almost close in on himself. It was subtle, but you would always catch it. 

There would be this look in his eyes when he left your bedroom in the morning. His eyes would melt with melancholy for a few brief seconds. Or right after you pointed out the serenity of your closeness while casually spending time together and his posture would stiffen or he’d become less talkative. 

So, you never brought it up. Instead you existed in the space between friends and more than friends. 

“They look so cozy,” Yelena commented as she observed from afar. 

Sam stepped closer to get a better view of what she was seeing. From where they stood in the kitchen, they could see you and Bucky on the couch. You had both fallen asleep. The movie you had previously turned on was still playing in the background. His face was buried in your neck and his arms were wrapped around your middle. One of your arms lazily draped around him keeping him close. 

“Yeah, a little too cozy,” he teased. 

“God will they just kiss already?” She joked walking back to the kitchen island where Steve and Wanda were cooking. 

Sam looked at her like she had four heads. 

“Wait, I thought they were sleeping together.”

Wanda shook her head, “No, I don't think they’ve made it that far yet.”

“What are you talking about? I saw him leave her room at like 7 am yesterday. How would you know they haven’t even kissed yet?” 

“You can just tell,” Wanda answered without even looking up from chopping vegetables. 

Sam crossed his arms, “Okay, how?”

Yelena pointed towards the couple in question as she spoke. “He’s still holding back.” 

Sam looked at her in disbelief, “His face is in her neck. You call that holding back?” 

The two women shushed him as his voice accidentally raised in volume. Sam turned around to take a peek at the living room and make sure you were still asleep. And more importantly, not listening. 

Yelena shrugged back at him, “I don’t know how to explain it Sam. There’s something in the way he acts around her.” 

“Not that it’s bad,” Wanda interjected. “It just seems like he’s scared of something.” 

Sam turned his attention to Steve who had still yet to comment on the matter. 

“What about you?” Sam asked him. “Did he tell you anything?” 

Steve glanced up from the counter and his gaze landed on the scene many feet away from them.

“I know he’s sweet on her.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, “Well obviously.” 

Steve cracked a smile at his friend. He lowered his voice, careful to not wake the couple in question, “I asked when he was gonna ask her out. He told me she wouldn’t want someone like him.”

“That’s complete bullshit,” Yelena argued as she sat on a stool and stole a chopped vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board. 

Steve shook his head and returned to preparing dinner. “I told him. He wouldn’t listen.” 

Steve didn’t know exactly what was going on in his best friend's head. But one thing he did know was that Bucky didn’t think he was deserving of love. 

“Well he needs a wakeup call.” Sam snatched a vegetable from Wanda’s cutting board as she swatted him away. 

Two hours later, the kitchen was abandoned. Dishes in the sink and leftovers, for the “love birds” as Clint called you, in the fridge. 

You and Bucky were still asleep on the couch. By now, one of your many roommates turned off the tv. 

You don’t remember when you fell asleep, who fell asleep first, or how you ended up in this position. But you woke up with a painful feeling in your chest. 

It snuck up on you. Like one of those dreams where all is well and then suddenly you're falling and it startles you awake. 

Only this was worse. 

A lot worse. 

This feeling was familiar. Waking up from a nightmare. You were no stranger to it. Yet this time it felt different. It felt foreign. This fear wasn’t coming from your own dreams. 

Except, you didn’t realize that when you woke up. All you could think about in your freshly awakened state was the pain. The terror and guilt had wrapped around your chest like barbed wire and choked you. 

You saw it. 

You didn’t mean to. You didn’t go looking for it. It found you because it was so powerful. His feelings were so strong, so painful that they seeped into you from his touch. And what followed were the images of his nightmare.

You watched the dream from Bucky’s point of view. The setting was blurry. You were indoors with no windows. Maybe some kind of cellar. It was dark, but light enough that you could make out who you were fighting. 

Yourself. 

The first thing you noticed was the difference in his arm. It was chrome with a red star on his shoulder instead of the black and gold vibranium. He was wearing all black tactical gear and a black mask. 

You were fighting the Winter Soldier.

As the fight continued, you grew weaker. You managed to hold your own against him, but his brute strength and endurance were catching up with you. He wasn’t holding back. Your strength was weakening the more you blocked off his attacks. 

With a small blade, he sliced your arm before you kneed him and knocked the knife to the ground. He managed to anticipate your next move and kicked you in the abdomen, causing you to slam back into the wall behind you. 

You hunched over in pain, struggling to breathe. He stalked towards you and slammed you against the wall. His metal arm wrapped around your throat and held you in the air. You choked for breath but couldn’t take one. From his eyes, you watched tears streamed down your own face and lips mouth a silent plea. 

“James please.” 

Seconds later your eyes fell and your body went limp. 

A gasp left you as you were brought back to the present. Back in your own body. 

Seconds later you felt movement and the man next to you woke up. 

Bucky was in shambles. He quickly sat up on the couch, panting quick weak breaths. His hands were trembling as he gripped the couch cushion. His metal fingers dug into it so hard you were worried he would rip the fabric. 

His eyes were the worst to take in from the sight in front of you. They were bloodshot, glassy, and full of panic as they scanned his surroundings. 

You reached forward and placed your hands on his face. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t think to use your powers. You almost didn’t want to after what you accidentally witnessed. 

“Hey, hey you’re okay. You’re okay. I’m fine,” you cooed to him. This didn’t help him at all. His face was still struck with horror. 

“James, look at me.” This caught his attention. His eyes landed on yours and you watched a tear fall down his cheek and felt it land on your hand. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe, I’m safe,” You comforted while stroking his face with your thumbs. 

His eyes darted over your face as he recognized you were there. You were tangible. 

You were alive. 

Bucky dove forward and engulfed you in a hug. His hold on you was tight, like he was scared you wouldn’t be there if he let go. 

His quick movements took you by surprise and almost knocked the wind out of you. After a few seconds, you relaxed against his hold and rested your arms around his neck. Your hand weaved its way into his hair. You felt his tense muscles start to ease at the feeling. 

“I thought I-“ he stuttered, voice still frail. 

“I know, I’m fine baby I’m right here.” You didn’t mean to let the term of endearment slip out. You hoped he wouldn’t dwell on it. 

And for a moment you were worried he did. There was no response from him for longer than you liked. 

Until he nervously asked, “did you see that?” 

You let out a small sigh, knowing the guilt would tear him apart. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I promise. It was just so … strong,” you apologized while your fingers dug in his hair as a way to comfort him. 

“I couldn’t … I couldn’t stop myself,” he whimpered. His hold on you tightened.   

“It wasn’t real. I know you would never hurt me.”

He whispered so quietly you wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close. His voice sounded fragile and small. “What if one day I did?” 

“But what if you didn’t?”

You heard a sniffle followed by a long pause. It seemed like he was calming down because his breathing started to even out and slow down. 

You continued to play with his hair until he finally released his hold on you. When you separated he quickly wiped at his wet eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” he muttered with guilt etched on his face. 

“For what?” 

“For scaring you. That you had to see that.” 

The surprise of his apology hit like a brick to your temple. 

Bucky was the one who had the terrifying nightmare that brought up his trauma from Hydra. He just watched the winter soldier kill someone he cared about. But you are his main concern. He’s more worried about you accidentally being a witness to it. He’s more concerned about you being scared than his own fear. 

If he wasn’t reeling from what he just saw you would’ve punched his arm for apologizing. But tough love wasn’t what he needed right now. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that. It’s not your fault.” You’d repeat it like a mantra to him until he believed you. “The only thing that scares me is seeing you like this,” you comforted with a soft voice. 

There was a small look of relief in his eyes, but not enough to show that he was fully convinced. 

Silence grew between you. As time stretched, you thought more about his nightmare. Your curiosity was growing and it needed to be answered. You needed to know if your suspicions were correct. 

“Can I ask you about it?” you asked cautiously. 

There was a brief pause before he nodded. 

“Was that like the nightmare you had a while ago? The one I helped you with.”

His eyes couldn’t quite reach yours. He looked down with a pained expression and swallowed before letting out a quiet whisper. “Yes.” 

The ache in your stomach tripled at his meek reply. Flashes of that night bounced in your head. The tremble in his voice, the panic on his face. How he practically came running to your room after he woke up. He’d been having nightmares for days, but that night specifically he needed to see you. 

You thought of the terrified reaction he had to the idea of you erasing the memory of the nightmare. Because if you erased it, that meant you would’ve seen your own death. 

You would’ve seen him killing you. 

“You’re not usually in my nightmares. That was the first time I ever saw something like that. It’s been eating away at me ever since.” Bucky explained, still not looking you in the eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, you noticed he did that a lot when he was nervous. 

His earlier question rang in your ears as realization dawned on you. 

“What if one day I did?”

You sat up straighter and leaned closer to him. “It was a nightmare. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore,” you comforted in a gentle voice. 

“I know but—” his eyes squeezed shut as the words he was trying to say got stuck in his throat. “I’m scared that it’s still a part of me. I’m scared that somehow it’ll all come back. And I could never live with myself if I ever hurt you.” 

Things were starting to fall into place and suddenly make sense in your mind. This had to be why he kept close to you but somehow still at arms length. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to fully enjoy your embrace in fear of getting too close and hurting you. He didn’t want to bring his frightening past with him and let it poison your life. 

“Buck,” you whispered to make sure he was listening. 

Bucky’s eyes opened back up and finally met yours. They were still red, glossy and full of fear. 

It was now or never. You needed him to know. 

“I trust you. More than I’ve trusted anyone in a long time.” 

You placed a hand on his cheek and gently caressed his face. Instinctively, he leaned into your touch. It seemed like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

“I feel safe when I’m around you. I don’t think there was ever a time I felt like I was in danger with you in any way. That's why I want to be near you or why I seek you out when I can’t sleep.” You let out a gentle chuckle before your next words, “Hell, I can sleep next to you. Do you know how big of a deal that is to me? For me to feel safe enough to fall asleep in the same bed as someone else.” 

He resisted the urge to smile. He looked like he desperately wanted to believe you, but the darkness had a chokehold on him and wouldn’t loosen. 

You needed to dig deeper. 

“Are you afraid of me?” you asked in a serious tone. “Afraid of what I can do with my powers when I touch you?” 

His expression fell with absolute bewilderment, “No, of course not.”

“Then why would I be afraid of you?” 

Bucky momentarily froze as he realized the point you were making. He shook his head unconvinced, “That’s not the same.” 

“Is it really?” you insisted. “You said it yourself, you trust me. You barely knew me and you trusted that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He muttered your name, about to counteract you, but you gently cut him off. 

“No, listen.” You grabbed his hand in yours. The warmth from your hand started to seep into the cool metal. 

“You would never hold the things I did at Hydra against me. Why should I do the same to you?” 

It seemed like you were getting through to him the way his jaw clenched. He wanted to argue back, but he couldn’t. 

“I’m not scared of you. I never was.” you spoke with determination in each breath. You needed the words to sink in.

“When I look at you I don’t see the winter soldier. I see a kind man who cares so deeply about people. I see someone who even though he shows a tough exterior, is secretly a huge softy. And a sucker for physical affection even if he doesn’t want to admit it.” 

That made him chuckle. He almost appeared sheepish the way he looked at you in return.

“I need you to get it through your thick skull that you’re important to me. You mean so much to me and you don’t even realize it,” your hold on his hand tightened as your heart poured out into his grasp. 

Bucky sat there quietly. Wide pupils staring back at you as he took in what you said. His bright blue eyes appeared almost incandescent. 

His other hand found its way on your thigh. The feeling of his hand on you had butterflies swarming in your stomach and your face heating up. You were used to his touch by now, but this felt so much more intimate than anything you’d ever done. 

“Ya know, when I had that nightmare for the first time and I asked you to help me fall asleep, I didn’t really need you to use your powers on me,” he confessed. His hand traveled up and down your thigh as he spoke. 

“I just needed to make sure you were okay. I couldn’t go back to sleep without knowing you were safe.” 

He started to lean closer to you. The distance between you was slowly dwindling as he continued. 

“You mean the world to me doll,” he said softly. His voice dripping with devotion. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.” 

You closed the space between you and him and rested your forehead against his. 

“I’m right here. I’m all in. The good, the bad, I don’t care. I want all of you.“

Bucky's metal hand reached up to cradle your face. Your cheeks were so flushed and warm, the cold metal sent chills down your body. His thumb gently caressed your cheek and ran over your bottom lip.

“Can I-?” he pleaded in a low voice. 

Of course he would be a gentleman and ask. Even when his lips were mere inches away and you were like putty in his hands. 

“Just kiss me James,” you breathed desperately. 

He didn’t waste a second. He tiled your face up towards him and his soft lips collided with yours in an instant. You were practically melting in his hold. 

Your mind was going fuzzy. You couldn’t think of anything other than the feeling of his lips against yours as he hopelessly tried to mold to you. Your hands found purchase around his neck and in his hair, trying to pull him closer. 

He sighed and smiled against your lips. His hand that was on your thigh traveled up and gripped your waist. 

Neither of you knew how much time had passed. I seemed like time stood still until you heard someone enter the deadly silent living room and gasp. 

You quickly pulled away from each other at the sound to find Wanda trying to hold back a smile. Bucky and you sat like deer in headlights staring at her. 

“Get a room you two. I know you use them,” she teased before retreating into the hallway. 

As she left, you turned to Bucky and saw his face was bright red matching yours. 

“Oh god,” you chuckled, leaned forward and hid your face in his neck. 

He reached up and ran his hand up and down your back. “You wanna go somewhere more private?” he whispered close to your ear. 

You leaned back to face him again. “Why? You want to kiss me more?” you asked with a cheeky smile.

He offered you a smug grin as his eyes darted between your lips and your eyes. 

“Babygirl, I never wanna stop kissing you.”

[kylopen]

In My Head

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sunshine reader is always seen as sweet and innocent to the team, always happy to use her healing magic wherever possible. Bucky, touch starved and in love, discovers reader is not as innocent as she seems.

Word count: 8.2k words <3

Plus size reader safe! All body types are safe in this fic! Everyone loves Dom! Bucky I do too but good god I need whipped Bucky who will do anything for Reader. This is the longest piece I’ve written in so long! Enjoy and leave a note<3 I’m in my marvel era again so feel free to request anyone! I didn't proof read (i finished it at 1am)

Tags: There is a plot! (porn with plot lol) AFAB reader, The smut is pure FILTH tbh, Smut, Pining Bucky, no use of Y/N.

Smut warnings: Sub!Bucky, soft dom! Reader, use of ‘Good boy’, Bucky has a praise kink, pussy eating (lots of it), Needy/touch starved Bucky, Bucky has an Edward Cullen moment, Oral (female/reader receiving— THREE times hehe) penetration, Buck likes his hair pulled, Bucky dry humps, Reader squirts (third oral sequence so skip that part if you wish) needy creampie.

There were things in the modern world that baffled Bucky, Bubble tea, new terms for prejudice ending in 'phobia', babies with Ipads in their faces. And you. The first time he laid eyes on you, you gave him a blindingly sweet smile, and held your hand out for him to shake. When he didn't take it you didn't judge him or look at him funny, you smiled like you understood. From then on, you respected his boundaries and he began to feel safe. It made sense to him that someone like you had the power to help and heal others.

You’d always bring them things; vitamins, water, those weird orange flavoured things that dissolve in water, something a little sugary for a boost, with that sweet, innocent smile he'd grown to adore. He would never- could never admit that though, someone like him wasn't worthy of you. He could settle for some longing and pining instead.

Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.

“An American in Paris, huh?” you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.

Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didn’t help that it was a hot day today, you’d opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.

“Yeah, Steve’s choice,” Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Bucky’s tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.

“You a fan of the classics too?” Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.

You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Bucky’s senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after he’d met you… coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.

“Reminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but I’m a sucker for Marilyn Monroe” you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.

Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.

He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he just didn’t know how. What could he say that wouldn’t make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldn’t afford that.

But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. “How was training today?”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. “Same as always. Steve still hits like a truck.”

Steve laughed from the other side, “You’re the one with the metal arm, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.

You laughed too, and that sound—it was like a melody that settled right under Bucky’s skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment you’d met.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes twinkling, “you didn’t let him win this time either?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. “Nope.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. “Can’t let Cap off easy.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than he’d expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant you’d be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say something—anything—but the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.

For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like—if he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.

But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldn’t let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.

You didn’t push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.

The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.

“Come on, Buck, focus,” Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like that—disciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.

His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when you’d spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.

As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.

Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“Damn it,” Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldn’t be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.

Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasn’t anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didn’t like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.

“You weren’t focused,” Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasn’t a question.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Bucky’s mind, but he wasn’t going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to press—though Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.

They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feel—safe, seen. The way you’d praise him. God… the way you’d tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,

Just for a second, his mind drifts again— Your pretty eyes, the way they’d look at him like he was something amazing, the smile you’d give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-

Steve’s fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesn’t account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.

“Whoa, Buck!” Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. “You good?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.

Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasn’t pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyes—Steve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldn’t be long before he asked about it.

Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You need to go get that checked out.” He motions to the cut on Bucky’s cheek and his ribs.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve doesn’t budge. “Buck, if you don’t get that cleaned up, it’s going to get worse. You’re already bruised, and that cut—” He gestured to Bucky’s face. “—needs to be looked at.”

Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, “Go see her.”

He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. “What?”

“Go see her,” Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. “You know she can patch you up. She always does.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.

“I don’t need—” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.

“Buck, you’re hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know she’d want to,” Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She cares, man. And you’re not doing yourself any favours by pretending you don’t need her.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. “Fine.”

Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here.”

Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.

All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didn’t feel anything.

Bucky’s footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.

You’re there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. You’re dressed in your usual professional attire—a fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.

You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. “Bucky,” you greet warmly, your voice soft. “What brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?”

For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. “Just a cut… and maybe some bruised ribs.”

You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. “Only maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.”

Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether he’s imagining the playful tone in your voice or if it’s actually there. He clears his throat. “Yeah… probably.”

With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. There’s something about the way you carry yourself today—calm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.

You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“It’s not deep,” you murmur “But it’s a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~” you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.

Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. He’s experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, it’s a simple move but he craves more.

“There we go,” you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.

Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. He’s probably imagining it—just reading too much into things. You’re always sweet, always kind and innocent.

Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. “Lift your shirt for me?” you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.

“You really got hit hard,” you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: “Good thing I can take care of you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you moved—it feels almost sinful in a way he’s not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, it’s damn near impossible.

You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.

“There,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All better.”

But your hand doesn’t move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as he’s about to say something—anything—you pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if you’re looking for something. Bucky’s mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.

Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? You’re just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything you’re doing feels different. More intentional. And the way you’d looked at him just now—

He notices you didn’t actually pick anything up from the desk after you’d bent over it a little.

“Alright, just one last check,” you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. “Let me make sure everything else is fine.” You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if you’re checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers linger—soft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but there’s something in the way you do it that makes Bucky’s entire body tense.

You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but there’s a hint of something more—something almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. “Hmm, seems like you’re all healed up,” you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he can’t move, can’t speak—stuck between the need to figure out if what he’s feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself it’s all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments… it leaves him wondering if you aren’t quite as innocent as he thought.

You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. “Take it easy, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard next time.”

Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Yeah… thanks.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. “Anytime.” You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.

You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you don’t notice.

As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: “Let me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to me”

As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether it’s real or just in his imagination, Bucky can’t help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?

That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didn’t you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you must’ve known what was going through his head.

He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when you’d leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:

“I saved you the last cherry flavoured one, don’t tell anyone” before winking slightly.

He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.

He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked you’d give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.

Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.

You blink at him. “Bucky?” your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. “Is everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuse—an explanation for why he’s standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears there’s something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if you’re inviting him in. “You didn’t have to knock, you know,” you say with that same sweetness. “You can always come to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyes—something about the way you're looking at him—has his feet moving before his brain catches up.

He steps over the threshold.

Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocent—at least on the surface.

“So…” you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, “What brings you here so late, Bucky?” There’s a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.

He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. “I… uh, I couldn’t sleep.” His voice comes out rougher than he intended.

“We both know my healing powers can’t help you sleep Bucky. So what’s up with you coming to see lil’. ol’. Me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racing—unsure if you're playing a game or if he’s just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. You’re watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. “About me?”

Bucky feels his pulse quicken. He’s certain now—there’s no way he’s imagining it.

“I—” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” You ask sweetly

Bucky’s breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he can’t explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Bucky’s heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of you—intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he want’s your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.

He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. “I notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.”

He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he can’t—because the truth is, you’re right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.

You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Bucky’s breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way you’re looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like they’re daring him to make the next move…

He’s losing it.

“You don’t have to hide it,” you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. “You can tell me what you want, Bucky…”

He whines.

Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. “Fuck…”

Bucky’s breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Bucky’s resolve crumbles. He can’t hold back anymore.

His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You…” His voice is low, strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “You’re driving me crazy, doll.”

You smile, and the look in your eyes—soft, teasing, and just a little wicked—sends him over the edge.

Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.

“ah ah ah” you shake your head “we ask for what we want”

Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

“Say please” there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.

Oh fuck.

Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. He’s momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but there’s something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.

“Please?”

You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.

“Fuck… Bucky…” You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. It’s gentle, as though you’re teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.

“Doll… please… I…” He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.

“Please what? Good boys use their words.” You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

“I need… more… please” He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.

“Sit there. Lean against the headboard” you hum and he immediately does as he’s told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didn’t want that. He needed you to guide him.

You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but you’re quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. He’s quick to pull it away but you’re quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.

You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Bucky’s ears.

Your lips kiss his earlobe. “You like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~”

He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a ‘tsk’ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.

You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.

“Take your clothes off, honey” your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. There’s a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.

“What do you want? You just need to ask” You inquire, goading him to tell you.

He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.

“Can I taste you please?”

Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.

“I’m sorry— if you don’t want—“ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.

“You asked me so nicely.” You beckon him and the speed in which he’s on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yes, please” His voice is hoarse.

“You wanna make me feel good?” You coo.

Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. “More than anything” He confirms.

You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. You’re momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting he’s a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Bucky’s breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much he’s enjoying being between your legs.

“Bucky— oh my god” You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.

He is good at this.

Really fucking good.

Too good?

It doesn’t take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until you’re squirming and too sensitive.

He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.

“You did so well… so good for me…” You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.

A praise kink.

“You did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a reward” You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. “You want a reward baby?”

Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.

“What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want”

Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.

“Please doll… sit on my face… if… you want…” He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.

You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. He’s gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then you’re settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenous— His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he can’t breathe.

“You can touch me Buck” you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You don’t move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.

You giggle and look at him innocently. “Sorry honey what was that? I can’t understand you~”

His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.

“Move— please. Grind on my face. Use me to come please”

How could you say no to such a beautiful request?

You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you can’t help but wonder if he’s tired. He doesn’t look tired. You move his arms so he’s holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.

“Eyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~” You tease.

His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.

“Good~ So good to me” You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathing— but that isn’t on Bucky’s mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.

Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.

“Holy shit Bucky” You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.

He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until he’s at your hip, kissing it softly.

“You are so beautiful doll” His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. “One more time? Please?” He asks, eyes pleading.

Sweet mother of Jesus.

“You want— you seriously— you want to eat me out again?” Your eyes are wide.

Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. “And to fuck you with my fingers if that’s alright with you doll?”

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.

He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadn’t even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.

It’s not enough.

“More” You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. “oh god yes”

Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.

“Am I doing good?” His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.

“So good baby, so fucking good. You’re so good to me” You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. You’re so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didn’t even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.

Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.

Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.

“Please” He says softly.

“Oh you’re so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Bucky” you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.

“Can I… are you okay if I…” He begins and you nod.

“You’ve more than earned it” You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.

Oh lord.

You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.

“Oh my god doll I am so sorry—“ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesn’t take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. He’s panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.

You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.

“Am I hurting you, doll?” He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.

You shake your head immediately. “Please don’t stop”

He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but it’s not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.

“Harder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take it— please”

The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. It’s hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you can’t move in his grip, all you can do is take it. You’re seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.

“You feel so good doll”

“I would do this forever… beautiful beautiful girl”

And lastly:

“Oh god thank you” He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.

He’s fucking thanking you.

You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when he’s close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.

“Please come” He moans and it doesn’t take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.

“You’re so beautiful” He says in awe. “Please can I come— please doll” Bucky’s thrusts are faltering.

“fill me up Bucky~” You moan and that’s all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, you’ll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably won’t. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.

Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.

He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you aren’t even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.

“Sorry doll” He says quietly.

“It’s okay” You assure. “It was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swan” You joke.

Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.

“From Twi… never mind” You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.

“Doll… I… I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.”

You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re telling me. I don’t think I could sleep with a regular dude again after that”

It’s not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:

‘Morning sleepy head. I didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)’

He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.

When he’s all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. You’re talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.

“Bucky good morning!” Your sweet voice drifts over to him. “You slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?” It’s an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. You’re the healer of the team, and you’re concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.

Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.

“Hey Hippocrates” Tony calls out to you. “Why did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?

Oops.

-END-

[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi