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munsonify · 2 months ago

Text

admiring

pairing. bob reynolds x reader

summary. three times bob catches you staring, and the one time he confronts you about it

content warning. slight nsfw thoughts 18+ (very very brief/light detail), a little angst but mostly just a load of fluff, pining, new avengers!era and new avengers!r, mentions of insecurities (bobs), overthinking (both bob and r), non-established relationships

word count. 3695

a/n. i’m hardcore projecting myself into some of this my bad gang. also the dialogue kind of sucks so im sorry. not proofread

———

the briefing room

it had been an oddly quiet day for bob. he’d spent it alone, catching up on laundry that was 2 weeks overdue, finishing a book that’d been glued to his hand for the past couple days. there wasn’t a single interruption, not a single word spoken or an accidental run-in from anybody on the team.

bob hadn’t quite noticed until around 6 in the afternoon, lounging on his bed, staring at the ceiling. music played lowly in the headphones he had on, fingers thrumming against his chest in tandem with the soft bass in the back. normally by now, he would’ve had a knock at his door from walker, or a handful of missed texts from yelena claiming they needed him for something important.

he found that the word important meant very different things to these people.

the only person who seemed to have a grasp on what that was was bucky - who, by the way, was the one who interrupted his incredibly peaceful day. the thrumming of his knuckles against bobs door broke him out of his trance. letting his eyes roll into the back of his head, he pushed himself off of his bed, tugging his headphones off and letting it settle around his neck.

bucky was standing outside bobs door, visibly annoyed. and as if reading his mind-

“can’t let you rest for too long, kid. val wants us down in the briefing room in ten.”

“did she say why?” bob asked, scratching the back of his head. he really didn’t want to deal with her today.

“nope,” bucky told him, shaking his head in disbelief. “she barely ever does. just be there, got it?”

that’s how bobs perfectly fine day turned into a raging headache. val had practically nothing of value to say, and even if she did, he wasnt listening. after five minutes of sitting in those god awful office chairs, his mind began to wander elsewhere. specifically, it went to how comfortable his bed had been just 20 minutes ago.

what snapped bob out of his thought was the odd feeling that someone was staring at him. with furrowed eyebrows, his eyes began to flick through the room until they landed on you.

in the few short months that the team had been living inside of the tower, bob hadn’t quite gotten a read on you. he’d spoke to you briefly in passing, just a simple hello, but never anything more. that seemed to be how you were with everyone though. quiet. he never took quietness personally. needless to say, seeing you staring at him caught him by surprise.

bob saw the way your eyes grew wide the moment he noticed you. you quickly pried your eyes away from his, your fingers that were once fiddling with a pen grew steady, gripping it enough for it to bend and nearly snap in your hold. his eyes lingered on you for a long few seconds, trying to finally get his read on you, only to fall short.

he wondered if, by accident, you had zoned out just like he had. that’s happened to bob before - zoned out directly staring at someone he didn’t mean to be. he remembers how mortified he’d been when that’d happened. surely, that’s what you’d done. simply tuned out of the conversation at hand.

and while bob left it at that, your mind started to spin.

for the weeks that you’d known bob, you’d grown a raging sense of curiosity about him. even from the beginning, there was something about the man that intrigued you - it wasn’t the serum he’d stumbled upon or the powers he’d gained from it, no. it was the way he carried himself, awkward and lanky with a sort of sideways confidence tied in with it. the sharp features he had didn’t seem to quite fit him you didn’t think, though you couldn’t help but admire them, especially in contrast to his soft, round blue eyes.

you were simply admiring bob when he’d caught you staring. god you wished he hadn’t. despite how entranced you were with him, you’d barely spoken to him. you couldn’t quite bring yourself to hold a conversation with him just yet. eventually, you were sure you would.

———

the training room

training with walker was always exhausting. he’s a diligent, hardworking, relentless man who strived for perfection - of course that shines through when he trains. it was good practice sparring with him, and you always felt good about yourself after somehow managing through workouts with him. still, you were over the moon when you finally called it quits for the day.

“you did good, just remember to keep your shoulders back when you’re throwing punches,” walker commented, tossing a cool towel at your chest.

“thanks walker,” you mumbled as you searched around for your crisp water. neither of you were the best with words, so you kept it at that. simple. effective.

your knees nearly gave out on you as you bent down to grab the water you were in desperate need of. walker was somewhere across the training room putting away the rest of the equipment you’d used today. somehow, he still had the energy to do all of it. you simply chalked up to the super serum. it makes you feel better about yourself.

through the clanking of metal, you could hear footsteps approaching the training room. the sound of two voices slowly began to echo into earshot, one in which made your heart miss a beat or two. you looked down at yourself in agony.

with the towel hung around your neck to soothe your heated skin, you began to realize just how worn you looked. your thin tank top clung to your sticky skin, sweat dripping slightly down onto the floor below you. your knees were trembling still, something that only worsened the moment he walked into the room.

yelena strutted her way into the room with confidence, bob right behind her, nearly tripping over the foamy mat as he stepped onto it. you were quick to look at the man - tall and clumsy, wearing workout clothes you were sure he’d never wear out of this room. your mind was quick to move from your appearance at the sight of him.

while your confidence has grown the longer you’d been in the watchtower, you still couldn’t bring yourself to communicate properly with bob. you were beginning to be a little better with it, making small talk that eventually died down after a few minutes. otherwise, you fell short.

“i was just telling bob how you finally did the widow move,” yelena spoke out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. a few awkward moments passed as you realized bob had caught you staring again before you forced your eyes away. “it was pretty badass.”

you hummed out in agreement with yelena, taking a nervous drink of your water as you started your way towards the exit. this was your time to leave before things became worse for you.

“yeah,” you chuckled nervously, small smile playing on your lips. your eyes glanced over at bob, who hadn’t let you out of your sight since he’d caught you. “‘s a pretty cool move. glad to finally master it.”

“oh, i didn’t say master,” yelena quipped, pointing her index finger at you sternly. “i just said you did it.”

“i’m sure you did g-great,” bob finally spoke, stuttering slightly on his words. he knew the widow move, he’d seen yelena do it himself. the thought of you doing it successfully had him choking on his words.

he was quick to move past your stare this time around, his mind otherwise preoccupied. that didn’t stop him from wondering on it later in the day, long after the both of you left the training room. he still chalked your gaze up to nothing but a coincidence, even if it did have him a nervous mess.

———

the kitchen

it was never uncommon for bob to stay up through the night. silence was hard to come by in his mind when he had so much to think about. when he became restless like this, he turned to quiet walks around the tower to try and clear his mind, or a book to read to try and suppress it all. unfortunately for him, none of his coping mechanisms quite worked for him some nights.

the coffee that just finished brewing was the first of many attempts bob made to keep his body going today, the late night turning into a very early morning. he could already see the sunrise on the horizon out of the corner of his eye as he poured the coffee shakily. his normal mug was sitting in the sink, the insides stained slightly by coffee he had drank the day before. the man settled on a mug with a garfield graphic instead.

bob glanced over at the stove, a huff of air coming out of his nose the moment his eyes found the time. 6:05. the grip he had on the mug tightened while he finished preparing it. with hunched shoulders, he shuffled over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair just enough for him to slide into it. he wanted nothing more than to rest in his bed, large and warm and welcoming. but alas, his mind still wouldn’t quiet down, not quite. a buzz rang low and steady in the back of his head.

that’s when you walked in. bobs head snapped up the moment he heard your quiet footsteps, eyes that were once unfocused on the table focused in on your figure as you stumbled into the large kitchen. he could feel his whole body tense, throat tightening up slightly as you glanced over at him and offering him a small smile.

bob noticed that he tensed up around you a lot. he was prone to nervousness around you. everything about you captivated him - the way you spoke, the way you looked, the way you carried yourself. even if you never really interacted with him, he couldn’t help but admire you. a part of him knew that he tensed up around you for another reason. that weird little staring problem you had, one that only seemed to be directed at him and no one else.

“g’morning,” you spoke, voice quiet and a little raw from sleep. bob gave you a half-hearted smile back, mumbling a good morning to you. his eyes began to dart between you and the open space that surrounded him in an anxious sort of way. he wasn’t quite sure where to put his eyes.

“mind if i have some?” you asked, thumb motioning over to the pot of coffee on the countertop. you were already grabbing ahold of a floral mug in the cabinet, though, like you already knew the answer.

“‘course,” bob nodded. he suddenly became aware of how he must look - hair a mess, eyelids drooping and bloodshot, a slump to him that he couldn’t straighten up to save his life. he tried to distract himself from his own appearance with yours.

not in a bad way, never a bad way. simply in a curious way. with your back to him, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, he noticed that your baggy shirt had a few holes in it. it reminded him of the clothes he wears to bed, old and worn and perfect to sleep in. as a matter of fact, there was a hole in the armpit of the shirt he was wearing now. most of his clothes were like that.

bob noticed that you poured an obscene amount of milk into your coffee, almost too much. he was well aware of the bitter taste, a taste he didn’t like much, but this was just absurd. he could excuse it though on accounts of you being so pretty. even fresh out of sleep, you caught his eye.

his gaze snapped back to the table the moment he noticed you starting to move again. you turned around, mug in hand, before waddling yourself over to a seat. you sat at a respectable distance from the man - far enough away so that you weren’t crowding his personal space, but close enough so that it didn’t seem like you were allergic to being around him. you sometimes wished you could consider being a chronic over thinker a hobby.

you found your eyes wandering off to bob again. it’s like they couldn’t help but gravitate towards him. the first thing you noticed about him was his eyes, and how tired they looked. you were aware he struggled to sleep. there had been nights where you had caught him walking the halls of the tower while you were in search of a glass of water or a late night snack. he truly looked exhausted this morning, though, like he was forcing his body upright.

your eyes eventually drifted down to his hands. bob had both wrapped firmly around his mug with two fingers slipped beneath the handle. if you hadn’t known there was a garfield mug inside of the pantry you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint what the orange peaking past his fingers was - bobs hands were large.

you blinked a few slow, hard times as you processed that thought of yours. you watched as a pointer finger of his traced the ceramic rhythmically, a grounding technique of his. you began to wonder what his fingers would feel like against you, dancing against your skin like they were that mug. you wondered what his hands would feel like against your face, warm and a little shaky. you wondered what they’d feel like against your hips, firm and unmoving as he held you close. the thought of his hands drifting further down your body has your head going a little fuzzy.

it wasn’t until bob let out a strained cough, shifting uncomfortably in his seat that you’d realized you’d been staring for far too long. your bottom lip that somehow traveled between your teeth was released from its confines quickly, eyes darting away immediately. now it was your turn to tense up.

while bob didn’t say a word, his mind began to swirl. of course, the moment he’d thought he’d had his mind under control, his thoughts began to betray him again, picking right back up at the speed from earlier.

why were you always staring at him? what he once thought was a coincidence was now quickly spiraling into something that had to be purposeful, personal. was he doing something wrong that was making you stare? were you upset with him? were you wanting the mug he was using? or was this all in his head? couldn’t be.

rather than asking you, bob chose to do nothing but sit in his uncomfortable-ness. this was something for him to deal with when he wasn’t so tired.

———

the common area

it was hard to find peace and quiet in the tower. between constant bickering, mission briefing and debriefing, and simply existing together, noise was something that was inevitable. while a fact, it didn’t make it any less frustrating. that’s why you appreciated any silence you were handed greatly. today was no different.

for the first time in two weeks, the common area was empty, motionless, and quiet. you were quick to occupy one of the squishy rocking chairs that inhabited the open room, resting into it and sighing in relief. the warmth of the sun spilled into the room through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, engulfing you perfectly. the sun wasn’t shining in your eyes, though it gave you the exact lighting you needed to get some reading done.

with your feet propped up on the now reclined chair, you did just that. in peace.

there were only two other members of the team inside of the tower. bucky was in his room, finally finding peace in the quiet tower just like you were. without walker and ava bickering, or alexei’s usual obnoxious demeanor, he didn’t have anyone to rope him into their bullshit. you liked bucky, and bucky liked you. you respected each others personal space.

bob was also inside the tower. though, while you respected each others space, you somehow always ended up within it anyways. at the beginning, you didn’t mind his company. he’s thoughtfully quiet, and you found that he made good conversation. but now? now all you wanted to do was crawl out of your skin and hide while he was near.

he made you painfully shy and insanely flustered and you hated it. the worst part? it didn’t even seem like he was trying.

it’s why you tensed up the moment you saw bob walk into the common area. you were sure that if you weren’t partially facing towards the entrance you wouldn’t have noticed him. the man was always so quiet on his feet. your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing a small smile on your lips to acknowledge and greet him.

bob offered up a small, toothy smile back at you, fingers wiggling slightly in a wave. if you weren’t so caught up in breathing properly you would’ve noticed the way he cringed at himself, nose crinkling up all cute as he overthought and instantly regretted his hello.

he went over to a chair closer to the windows, slipping on his headphones, before fumbling with his phone to find music to play. bob loved having this opportunity. it wasn’t often he could sit and listen to music, simply staring out the window and into the large city. sometimes he admired the sight, looking at what hustle and bustle he could make out down on the streets, scanning the skyline for everything and nothing. other times, he simply just stared, engulfed in his own thoughts or the music he had playing.

and, despite pressing shuffle on a good playlist of his, bob decided that thinking was the way to go today. especially since the thinking had to do with you, and how he desperately wanted to confront you. now would be the perfect time. you two were alone, and bob was sure bucky wouldn’t find his way in here anytime soon.

even if the man didn’t intrude on the conversation, bob felt like he was cornering you. you were so clearly enjoying your quiet time, engulfed in a book he couldn’t quite see the title of. he’d hate to interrupt you. that was until he caught you staring. again.

in your defense, you were also deep in thought. bob looked so cozy in his seat, a large black hoodie engulfing him in warmth, hair slightly disheveled. he finally looked well rested, too. you were simply admiring the man as your mind started to run laps, wondering how it’d feel to hug him, feel the warmth he felt right now. you didn’t even really notice you were staring at him this time.

“do you, like, hate me or something?” bob blurted out, breaking the silence between the two of you. he was quick to take his headphones off, placing it in his lap with a little too much force. your book that was once loosely grasped on your hands was in your lap in an instant, pages fluttering shut, losing your place.

“what?” you croaked out, eyes wide. you began to shake your head quickly. “no!”

bob couldn’t help but scoff. “are you sure? it kinda seems like you do!”

“yes, bob, i’m sure!”

“then what’s going on?” he asked you in a weak voice. his eyes were owlish as he stared at you, face etched in nothing but worry and anxiousness. bob looked like he could cry. “if you want me to give you space i can, i just… i wanna know why you’re always so weird around me. why you always stare.”

your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach as he spoke, guilt and anxiety filling your bones as you tried to think of a response. all this time, bob thought you didn’t like him, that your staring and your awkwardness was out of spite, not out of admiration.

“bob,” you let out, voice cracking slightly as you adjusted upright in the chair you sat in. “i’m sorry, i don’t hate you.”

a hand found its way to your forehead, rubbing gently as you let out a shaky breath. you couldn’t believe you were about to say any of this.

“i stare cause i think you’re really nice to look at. like really nice. and you’re always so kind to me. i just get so nervous around you and i forget how to act. im so sorry i made you think i hated you or something, i actually quite like you.”

those round blue eyes of bobs don’t leave you even after you’re done speaking. they stare into you like it’d hurt to leave, or like he’d miss something important if he didn’t keep staring. you noticed quickly that his hands started to mess with the headphones in his lap, anxiously feeling against the warm material.

he tried and failed to push down the adorable red blush that started to creep up his neck, the tips of his ears thankfully hidden beneath his hair. this way, he was able to spare some of his dignity. your confession had him flustered and at loss for words. which really sucked right now. you were staring at him again, this time expectedly. you’re patient, you always had been - that didn’t stop him from feeling like he needed something to say to you, and quickly.

“oh,” bob whispered, only barely finding something to say to you.

“yeah,” you whispered back, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on it anxiously.

finally, bob had something meaningful to contribute. “i think you’re really nice to look at too.”

he let out a relieved sigh the moment he saw a small smile play on your lips. this time, when you looked over at him, bob didn’t overthink it. he didn’t question himself, or try to fold in on himself. he simply let it happen. he let himself stare back at you, eyes gazing into yours, smiling just like you were. it finally felt right.

#munsonify #bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds imagines #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds imagines #robert reynolds x y/n #robert reynolds imagine #robert reynolds fluff #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds x reader

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loveandpeaceanddoughnuts · 11 months ago

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Hiromi Higuruma is lying on the couch, face half-buried in a pillow, suit rumpled and tie half-undone at his throat. His hair sticks up in odd places where he’s run his hands through it all day.

A finger of whisky sits abandoned in a glass on the coffee table, the few sips he’d managed to savor making a reappearance as spots of color on his high cheekbones.

“Too far away,” he mumbles.

“Hmm?”

“You’re too far away.” He flops one big hand off the couch in a half-assed “come here”. And you do, smiling to yourself as you squeeze in next to his sprawled body.

He immediately wraps his arms around you, the scent of tobacco and faint cologne shadowing his embrace. His hands splay over your back, pressing you closer.

“You’re so clingy when you’re sleepy, Hiromi,” you tease.

“Hmph no I’m not,” he yawns, entirely unconvincing. “And I’m not sleepy, either.”

“Right. Not at all,” You laugh as you snuggle into his warmth. “That’s not gonna hold up in court.”

Your terrible joke is rewarded with a low groan, and Hiromi buries his face in your neck. “That never gets old, huh?”

“Nope,” you grin.

His grumble is muffled, his stubble scratching against your skin. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I know.” He presses a drowsy kiss to your jaw, his sharp nose nudging along your cheek. You wind your fingers in his hair, massaging his temples and smoothing out the ever-present furrows on his brow.

“Mmm that’ll really make me fall asleep, love,” he warns, his eyelids heavy as he blinks up at you.

“That’s okay. We’ve got nowhere to be and nothing to do.”

“Goddamn. That may be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.” He squeezes your ass in one big palm and shifts so that you’re cradled in his arms.

He breathes in the comforting scent of your shampoo, and you feel his body relax beneath yours. The slow, steady beat of his heart lulls you until you’re both fast asleep.

#higuruma hiromi #jjk #jjk x reader #higuruma x reader #jjk higuruma #higuruma fluff #higuruma x you #domestic fluff #jjk fluff #sleepy

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makingqueerhistory · 4 months ago

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“I don't like kissing." "I suppose it is a matter of taste."[...]"I wondered, did anyone ever," shrug, "you know, hurt you so you don't like kissing? love?" "Nope."[...] "I thought maybe someone had been bad to you in the past, and that was why you don't like people touching or holding you." "Ah damn it to hell," she bangs the lamp down on the desk and the flame jumps wildly. "I said no. I haven't been raped or jilted or abused in any fashion. There is nothing in my background to explain the way I am." She steadies her voice, taking the impatience out of it. "I'm the odd one out, the peculiarity in my family, because they are all normal and demonstrative physically. But ever since I can remember, I've disliked close contact...charge contact, emotional contact, as well as any overtly sexual contact. I veer away from it, because it always feels like the other person is draining something out of me. I know that's irrational, but that's the way I feel." She touches the lamp and the flaring light stills. "I spent a considerable amount of time when I was, o, adolescent, wondering why I was different, whether there were other people like me. Why, when everyone else was facinated by their developing sexual nature, I couldn't give a damn. I've never been attracted to men. Or women. Or anything else. It's difficult to explain, and nobody has ever believed it when I have tried to explain, but while I have an apparently normal female body, I don't have any sexual urge or appetite. I think I am a neuter.” ― Keri Hulme, The Bone People

#queer history #queer #lgbt #lgbt history #queer books #lgbt quotes #lgbt books #queer quotes #asexual history #aromantic history #asexual books #aromantic books

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alinathinkstoomuch · 6 months ago

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Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: you had taken the day off to get yourself settled into your new apartment, not expecting hotch to show up at your door and offer a hand. warnings: suggestive, reader basically shoves her tits in hotch's face (you go girl!), hotch also catches reader in a towel, hotch being a gentleman (though not too gentlemanly because there's a filthy part two coming), like one cuss word, alcohol consumption. word count: 3.5k part 2 can be found here ✧ masterlist

You were pretty sure you’d maxed out every cuss word under the sun. If you spoke another language, you’d have burned through those swear words too. Guns? No problem. Paperwork? Manageable. Serial killers? Routine. But flat–pack furniture? That was where you met your match.

You had taken Friday off, thanks to your wonderful boss, who’d graciously allowed you the day. It had been a slow week, so you weren’t missing much – except your sanity. Because this damn bookshelf was out to get you.

The screw had slipped off the drill, skidded across the floor, and promptly disappeared into the abyss under your couch. Instead of hunting for it, you sighed, took another sip of your generously poured wine, and made a mental note to buy your new neighbours a bottle as an apology for all the yelling.

Just as you contemplated abandoning the bookshelf entirely and living amongst the scattered wooden panels like some modern art installation, there was a sharp knock at the door. You frowned, glancing at the time. You weren’t expecting anyone. In fact, barely anyone even had your new address.

Pulling open the door, you blinked up at Aaron Hotchner. Dressed in his usual suit, case file in hand, looking every bit the no–nonsense boss he was. Except instead of standing in the BAU bullpen, he was at your doorstep.

“Hotch? How did you –”

“Garcia,” he answered before you could finish.

Of course.

Your gaze dropped to the file in his hand, and you raised a brow. “This your version of a housewarming gift?”

“Consider it a reminder that work doesn’t stop just because you took the day off.” His voice was dry, but there was something in his expression – something amused – as his eyes trailed behind you.

He took in the mess of furniture, the scattered tools, the half–built bookshelf that somehow looked less assembled than when it arrived.

His lips twitched. “Do you need a hand?”

You needed his two hands somewhere where they weren’t supposed to be.

You cleared your throat, leaning against the doorframe like you weren’t having wildly inappropriate thoughts about your boss in the middle of your living room. It had to be the wine. Definitely the wine.

“I don’t know, Hotch. You any good with a drill?”

“I’m good with my hands.”

Your brain promptly short–circuited.

The squeak that slipped out of your mouth was completely involuntary and you just about covered it with a cough. Nope. No more wine. Never again.

He let the words hang there for half a second longer than necessary before stepping inside like he hadn’t just knocked the air from your lungs.

You shut the door behind him, barely registering the click as his gaze swept over the apartment, but you were too busy noticing something else entirely.

Like the fact that you were in nothing but leggings and a camisole. No bra. And the sudden draft from the door being open had done absolutely nothing to help your situation. Which was completely at odds with the heat now swimming under your skin as you watched Hotch – your boss – shrug off his jacket and roll up his sleeves with ease.

You stared. Really stared.

At his arms. At the way his fingers flexed as he pushed his sleeves up, forearms tensing, veins standing out in a way that was doing something entirely inappropriate to your already scattered thoughts.

You swallowed.

This was fine.

Totally fine.

Expect that was a lie. Because watching Aaron Hotchner, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened, looking every bit the effortlessly competent man he was, was decidedly not fine.

“I assume this is supposed to resemble a bookshelf,” he mused, flipping through the instruction manual like it was a case file.

“That was the goal, yeah,” you muttered, trying not to hyper–fixate on the way he picked up a screwdriver.

“You were using the wrong screws,” he said matter–of–factly, turning the page and pointing to a very clear, very obvious diagram.

You crossed your arms. “No, I wasn’t.”

His expression didn’t change as he simply rotated the manual toward you.

You squinted.

Oh.

“Alright, maybe I was.”

He hummed in response, neither confirming nor denying your admission of defeat and got to work.

You sank onto the floor beside him, grabbing a stray screw in a desperate attempt to act normal. “So,” you began, determined to break whatever spell was settling between you, “is this why you really came by? To drop off paperwork and get roped into manual labour?”

He didn’t look up, but you caught the way his mouth quirked. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“No.”

His fingers paused before he resumed turning the screwdriver. “Garcia worries,” he admitted.

You scoffed. “Garcia meddles.”

“She was concerned about you being here alone.”

“I am an FBI agent, you know. I can handle a bookshelf.”

His line of sight flicked up to you then, slow and considering. “Can you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything,” he said smoothly. “I’m stating that you were using the wrong screws, the wrong drill bit, and judging by the manual placement, attempting to put one of these pieces in backwards.”

Your mouth fell open. “Okay, first of all—”

“You also swore at it,” he added, like that was solid proof of your failure.

You exhaled sharply. “You heard that?”

“I heard a lot of things.”

The way he said it sent heat creeping up the back of your neck. “Well, if you’re such an expert, feel free to take over whilst I fix myself something to drink.”

Before he could respond, you pushed yourself up and made your way to the kitchen, grabbing the already open bottle of wine and topping off your glass. Then on impulse, you poured another, just enough to finish the bottle.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but when you returned back, two glasses in hand, it felt like some sort of silent invitation you weren’t ready to acknowledge. But it was completely harmless, right?

Just a casual gesture. A simple offering to someone who had gone out of his way when he didn’t have to. You were just being a good hostess, thanking Hotch for the extra mile, when realistically, this was probably the last place he wanted to be on a Friday night.

Re–entering the living room, you set your own glass down near your spot before extending the other to him. Hotch lifted his eyes, gaze moving from the glass to your face as he raised a brow.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Its either we share, or I’d have to admit to finishing an entire bottle of wine by myself.”

“That’s very responsible.” He took the glass, his fingers brushing yours, the contact sending something sharp skittering down your spine.

“Guess Garcia was right to send you over.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip, his eyes still locked onto yours over the rim.

Your stomach flipped. No – literally flipped. It felt like an entire theme park had set up shop inside you, rollercoasters and all. You swallowed, quickly lowering yourself back onto the floor, hoping that if you focused on something else – anything else – you could push past the fuzziness you felt.

“How can I help?” you asked, forcing a casual tone as Hotch set his glass aside.

He grabbed two of the wooden panels, fingers moving with that same precise efficiency that had definitely been an unfair distraction this evening. “Hold these in place while I put the screws in.”

You nodded, shifting on your knees to get a better angle.

“Here,” he murmured, adjusting one of the panels. “You need to hold this one higher.”

You complied, stretching a little too far in the process.

And that’s when it happened.

The movement tilted your chest forward – right into his space.

You froze.

And so did he.

The shift left you practically pressing against him, your camisole offering absolutely no barrier between the fact that his face was now far too close to your very braless predicament.

You caught the exact moment he realised it.

His grip on the screwdriver faltered for half a second. His breath hitched, just barely. And then – pointedly – he moved his eyes away, jaw tightening as if sheer willpower alone could erase what had just happened.

You should have moved. Should have said something. But you didn’t. Instead, some wild, definitely tipsy, possibly reckless, part of you decided to test just how composed the great Aaron Hotchner really was.

You shifted – just slightly. “Like this?”

His knuckles were going white. “Exactly like that.”

Your stomach flipped again, your mind taking that encouragement and running it into filthy places. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you watched him. His focus was locked on the bookshelf, or at least, that’s where it was supposed to be. But the stiff set of his shoulders, the sharp exhale through his nose, the way his grip tightened just a little too much around the screwdriver – none of it was subtle.

You really should move.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he made the deliberate choice not to look at you. Your lips parted, the tease on the tip of your tongue ready to push him just a little further, but before you could say a word, he spoke first.

“Hold still,” he muttered, adjusting the panel again.

But it wasn’t just his hands that moved this time. His knuckles brushed your ribs. The touch was light – so light it could’ve been nothing. But it didn’t feel like nothing. A sharp inhale slipped past your lips, barely audible, but enough.

His reaction was instant, his head tilted up, instinctive and automatic. Expect his gaze didn’t land where it should.

It landed lower.

Again.

Right where the thin fabric of your camisole left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Sorry,” you whispered as he quickly looked back down at his hands.

“You’re fine. Almost done.”

You should have been relieved, but you weren’t. Because now, it wasn’t just the wine that was intoxicating – it was him. The scent of his cologne, the warmth of his skin, the sheer presence of him so close. It wrapped around you, all too much and not enough at the same time, making it impossible to think about anything else.

And suddenly, the thought of him being done with this – stepping back, putting distance between you – wasn’t something you wanted at all.

So you loosened your grip.

It was cruel, really. A calculated move disguised as clumsiness, using the precariously placed bookshelf as an excuse to move closer.

The panel slipped and everything happened fast – too fast.

You gasped as it wobbled out of place, throwing off your balance. Hotch’s hands shot out at the same time yours did, but the angle, the movement, all of it caused you to lose your balance. Your knees slipped beneath you as you stumbled forward, half into his lap.

His hands caught you instinctively, one gripping your waist, the other splayed against your back. The air left your lungs in a rush—not just from the fall, but from the feel of him beneath you.

Your palms pressed against his chest, feeling the rise and fall underneath your fingers. His grip tightened just a fraction, just enough. Not pulling you closer but not pushing you away either.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world had gone utterly still. Your hands stayed planted on his chest, his warmth seeping through the fabric, while his fingers hovered at your waist – undecided, restrained and yet so very present.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Oh no.

Heat curled in your veins, your pulse hammering so loudly it drowned out everything else. “What exactly am I doing, Hotch?”

His breath was steady. Yours was not.

And then – so slow it was torturous – his thumb brushed against your side. This time, it wasn’t accidental. It was deliberate. He traced a barely-there path against your hip at the same moment your fingers curled against his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunching up.

He knew this was wrong. Knew he should move away, put space between you, remind himself that this was a line that could not – should not – be crossed.

But he didn’t move because you weren’t moving. Because your fingers curled tighter on his shirt and he could feel your breath ghosting against his skin, because your body – so impossibly close – wasn’t retreating.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to.

This had started out as nothing more than a simple visit. He’d barely hesitated when you asked for the day off. It had been a quiet week and you’d had enough on your plate between cases and moving. You’d earned the time.

But when Garcia had mentioned, a little too innocently, that you’d been tackling everything alone, something shifted in him. Maybe it was the excuse he needed. Or maybe it was the way he imagined you here on your own, frustrated, stressed and something in his chest tightened too much at the thought of you struggling.

He’d told himself he was just stopping by. Just bringing the files. Just checking in.

He hadn’t expected to find you you like this.

Cheeks flushed from the wine, eyes dark and full of something unreadable, dressed in a way that left his mouth dry.

And now you were in his lap.

Your skin was warm beneath his hands, your breaths shallow, lips parted ever so slightly.

“What is it that I’m doing, Hotch?” Your voice was barely a whisper now, lashes fluttering, the barest tilt of your head closing even more of the distance between you.

He wasn’t sure if you could feel the tension humming beneath his skin. And his restraint – the control he prided himself on, the discipline he’d spent years perfecting – became a fragile, splintering thing.

If you leaned in a fraction more, there would be nothing left to stop this. He wasn’t sure if that terrified him or if it was the most tempting thought he’d ever had.

It took everything in him to fight against the impulse, to loosen his grip, to exhale sharply and force distance where there was none.

“You’ve had a long day.” His voice was rougher than he wanted it to be.

You blinked, momentarily thrown. “What?”

His hands released you.

“And you’ve had too much to drink.”

Your eyes searched his, the teasing, playful edge now gone. Replaced with something else. Frustration? Disappointment? Hurt?

That nearly destroyed him.

But he had to do this because he knew you.

He knew you’d had a long week. Knew stress pushed you toward reckless choices. Knew the wine had stripped away just enough inhibition to let you push – to let you test him, to see what he would allow.

And God help him, he wanted to give in. But not like this. Not when he wasn’t sure if you’d wake up tomorrow and regret it.

“I will finish up here. You can go and get some rest.”

He heard you exhale, saw the tension in your shoulders shift like you wanted to argue. But then you reluctantly pulled back, dragging a hand down your face as if what you had just tried to do finally settled.

“I am so sorry I don’t know what I was thi–”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s alright.”

“No it’s not alright, I–”

He said your name, stopping you before you could spiral any further. Because the last thing he wanted was for you to feel embarrassed about something you both wanted, but just couldn’t have.

“I should shower,” you muttered, not even sure if you were speaking to him or yourself.

He nodded, already shifting his attention back to the damn bookshelf, pretending to focus on something else.

Something that wasn’t you.

You hesitated in the doorway, watching as he picked up the two panels. “You really don’t have to stay. It’s late and I can finish up tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, dragging your feet toward the bathroom, your body still burning not just from the heat of the moment but from the sheer embarrassment curling in your stomach like a slow, humiliating ache.

What the hell had you been thinking?

You turned the shower on, letting the sound of running water drown out the chaos of your thoughts in your head.

You knew Hotch wasn’t the kind of man to cross that line, not like that. Not with you. And yet, you had still pushed him, only to end up rejected. The memory of it made you cringe, heat rising to your cheeks again.

You stepped under the hot spray, steam curling around you, and wished you could disappear into it – dissolve into nothing and escape the hole you had just dug yourself into. You contemplated what other career paths you could take because there was no way you were walking back into the BAU on Monday morning.

It wasn’t just the rejection that stung, it was the fact that he had been right. You had been drinking. You had been stressed, exhausted and overwhelmed.

But none of those things had made you do what you did. You couldn't blame them for the way you had leaned in, for the way you had tested him, for the way you wanted him.

Because the truth was, those feelings had been festering for months.

For him.

Your boss.

And now, you had just made everything so much worse.

By the time you finally shut the shower off – and racked up a hefty water bill in the process – your body felt clean, but your thoughts were still a mess. You wrapped yourself in a towel, sighing as you reached for the door handle.

And then—

A soft click.

The sound of the front door shutting.

Your stomach twisted. Of course he had left. You swallowed hard, pushing away the sudden tightness in your chest. You gripped the edge of your towel a little tighter as you cracked the bathroom door open, stepping out into the hallway.

The apartment was quiet as you padded toward the living room, heart sinking at the sight before you. The bookshelf was finished, not a single screw out of place. And the coffee table, that was finished too, every piece perfectly assembled.

But the room was empty.

Dragging a hand through your damp hair, you turned in a slow circle, scanning for any other sign of him. But there was nothing.

It wasn’t like you expected him to stay. You had all but thrown yourself at him tonight and he had done the right thing – the gentlemanly thing – by stopping it. And yet, standing there, wrapped in nothing but your towel, your home felt emptier than it had before.

You exhaled sharply, turning back toward the bathroom, ready to put on some clothes and pretend this night never happened. But the sound of the front door swinging open caused you to spin on your heel just in time to see Hotch stepping back inside.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

First, it was him catching you without a bra, and now he had walked in on you fresh out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel that barely covered anything.

The moment his gaze landed on you, his entire body went rigid. His eyes flickered downward – just for a second – before he sucked a breath in, his nostrils flaring.

He immediately looked away, clearing his throat as he shut the door behind him like this wasn't the second time tonight you'd managed to put him in an impossible situation.

"I–" He hesitated, voice tight. Too tight. "I was just taking out the rubbish."

Of course he had. Because this man was nothing if not thoughtful.

“Thank you,” you managed, fingers gripping the towel tighter, holding onto it for dear life as you shifted awkwardly. “For everything, you really didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

He didn’t respond right away but his eyes were back on you again. You caught the way they traced the delicate slope of your collarbone, down to where a single droplet of water clung to your skin before disappearing beneath the edge of your towel.

“I – I really am sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t be. There’s nothing you need to be sorry for.”

You nodded, your line of sight drifting to where his jacket hung over the back of a chair.

It was an excuse to move. To do something other than stand there, half–naked and vulnerable under his intense stare. You grabbed it with your free hand, clutching your towel tighter with the other, and made your way over to him.

Even as you stepped closer, you felt the weight of his eyes on you–watching, tracking.

“Don’t want to forget your jacket.” You held it out to him, but when his hand reached for it, his fingers skimming yours, his attention wasn’t on the jacket.

It was on you.

“Thanks. Get some rest.”

You nodded again, lips pressing together, forcing yourself to ignore the way your pulse wouldn’t settle.

And just like that, he turned to leave, the moment passing.

Or at least, that’s what you both told yourselves.

dividers by cafekitsune

#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner x reader #mine🌟

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

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pillow talk

in which spencer reid chooses a very odd time to reveal an anecdote from his past to fem!reader

18+ (fluff, extremely suggestive) warnings/tags: fingering but nothing graphic whatsoever, it's basically fade to black sex, discussions of spencer's gsw from season 5, medical talk (and inaccuracies), spencer is a sarcastic little shit a/n: found this super random little thing in my drafts and it was done and i think it's silly and cute so i'm posting it! 600 words, short n sweet!

“You got shot in the knee?”

It’s perhaps said too loudly for the setting—tucked into Spencer’s bed in the late hours of the night when up until this point the conversation had been nothing but murmured stories and quiet giggles. And before that, well—before that there hadn’t been much conversation at all.

Still you can’t find it within yourself to apologize as you sit up, holding the top sheet to your chest and looking down at Spencer incredulously. His eyebrows raise like he’s surprised by your reaction.

“Thigh, technically. And it was years ago. Come back.”

You huff but allow yourself to be pulled back down, head on his shoulder as his hand finds its place stroking your hip once more.

“How have you never told me that?”

“You never noticed the multiple incision scars on my leg?”

“What? No! Can I look now?”

“You won’t be able to see them. It’s too dark.”

You angle your head toward him, and he does the same, tilting his down until your noses almost brush.

“So turn the light on.”

“If I turn the light on I’ll get distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” You ask, realizing what he means and voice quickly fading even as you finish the sentence. He chuckles and kisses your head.

“I’ll show it to you in the morning. Come here.”

“I am here,” you grumble. He hums, leaning down further to try and kiss you.

“Closer.”

So you scoot up the mattress and roll onto your side, pressed right against him, to meet him halfway in a sweet kiss.

“You’re kind of spoiled,” you laugh against his lips as he begins pushing the sheet from your body.

“You have to be nice to me. I got shot, remember?”

“Right. And how long ago was this, approximately?”

“It was 19 days before my 28th birthday.”

So much for approximations.

“Aw. You got shot for your 28th birthday?”

It’s his turn to laugh into the kiss as he carefully rolls over you but recovers quickly, assuming a deadpan delivery.

“Yeah. And it was really bad.”

“Sexy,” you murmur as he kisses down your jaw. “Tell me more.”

“Shots to the leg can be life-threatening if the femoral artery is nicked. Thankfully the bullet missed mine. You’re welcome.”

Your heart skips with a split second of true anxiety, but you snort at his cavalier attitude.

“Yeah? This is really working for me.”

He lowers his voice to the one he uses in more intimate contexts and you giggle as he explains his gunshot wound to you like it’s dirty talk.

“The bullet went in through my rectus femoris…” now uninhibited by the sheet, he finds the spot on your thigh and pinches lightly, “and came out clean through my semitendinosis muscle.”

“Clean? No bone fragments?”

“Nope. The doctors said I was extremely lucky it didn’t splinter my femur but it completely destroyed my muscles. I had to do physical therapy for a year and a half and I had a cane for months.”

“That’s kind of hot,” you breathe, losing commitment to the bit as his kisses get lower and his hand creeps higher.

“Wait until you hear about the mid-surgery aortic clamping and ligature complications. You’ll love this—I was awake the whole time.”

A soft moan slips from between your parted lips and your brows pinch.

“Spencer—”

“What?” He murmurs. “Me getting shot in the leg isn’t sexy anymore?”

You manage something between a breathy laugh and a mewl as your back arches.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

He hums against your throat.

“Good luck. You’d be far from the first to try.”

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic

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clockwayswrites · 3 months ago

Text

Danny in Metropolis, ch5 p1

masterpost just a little bit. Thought people could use some cute today. It's been... a long day. (please no concrit/editing)

“So, we’ve had diner,” Danny said. He was draped across Kon’s bed again; his head hung off the side so that he could stare at Kon upside down.

Kon squinted at him suspiciously. “Yes.”

“And the nefarious Kents have conned me into staying over again.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever called the Kents nefarious before,” Kon said, bemused by the very idea of it. “It’s always the women who marry in that are nefarious.”

“Like Lois,” Danny said with an agreeable nod that looked odd upside down.

“And Ma, Clark’s mom,” Kon added. “She seems like she’s just a sweet Midwestern woman who makes amazing pies, but don’t trust it.”

Danny gave an amused little snort. “If I ever happen to somehow meet her, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You laugh, but at this rate you will,” Kon warned. “And one word to Ma about your home life or food stuff and you’ll never leave. She’s a serial adopter.”

Appropriately, Danny looked mildly alarmed at the very idea of that. “Okay. Avoid Ma Kent, got it.”

Kon laughed, unable to help it. “Not actually the point of that information.”

“Sure,” Danny agreed while clearly absolutely agreeing to nothing. “Sort of on that topic—”

“Of my grandma?”

“No, of your whole family being weird about me, including you. You kissed me.” Danny said each of the last words slowly and crisply.

Kon felt himself blush and cleared his throat. “On the forehead.”

Danny just hummed in agreement.

“Ugh.” Kon fell back into the bean bag. Maybe it would swallow him whole.

Nope.

Still there.

Kon blinked up at the ceiling. “Are we really going to talk about this?”

“Not… not if you really don't want to?” Danny sounded nervous suddenly. “I guess I just what to know what it meant. To you. Like are you the type of person to just kiss people on the forehead, or—”

“I don't think I've ever kissed anyone on the forehead,” Kon interrupted.

“Oh.”

“It’s just—you're just infuriatingly special.”

“But in a good way?” Danny asked. Danny’s voice was so small as he asked that. So quiet, yet hopeful.

That same rage that bubbled up at the injustice of a villain bubbled up at the idea of Danny thinking himself anything less than. Kon rocked himself forward and out of the bean bag. A little bit of TTK slowed him enough for his knees to not hit the ground to hard and so that when his lips touche the tip of Danny’s nose it was in a soft, gentle kiss.

“The best sort of infuriating,” Kon said. His own voice was a little quiet, a little hoarse.

“You kissed me again,” Danny said as if mystified by it.

“On the nose,” Kon said.

Danny started to grin. “Are you the type of person just to kiss people on the nose, or—”

Kon shut Danny up with a kiss.

On the mouth.

#dp x dc #danny/kon #danny in metropolis

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struberri · 14 days ago

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come and see me || jjk

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 10. something like love (final)

series masterlist

"what the fuck is wrong with you, jungkook?"

the coach's voice sliced through the air, sharper than the smack of gloves hitting skin.

it was the third time he'd stopped their sparring mid round.

his eyes burned with frustration, fists clenched at his sides. "you're too limp. you're not even reacting. this isn't training, this is a goddamn joke."

jungkook didn't say a word. he just stood there, chest heaving slightly, arms hanging by his sides like they weren't part of him anymore.

his face was pale, jaw locked, gaze dull and unfocused. there was no fire in his eyes. no heat. just something empty, something worn out.

because jungkook hadn't been eating. his appetite had vanished, slowly and quietly, ever since the night you walked out and never came back.

he had tried.

he had fucking tried.

he sent paragraphs of apologies, voicemail after voicemail.

he'd stared at your contact picture for hours, re-reading his messages even though you never responded.

his texts stayed either on seen or delivered and his calls rang out unanswered.

you ignored him like he didn't exist. and maybe that was the part that broke him the most.

he started skipping shifts at the tattoo shop. jay texted him more than once, asking if he was okay, offering to cover for him without demanding an explanation.

jay:

just let me know if you’re alive man

and even then, jungkook had left it on read. not because he didn't care, because he couldn't face it.

yeona had noticed too. she still showed up at his apartment, pretending it was to comfort him, but really just trying to get into his pants.

he didn't even let her inside, wouldn't look at her, wouldn't even speak to her. he ignored her completely. he didn't want comfort if it wasn't from you.

his friends were worried.

more than worried.

he barely spoke to them. left their messages on read. ignored their calls. skipped their plans without a word.

they still saw him sometimes, sitting at the edge of the couch, dragging on a half burnt cigarette, his hood pulled low. he was there, sure, physically. but everything else about him had vanished.

so taehyung and jimin decided enough was enough.

they showed up at his apartment one evening without warning. the place smelled like smoke and stale air.

jimin and taehyung stood quietly, backs against the wall. an odd kind of silence hung in the air. not the comfortable kind they were used to.

this one buzzed with something unsettled. something heavy.

jungkook was sitting on the couch, his hoodie pulled over his head, knees up, a cigarette burned low between his fingers.

"hey, gguk." taehyung said, his voice softer. "what happened to you, man?"

"nothing." jungkook muttered, flicking ash into a half full beer can. "it's just boxing. nothing much."

"bullshit." taehyung snapped, stepping closer.

"you're not even well at boxing anymore. i've seen you spar. you don't even fight back. you're getting knocked around like a rookie."

"drop it, tae." jungkook said tiredly, rubbing his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

taehyung didn't.

"is this about y/n?"

there was a beat. then jungkook's voice, sharp and a little too quick.

"no- nope. why would it be about y/n?"

taehyung raised a brow. jimin glanced at him and something passed silently between them.

"because she hasn't been to your matches." taehyung continued. "and namjoon said-"

jungkook sat up fast, the cigarette falling from his fingers. his eyes snapped to taehyung's.

"what did namjoon say?"

taehyung and jimin exchanged another glance. it was all the confirmation they needed. they'd never seen jungkook like this over anyone. never thought he'd unravel like this.

not for a woman. not for anyone.

jimin answered this time, voice quiet.

"namjoon said she's been really quiet these past few weeks. he's never seen her like that before. he thinks it's because of you."

jungkook's shoulders slumped. his head dropped forward, dark hair falling into his eyes. he was already blinking away tears. already losing the fight against them.

"i fucked up, hyung." he whispered, voice cracking.

"i hurt her. and now she hates me."

his breath hitched. a sob pushed out of his chest and he broke. right there, in front of the two people who had known him longest.

the man who always wore strength like armor, who laughed too loud and fought too hard and never let anyone see him weak.

he crumbled.

"i miss her."

his hands trembled, wiping his face.

"i miss her so fucking much."

he sobbed into his palms.

"i'm such a coward. i fucking hate myself."

"hey, hey." jimin said quickly, kneeling in front of him, hands on his knees. "come on, man, it's okay-"

"no, hyung, it's not." jungkook gasped.

"she won't talk to me. she hates me. she's gone."

taehyung moved to the couch, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, holding him steady as he shook.

"listen." he said, firm but gentle. "we'll try our best, okay? we'll figure this out. please, just don't shut us out."

jungkook nodded weakly, tears still falling. he looked so small, so unlike himself, like all the fight had drained from him and all that was left was ache.

they sat with him for a while, until his breathing slowed. until his hands stopped trembling. until the worst of it passed. but they knew it wasn't enough. not for what jungkook needed.

and so taehyung, who had been texting namjoon in secret the whole time, sent one last message before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

taehyung:

hyung

he needs you

come over

there's a soft knock at the door. not urgent, not loud, just steady. like the person on the other side already knows what's waiting for him.

jungkook doesn't move at first. he's curled up on the floor beside his bed, knees pulled to his chest, eyes glassy and red, face blotchy and wet. taehyung and jimin had left an hour ago. they didn't want to. but he told them he needed space and they knew he wasn't lying. he's never lied when it's this bad.

the knock comes again. another pause.

then the lock clicks and the door opens. namjoon steps in without saying anything, his silhouette tall against the hallway light before he quietly shuts the door behind him. he doesn't even need to be told what's wrong. taehyung already did that on the phone.

"you could've just said you weren't okay." namjoon murmurs as he walks in further, his voice soft, not demanding. "you didn't have to pretend."

jungkook doesn't respond. doesn't look up either.

namjoon sits down on the floor beside him, their backs against the same wall. he doesn't try to make him talk. doesn't force anything. they sit in silence for a few minutes, the kind that feels heavy but necessary.

"i heard you broke down."

jungkook shuts his eyes.

"they told me everything." namjoon adds. "how you've been skipping practice. not showing up at the shop. how you've been drinking more. not eating. taehyung said you haven't thrown a single proper punch in three days."

"what do you want me to say?" jungkook whispers eventually, voice wrecked, barely audible.

"nothing." namjoon says simply. "you don't have to say anything."

but he does.

"she won't even look at me anymore, hyung."

his voice cracks on the last word.

"i fucked it all up. she- she's gone. she's fucking gone and it's because of me. because i told her i don't do relationships, like a fucking idiot. like- like i wasn't already in love with her every night- every night we laid there and she'd let me trace her tattoo with my fingers like it meant something- because it fucking did mean something."

he buries his face in his arms.

namjoon exhales slowly.

"you love her."

it's not a question. it's a fact.

jungkook doesn't answer.

"you do." namjoon says again, gently. "and you're just now realizing how much."

"i didn't want to need her." jungkook whispers. "i didn't want to need anyone."

"i know." namjoon says. "but that doesn't mean you're not allowed to."

a beat of silence.

"she was good for you." namjoon continues. "not just the sex. you know that. she pulled the truth out of you. the real you. the parts you don't show anyone. and yeah, you were scared. you got defensive. you hurt her. but now you know."

jungkook's voice breaks. "what if i ruined everything?"

namjoon glances at him, eyes steady. "then you own up to it. all of it. and if she doesn't forgive you... you still live with it like a man. but you don't sit here wasting away. you get your shit together. and if there's even a chance she still wants to hear you out, you fight. for her. because you're not just some boxer with fucked up emotions and commitment issues anymore. not to her. not after everything."

jungkook swallows hard, his throat raw. his voice sounds like gravel when he finally says-

"i don't know how to fix it."

"you don't." namjoon replies. "but you can try."

they fall silent again. the only sound is the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen and jungkook's uneven breathing.

"you're not weak for feeling this much." namjoon says after a long pause. "you're just human."

jungkook lets out a shaky exhale, blinking up at the ceiling like it might give him an answer. he's still not okay. but he's no longer completely alone either.

and that's something.

i ghosted jungkook.

completely.

no texts, no calls, not even a glance at his name when it popped up on my phone screen.

i couldn't believe i did that. me. the one who usually caves in first, but here i was, a week later, holding onto the silence like it was the only thing keeping me sane.

jihyo had been dragging me out more than usual lately. her way of checking on me wasn't through questions or pity.

instead, she filled the empty hours with plans and people and places.

tonight was no different. we were at a local bar, tucked in a quieter corner of the city, dimly lit with a red neon sign that hummed softly against the glass windows.

the table was full. jihyo's friends from work. mina, mingyu, and seokmin had joined us, all of them new faces but warm and open in a way that didn't make me feel like an outsider.

i sat between jihyo and mina, a half-empty cocktail glass in front of me, condensation dripping slowly onto the wooden table.

everyone was chatting about the dumbest things. celebrity breakups, new movie releases, some office drama i didn't understand and i was mostly just listening. quiet, but present.

jihyo made sure of that.

every time a conversation shifted, she gently looped me in. a glance. a nudge. a shared inside joke only she and i would get.

she never let me drift too far, even when i didn't say much. i could tell she was worried, but she wasn't smothering. and somehow, that mattered more than anything else.

mina sat on my other side, soft-spoken and delicate, even quieter than i was.

she had a gentle energy to her, the kind that didn't demand attention but made you want to sit close anyway.

she smiled every time our eyes met, like she understood how heavy things felt even without asking.

she didn't pry. she didn't make me talk. just poured me water when i needed it, complimented my nails in a whisper, and told me the playlist here was one of her favorites.

i liked her immediately.

her presence didn't demand anything from me, and i needed that. needed to just exist beside people who didn't expect me to explain the pieces of myself that were still aching.

mingyu and seokmin were funny, loud and animated and full of stories that made the table laugh in waves.

they didn't care that i barely added to the conversation.

seokmin once offered me fries off his plate without saying a word. mingyu refilled my glass and winked when i gave him a small thank-you smile.

it was easy and normal.

and for the first time in a long time, i felt like maybe i could still be part of a world that wasn't orbiting jungkook.

because i had to admit, some part of me still waited for him to fix it. to show up. to fight. to say he couldn't breathe without me.

i told myself this was good. that it was necessary. that sometimes silence is power and walking away is survival.

so here i was, sitting in a circle of strangers who somehow felt safer than the boy who once touched my soul and said he didn't believe in love.

here i was, sipping cheap cocktails and letting the night blur just enough to forget how deeply i had wanted him to choose me.

because tonight wasn't about jungkook. tonight was about healing in half-steps.

it was about the bassline that shook the floor beneath my heels and the way mina gently fixed the strap of my dress when it slipped off my shoulder.

it was about laughing, actually laughing at something mingyu said, even if the sound surprised me.

and it was about jihyo, always jihyo, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand when she caught me drifting too far in thought.

you can find love everywhere. in a stranger's kindness. in a friend's persistence. in the way someone hands you a napkin without being asked.

and maybe, maybe if you hold onto those tiny pieces long enough, you start to believe that you're still whole. even after being broken.

i wasn't here to think about jungkook. i was here to drink. to feel the music. to let the lights blur and the noise distract. to remind myself that life was still going on. and so was i.

i find myself drifting sometimes. not intentionally, not with purpose. just slipping. into his words. into the long, broken apology paragraphs he keeps sending at ungodly hours. into the voicemails where his voice cracks on the third second in. it's never planned. just happens.

sometimes it's at home, just before bed, when the lights are low and my phone is already in my hand. sometimes it's during lunch at work, when the office buzz quiets just enough for me to feel how heavy the silence has become.

namjoon doesn't bring him up. he never says his name. never pries. he just watches me, like he knows exactly what's going on behind my half-smiles and empty nods. and maybe he does.

this afternoon, while i'm scrolling through my inbox, catching up on backlogged emails and trying to feel something close to normal, namjoon quietly steps up beside my desk. there's a sketchbook in his hands with worn edges and spiral-bound.

"what is this?" i glance up, blinking at him.

his voice is soft and careful. "i know you're gonna be mad at me, but... jungkook asked me to give it to you."

i blink once. then again.

"namjoon, please don't involve yourself in this." i say, my voice sharp around the edges. not angry, just frayed. "i'm alright. i don't need him anymore."

he doesn't move. just stands there, sketchbook still in his hands, looking at me the way only he knows how to.

"y/n." he says gently. "you can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. i've seen how you've been these past few weeks. and not just as a coworker but as your friend. i'm worried."

my throat tightens, but i hold his gaze. i've gotten good at that. pretending i'm okay. pretending i don't replay that night in my head like a broken film reel.

"thank you." i say, keeping my tone level, "but i don't need this. please give it back to him."

i push the sketchbook toward him without opening it. don't even let my fingers graze the cover too long. i won't risk it. not here. not now.

but namjoon doesn't take it. he exhales and slides it back across the table toward me.

"y/n, please." he says again, quieter this time. "i know what he did hurt you. and i'm not excusing any of it. but he's been owning up to it. every single day. he really wants you to have this so, just... take it. you don't have to open it right now."

i don't say anything. can't. my eyes sting and i have to look away. stare at the fluorescent lights above us like they'll hold me together.

after a few seconds, i reach for the sketchbook with trembling fingers. i don't open it. don't even look at the cover. i just slide it quietly into my bag and zip it shut like it doesn't exist. like if i pretend hard enough, maybe i'll forget it's even there.

namjoon doesn't press me. he just nods once, then walks away.

but the weight in my bag feels heavier than it should.

i didn't touch the sketchbook for two whole days. not even a glance in its direction. it just sat there quietly on my dressing table, collecting dust and tension, like a weight in the room i pretended not to see.

i tried to convince myself it meant nothing. that it was just paper and graphite, that it couldn't possibly carry the heaviness i'd buried under my skin.

but tonight, without even meaning to, i found myself reaching for it. it was late. the house was quiet, dimly lit by the flicker of the hallway bulb.

i sat down on the floor, the cold wood pressing into the backs of my thighs and leaned against the bed. a cigarette burned slowly between my fingers, trembling slightly, as i rested my arm on my bent knee and finally opened the cover.

the first page greeted me with fire. a phoenix, it's wings spread wide in a fierce arc, its feathers rendered with sharp, careful strokes. it wasn't just a drawing, it breathed. on the bottom right corner, in his handwriting, was the meaning. rebirth, survival and defiance against destruction.

he had dated it, too. some forgotten month from years ago, long before he knew me.

i flipped the page slowly.

a dragon coiled across the paper, smoke curling from its mouth, spider lilies blooming around its claws. bold and delicate all at once. again, a date and a short line explaining the meaning, something about duality and inner strength.

page after page was like that. animals, old-school tribalism mixed with futuristic sharp lines. flowers with petals so soft they looked like they'd crumble under touch. all with quiet meanings tucked into corners like secrets. all dated. all arranged in a timeline of his evolution. of his pain. his talent. his craft.

but it was somewhere past the fifteenth page that the air shifted.

that my chest tightened. and my hand paused.

it wasn't a tattoo design this time. it was a pair of eyes.

my eyes.

drawn with devastating precision. like he'd memorized the way my lashes curled, the quiet heaviness in my stare. like he had studied me with more care than he had ever studied his own reflection.

the shading made them glisten. like i was looking at myself through him.

beneath the sketch, in thin, rushed handwriting, he'd written a date.

12th september.

and just under that, the kind of eyes you can't forget even when you're high.

it wasn't sweet. it wasn't poetic.

it was raw.

like he hadn't drawn them to flatter me. he'd drawn them because they haunted him. the look i gave him that night, right before i walked out. the kind of look that lingers.

i froze.

the cigarette slipped from between my fingers, landed on the floor with a dull thud, the faint ember dimming against the wood.

my hands shook slightly as i reached out, fingertips grazing the page like touching it would make it less real.

but it was there. the sketch.

my eyes.

the way he saw them.

a light mist blurred my vision, tears swelling too fast for me to swallow them down.

i blinked once. twice. the burn sharp at the corners of my eyes.

i flipped to the next page in a hurry, needing to look at anything else.

it was a sketch of my fingers, holding a cigarette. angled the way i used to when i was with him. the date was days after our first hookup. one of those days when we hadn't seen each other, hadn't spoken. and beneath the drawing, in small, craving in the shape of your hand.

i felt a sting in my throat.

i turned the page again.

my lips.

from different angles.

one with a smudge of lipstick. another parted slightly like i was about to say something. another with teeth sinking into the bottom one. the date, again, a few days after the night at namjoon's party.

my vision blurred, the paper warping under a quiet drop of saltwater. i didn't even wipe it away. just kept flipping.

a sketch of my neck. the tattoo he inked on me. exact and precise. the caption under, the only thing i ever gave her that left a mark.

i couldn't breathe.

i turned another page.

my hips. soft lines and dark shadows.

next, my mouth again, a cigarette nestled between my lips this time.

next, our tongues. drawn mid-kiss. open mouths. desperate.

and then,

blank.

just an empty white page. like he didn't know what to draw anymore. like he'd run out of pieces of me.

i completely broke down.

my body folded in on itself, forehead pressing against the sketchbook as the tears came fast and ugly, no sound at first. just breathless, trembling gasps as i stared at that blank page like it had betrayed me.

my tears spilled across the paper, smudging the corners, soaking into the emptiness like they were trying to fill it.

i cried out loud. raw and real. not the quiet kind i'd grown used to in the past weeks. this wasn't silent or dignified. this was from somewhere deeper, somewhere hollow and caved in.

i missed him.

i missed him so fucking much.

and he hadn't even come to see me. hadn't shown up outside my work. hadn't stood outside my apartment with that stupid crooked smile or that silver lip ring glinting under the streetlights. he hadn't even tried.

i heard the doorbell ring. once, then again.

i didn't even realize when i'd cried myself to sleep. my body stiff against the floor, the sketchbook still clutched loosely in one hand, the cigarette burnt down to its filter on the floor. the air was thick, a mix of ash and something unsaid.

i blinked hard, eyes dry but swollen, a headache blooming at my temples. the clock on my wall read 2:03 a.m.

familiar. fucking familiar.

yet tonight, that hour didn't hum with longing texts or heavy breathing through phone lines. tonight, it felt like mourning.

i pushed myself up, limbs heavy and cold.

another ring.

my heart stumbled. i walked toward the door slowly, chest tightening with each step. a part of me hoping it was no one, the other part praying it was him.

when i opened it, everything inside me stilled.

he was standing there.

jungkook.

his black hoodie hung off his shoulders, damp at the edges, and his hair was a mess, strands curling over his forehead like he'd run his hands through it a hundred times. dark circles bloomed beneath his eyes. he looked exhausted and broken.

the sight of him knocked the breath out of me.

the man i left behind more than a week ago. the man who never came looking until now. the man i missed like hell. the man i still fucking needed.

and he looked like he needed me too.

his eyes flicked over me like he couldn't believe i was real, like maybe i'd vanish if he blinked too long.

i didn't say a word. but he did.

"can i come in?"

his voice cracked somewhere in the middle and i hated how it undid me.

i didn't speak. i didn't nod. i just moved aside. and he walked in.

god. why do i do this. why do i melt the second he's near me. why do i give in when it's him.

i closed the door behind us. i turned to him, slow and quiet, my back still against the door.

he looked at me like he had something rehearsed like maybe he'd practiced what to say in the mirror, whispering my name to the walls that didn't talk back.

"y/n." he breathed, taking a hesitant step forward.

"stop- don't touch me." i snapped, hand outstretched, fingers trembling.

he halted. froze mid-step like i'd slapped him. something in his face crumpled. he looked away quickly, jaw clenched, his fingers raking through his hair like he needed to pull the pain out by the roots.

"what do you want now, huh?" my voice was sharp, bitter. "sex? just because i didn't show up at your place and now you're here for it?"

his eyes snapped back to mine. "y/n, listen baby, plea-"

"don't call me that."

my voice cracked and i hated it. hated how his stupid voice still made me ache. "don't you fucking call me that."

he looked like he couldn't breathe. like my words were ripping through him with a dull blade.

"i'm sorry." he whispered, shaking his head. "i'm really sorry, i really am. please, y/n. please."

"sorry's not gonna fix anything, jungkook."

"i know." he said quickly. "i know that. but please. just let me try. let us try again. i swear i'll make it right."

"no, jungkook, you don't underst-"

"i do." he shouted, the sound breaking out of him like it hurt. "i fucking do, y/n. i know how much i hurt you and i hate myself for it. i hate myself so much."

his knees gave out. he dropped to the floor like the weight of it all finally caught up with him. his hands covered his face, sobs tearing through his chest.

"jungkook..." my voice dissolved into a whisper as my tears returned, helpless and slow.

"i'm so stupid." he cried, gasping between his words. "i'm such a fucking coward. a loser. i kept pushing you away cause i was scared. and i ended up pushing away the only person who really loved me."

his hands dropped and he looked up at me. eyes red, wet and raw. "i don't deserve you, y/n. i know that. i don't. but please. please. i'm begging you. just one chance. let me try. i'll do anything, i swear."

i couldn't stand it.

i dropped to my knees in front of him, my hands cupping his tear-streaked face and he leaned into my touch like he'd been starving for it.

we were both crying now.

he grabbed my wrists like i was the only real thing left in his world. and i held his face like i was trying to memorize it.

"i love you, y/n. i swear." he whispered, forehead pressed to mine, his breath shaky against my lips. "you're the only person who keeps me going. i can't live without you. not when you're away. not like this. i love you so fucking much."

my chest cracked open.

"jungkook..." my voice came out broken, barely there. i couldn't speak. couldn't breathe through the lump swelling in my throat.

his hands cupped my face, thumbs trembling against my cheeks.

"you've hurt me." i said. not as an accusation. just the truth.

his eyes welled again, glistening and he nodded quickly, like he'd take every blade of it if he could.

"i know." he rasped. "i know i have. i can't even imagine what you've gone through because of me. the nights you cried. the way you felt forgotten. i hate myself for every second of it. but please-"

his voice cracked, the sound ripping straight through my ribs. "please let me love the hurt away."

he pulled me close, arms around my waist like he was terrified i'd vanish again. his head fell to my shoulder. and for a moment, he just held me. like the world outside didn't matter. like if he let go, he'd fall apart again.

"i'll do anything." he murmured, voice muffled against my skin. "just let me love you right this time."

"i hate it, jungkook." i whisper, eyes shut tight, like maybe if i close them hard enough, this will all go away. this ache. this longing. him.

his breath catches. i feel it against my neck. his arms stiffen like he's bracing himself.

"i hate the way i don't hate you." i choke out, voice thick with everything i've buried. "i should. i really should. after everything. after the way you left me.. after the way you made me feel like i didn't matter."

his head lifts slowly, eyes red and glassy, lips parted in disbelief.

"but i can't."

my hands press flat against his chest like i'm trying to push him away, but i don't. i can't.

"i think about you all the time." i admit, every word spilling like a wound tearing wider. "when i brush my teeth. when i lie in bed. when i eat alone. when i hear a fucking song we once played in your car. you've ruined everything for me."

his jaw clenches, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"i never wanted to." he breathes. "i just didn't know how to let myself love someone. not like this. not completely. and by the time i realized it was already too late."

"it was too late." i whisper. "you made it too late."

he nods. and just sits there in front of me, shattered.

"but i still want you." i whisper. "and i hate myself for that too."

his lips part, but he says nothing. like anything he could say would only ruin it more.

"i want to forget you." i continue, eyes burning, "but you're everywhere, jungkook. you're fucking everywhere."

he pulls me into him. desperate and soft. like he knows he's holding something already slipping through his fingers.

"then don't forget me." he says, voice barely audible. "just... stay. please. stay this time."

"i don't know if i can trust you again." i say eventually and it cuts the quiet like a blade.

he pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes.

"then don't." he says. "don't trust me yet. i don't deserve it. but let me earn it, please. let me try. i'll wait however long it takes."

"you always say the right things when it's already broken." i murmur.

"maybe because i finally know what it means to lose you."

my hands slip from his chest, fall into my lap. he watches me, his breathing shaky.

"what if i say yes?" i ask. "what if i let you stay tonight, jungkook?"

his eyes soften.

"then i'll hold you like you deserve to be held." he says. "and i won't ask for anything more."

i don't say yes.

i don't say no.

i just lean forward and rest my head on his shoulder again and for the first time in weeks, i let myself breathe.

he's still on his knees in front of me, eyes swollen, lips parted, breathing like he ran all the way here just to fall apart at my door. and maybe he did. maybe he's been falling for days.

i lift his face with trembling hands, thumbs brushing over the wet tracks of his tears.

his lashes flutter and for a second, just a second, we stare at each other like it's the first time.

his mouth opens slightly, like he wants to say something, anything. but he doesn't.

he just looks at me like he's drowning in all the words he can't speak.

i lean in first. not because he deserves it. not because everything's okay. but because i want to. because my heart is stupid and bruised and still hopelessly his.

our lips meet in a soft, broken kiss, tasting of tears and time and all the nights we wasted in silence.

his hands come up to cradle my face like he's scared i'll pull away. but i don't.

i press in harder and he exhales like he's been holding his breath for weeks. like this is the only thing keeping him alive.

he kisses me like he's sorry. like he means it. like it's the first time and the last time all at once.

my fingers twist into his hoodie, pulling him closer until there's no space left between us.

i can feel everything. his heartbeat, his pain, the way his lips tremble against mine when i whisper his name in the middle of the kiss.

his lips are still on mine when i pull him up from the floor.

we're both crying, both shaking, both holding onto something neither of us knows how to name.

but i guide him gently, fingers laced with his, walking backwards through the dim hallway. he doesn't ask where we're going. he just follows. into the bedroom.

this time i close the door behind us and turn to face him like it's the last time i'll ever get to.

he looks at me like he's unsure. like he doesn't know if he's allowed to want me anymore.

so i close the space between us. i kiss him again. soft and slow, hands cupping his jaw, pressing our bodies together like it's the only language i still speak.

his breath catches when i whisper his name into his mouth.

his hands hover near my waist, not touching, not daring, until i guide them there. until i let him know it's okay.

i press my forehead to his.

"make love to me." i whisper. my voice cracks and i hate that it sounds so broken.

he swallows hard. his thumb brushes my cheek. "are you sure?"

i nod, slow and deliberate.

his lips part like he wants to say something, maybe to stop this, maybe to ask again. but he doesn't.

instead, he kisses me again. deeper now.

like the words he can't say are bleeding through his mouth.

like he wants to worship the pieces he shattered.

he lets me undress him first. lets me take his hoodie off, fingers dragging over his bare arms, slow and reverent.

i feel his muscles tense under my touch, like he's scared he'll lose control.

i don't rush. i let my hands trace every inch of him. his collarbones, his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breath.

i kiss each place i touch, soft and lingering. his hands find my hips and he finally breathes again.

i pull back just enough to take my own t-shirt off. his eyes drop instantly, but he doesn’t touch. not yet. not until i reach behind and unhook my bra, letting it slide off my arms, letting him see me fully. bare and trembling.

i hear his breath stutter. his throat flex as he swallows hard.

“fuck.” he whispers, almost inaudibly. like it’s a prayer. like i’m something sacred.

i guide us onto the bed. the mattress dips under our weight.

when he leans over me, shirtless and shaking, his hair falling into his eyes, i see it. all of it. the pain. the want. the regret. the love.

and for the first time in weeks, i let myself believe this might be real. his lips find my shoulder. then my neck.

then lower and slower. kisses like promises. kisses like he's begging me to remember him this way.

and god, i will.

i always will.

his mouth moves with so much care it makes my chest ache. his kisses trail down my body like he's memorizing it all over again. every curve, every shiver, every place he once touched without thinking. now he thinks. now he pauses. now he breathes against my skin like it hurts him to be close but it'd kill him to stop.

"you're so fucking beautiful." he whispers against my ribcage. his voice cracks on the word. his lips stay there for a second too long, like he's hiding in me. like i'm home.

my fingers thread through his hair as he moves down. slow, open-mouthed kisses, warm breath following wherever his lips go. he's not rushing. not this time. he's trying to say everything he couldn't say with words, everything he's too late to admit but still hopes i'll hear.

then he looks up at me.

his eyes are so full of pain and adoration i almost cry again.

"come here." i whisper, voice hoarse.

he climbs up, crawling over me until our chests are touching. i grab his face in both hands, kissing him deeply.

tongue tasting myself on his lips. fingers in his hair. my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him in.

he slowly pushes himself up, gaze still fixed on mine like he’s afraid i’ll disappear if he blinks. then his fingers reach down, working open the button of his jeans. he slides them off, inch by inch, along with his briefs, never breaking eye contact. he’s bare before me now, completely exposed and somehow still so gentle.

i sit up slightly, heart racing, hands trembling as i do the same. peel my sweatpants down, then my underwear. let them fall in a quiet heap on the floor.

nothing left between us now. nothing to shield or hide behind.

we just look at each other. like it hurts to be seen. like it hurts more not to be.

there’s so much longing in his eyes it makes my chest tighten. something raw and aching passes between us, silent but suffocating. like we’re both on the verge of crying but neither of us dares to let go first.

his hand finds mine. he squeezes once. then leans in, pressing his forehead to mine.

i nod.

he breathes in shakily. positions himself above me with slow and trembling hands. his tip nudges against me and he waits, eyes searching mine, waiting for that last confirmation. that final yes.

“please.” i whisper, voice wrecked.

he pushes in, slow and careful.

a long, deep stretch that makes me gasp against his lips.

his mouth finds mine again as he moves, kissing me through it. slow and steady, hips rocking gently, his hands framing my face like i’m something fragile.

his lips taste like heartbreak. like hope. like everything we never got to say.

his rhythm is deep and slow, every thrust rolling through me like a quiet ache. like he’s trying to carve himself into the spaces i forgot existed.

his hand slides under my back, pulling me closer. our chests press together, slick with sweat, his breath heavy against my neck. i tilt my head, give him more of me and his mouth grazes my skin like he’s barely holding back. not desperate, just yearning. like he’s been starving for softness and only now remembers how to feel it.

his hand cups the back of my thigh, fingers curling into the muscle as he tilts my hips to meet him deeper and slower.

i gasp, bite down on my lip, my nails dragging down his spine.

his lips brush the corner of my mouth. i turn my head, kiss him full and slow. tongues sliding together, lips parting in sync.

he moans into my mouth, a low sound that makes my chest clench, my walls pulse around him.

my legs wrap tighter around his waist, locking him in. he fucks me slow, like the pace itself is sacred.

my fingers tangle in the damp strands of his hair. his thrusts grow a little harder but still controlled, like he’s scared to break whatever fragile thing is living between us right now.

i pull back from his lips, eyes locking with his. his brow’s furrowed, jaw tense and breath shallow. but it’s his eyes, his fucking eyes, that undo me.

they’re full of everything we never said. everything we almost were. everything we still might be.

“i missed you.” he murmurs into my neck, lips brushing skin. “i didn’t know how to live without you.”

i close my eyes, tilting my head to the side as he kisses there. soft, open-mouthed, like it hurts to let go.

“then don’t.” i breathe. “don’t live without me. don’t make me forget this.” i say, my voice barely holding.

his lips crash into mine again, tongue sliding against mine, swallowing my broken little gasp when he shifts his angle and hits that spot inside me that makes my toes curl.

“i won’t.” he pants into my mouth. “i won’t ever forget. i swear.”

my hands are gripping his shoulders, my nails digging in. he’s so deep inside me i can feel him everywhere, in every part of me, even the broken ones. especially the broken ones.

“fuck-” he gasps, his voice shaking against my mouth. “fuck, y/n…”

his forehead presses hard into mine, our sweat mixing, our breaths tangling like we’re breathing for each other. his lips are parted, eyes half-lidded, his mouth brushing against mine with every choked moan.

“i love you.” he pants, voice cracking as he thrusts harder, slower now but deep enough to make my whole body shiver. “i love you- i love you, i love you- fuck, y/n.”

he says it like a confession, like a prayer, like if he says it enough times maybe it’ll undo everything.

his words fall apart at the end, dissolving into desperate groans as he buries himself in me and holds, holds like he’s scared to let go.

my eyes flutter shut, head tipping back as the pressure coils tighter and tighter, breath hitching with every roll of his hips.

my body shakes beneath him, thighs trembling as the orgasm rips through me in waves. i cry out into his mouth, holding on like i’ll drown without him.

my name spills from his lips again, softer now. a plea. i feel him fall apart inside me. his whole body tense, his arms shaking as he cums with a low, guttural moan that he tries to hold back but can’t. he buries his face in my neck, trembling, panting, whispering it over and over again.

“i love you… i love you…”

he doesn’t stop saying it. not even after.

not even when he’s still inside me, still clinging to me like he might disappear if he lets go.

he stays there, breathing hard, lips brushing my skin like he’s still kissing every broken piece.

like he means it this time. like he’ll never stop meaning it.

we clean ourselves in silence. soft and slow. my legs still a little shaky, his hands careful as he helps me wipe the warmth of us away. he kisses my shoulder once when we’re done, just a whisper of lips, like he’s still scared he’ll wake up and this will be gone.

i pull on a clean oversized shirt. he stays shirtless, only his boxers clinging to his hips.

when i sit on the edge of the bed, he stands behind me for a second like he doesn’t know if he should speak.

“can i stay tonight?” he speaks, his voice is almost quiet

i don’t look at him when i answer. “yeah.”

he climbs into the sheets behind me, pulling the blanket over us both.

i curl into his chest without thinking. his arms wrap around me like he’s holding something fragile. his hand finds my hair. starts playing with it. slow and careful. his other hand rubs slow circles into my spine.

i don’t know how long we stay like that. time doesn’t move the same in this kind of silence.

and then, without warning, i hear his breath hitch. quietly. like he’s ashamed of the sound. but i feel the stutter of his chest beneath my cheek.

“jungkook, are yo-“ i lift my head. find his eyes red, lips parted, hands still trembling where they hold me.

“i’m sorry.” he whispers, voice cracking. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

“hey, hey.. don’t.” i say, my voice barely holding steady, hands trembling as they reach for his cheeks, desperate to stop his tears, even though mine are already burning behind my eyes.

his face crumples beneath my touch. eyes shut tight like he’s trying to block the world out, like he can’t stand being seen like this.

“look at me.” i whisper, thumb brushing just under his lashes. “jungkook. please. just look at me.”

he shakes his head, tears slipping past his lashes. “i ruined everything. i let you go. i broke you. i broke us.”

“jungkook.” i breathe. my own throat aches now. my eyes sting. “stop.”

but he doesn’t. he leans up to kiss me. wet and trembling. “i love you,” he says into my mouth. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

“i love you too.” i whisper, fingers threading into his hair. “i never stopped.”

we’re crying and kissing and holding each other like we’re drowning, like our bodies are the only shore left. the taste of salt, of forgiveness, of something almost whole again lingers between every breath.

when we finally calm, when the tears quiet and our hands go still, i lay back against his chest. his heartbeat’s uneven but steady beneath my ear.

his fingers trace lazy circles on my bare back.

“you’re staring.” i murmur, smiling against his chest.

“can you blame me?” he says, voice rough, eyes heavy with sleep and something softer. “you’re kind of unreal right now.”

i roll my eyes, poke at his ribs. “don’t start.”

he laughs, low and warm. “i’m serious. i might be in love or something.”

i lift my head, brows raised. “might?”

he smirks, brushing hair from my face. “just kidding. i’m definitely, annoyingly, helplessly in love with you.”

i kiss him slow, lingering. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“and you’re lucky i’m obsessed with you.”

i grin, eyes crinkling and i know, whatever this is, whatever we’re calling it, we’re both finally choosing it. no more pretending. no more running. just this.

him and me.

still tangled up in sheets and something that feels an awful lot like love.

YA’LL , I’M TOTALLY WRECKED AFTER WRITING THIS.

firstly because how emotional this chapter is and secondly because it fucking ended. ahhhhh but don’t worry guys , i’m going to post some extra fluff chapters in the future. they’re not necessary to read , but if you want more of their hangouts , more details , more softness then , you can go for it. because even if i didn’t include it in the main story , it still happened alright? lol

taglist: @nikkinikj @mar-lo-pap @daisiesarepretty7 @bbtsficrecs @mimi1097 @sheshya

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clairewritesfanfics · 6 months ago

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Inside an Otoge: Mister Dragon, Let Me Love You Chapter 1

Pairing: Dragon!Sylus x Non-MC!Reader

Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

Synopsis: A depressed, transmigrated fan dedicates their life worshipping their favorite character. (Because not everyone can be a badass like MC.)

Trigger Warnings: depression, mentions of self-harm and suicide attempts

Imagine being a depressed and overworked person, on the brink of throwing away your life, when your attempt is interrupted by an ad of Sylus' voice saying, "I adore you. There is no love purer than mine." Broken and alone, the words of a fictional character sends you to tears and you stop yourself from doing the unthinkable.

Finding hope again, if only in the brief moments spent playing a dating sim, you decided to give life a chance. You continued with the same routine, waking up, going to work, eating the same cheap meals from the convenience store and finding happiness with your favorite character. You used any spare money you had to buy Sylus merch and get all his cards. Life wasn't perfect, but you were content.

Until one day, you were sucked into a mysterious wormhole that transported you to a familiar, otherworldly room filled with rare metals, sparkling jewels and all sorts of weapons.

Lying on a bed of velvet is a back that is all too familiar.

You’ve taken over a hundred photos of that back and have memorized every vein, every muscle, even the way the spine dips oh so deliciously.

Is this heaven? Paradise?

A place that grants all your hedonistic desires?

Did God take pity on your pathetic existence and decided to give you a second chance?

No, this is probably a dream–”Ow!” You pinch yourself a little too hard. Nope, not a dream.

You glance at your hands and body, you are still you. In the game, this part should be when the Main Character attempts an assassination, but you aren’t the MC here. There is a chance–no, the probability of you dying here is as good as 99%. You have no powers, no system, skill or cheat to help you here.

But if you were going to die, at least you can go on your own terms.

“Um, excuse me? Hello?”

The dragon says nothing and you opt to crawl towards him. “Mister Dragon? Are you awake?” Knowing that death is almost certain, you decide to throw away all inhibitions and reach out to trace the curve of his spine. “Hello–!”

His cold, spiked tail wraps around your waist until the tip rests on your chest. You cannot help but gasp when your favorite turns to face you.

No 3D rendered model or painting from your world could capture even a tenth of the true thing's magnificence. Official sources said he was 6'2", but the real thing looks like he surpassed two meters. He towered over you completely. Maybe it isn’t height alone but his very aura that makes you feel so small.

He is so beautiful.

“My, what do we have here? A stray puppy?”

That voice is as smooth and deep as melted chocolate. You want to thank God, Buddha, Satan and all other powerful entities for letting you witness this moment.

He stares down at you, assessing everything. If you had known you’d end up here you would’ve taken a bath and worn something better.

“How odd. You have no magic power and you lack any muscle that most assassins and warriors have. It’s almost as if you’re an ordinary person.”

Okay, ouch. But he isn’t wrong.

You raise both hands. “You’re right, I’m as average as they come.”

“Then tell me what an ‘average’ citizen such as yourself wanted with me.”

You tilt your head in thought before answering, “I wanted to meet you.”

“Surely, you’re joking.”

“I’m perfectly serious.”

“You must take me for a fool.”

“No, I truly did want to meet you.”

“Why are you here? Surely, you didn’t come here to die.”

“No.” Though you were prepared. “I just wanted to see you.”

The fiend watches you closely. His eyes can pierce through any lie, but your gaze is as clear as a cloudless sky and without a trace of deception. He is unsure how to feel about this.

“You’re quite bold. But an ordinary person wanting to meet me for the sake of it feels too odd to be true. Quite stupid, even. Did it ever occur to you that I may not be so polite and just end up taking your heart?”

You raise your head, steady and unfearful as you ask, “Will taking my heart make you happy?”

You want to tell him that every part of you belongs to him now, but even you would cringe at such cheesiness. You decide to be normal about this. “If my organs will make you happy then take them, but I do have a request.” You wriggle closer. “When you take my heart, please look into my eyes until I die.”

You’ve met your favorite, your savior. In a way, Sylus gave you a second chance at life. It seemed only fitting to perish with him being the last thing you see.

Sylus stares at you with guarded curiosity. “I’ve never met someone so eager to die before. Either that or you are an excellent liar.” Some humans are trickier than others, they will say anything to get the upper hand.

“Don’t get cocky, human.” His tail tightens around you. “I don’t know what you’re planning but it’d be all too easy to kill you.”

He expects you to resist, to scream or cry or seduce him.

Instead, you cover your mouth, the edges curling upwards despite your efforts to appear serious. But it’s not your fault, he’s so cute when he tries to be menacing! You have no doubt that he’d just kill an NPC, but he will always be attractive to you, even as he threatens to rip your heart out.

“This is no laughing matter. Dragons are territorial, you should’ve thought twice before trespassing into my domain.”

“Sy–ahem, Mister Dragon, please remember my request when you end my life.”

“... I’m really going to do it.”

“I know!” You nod your head vigorously, the grin you try so hard to suppress looks ridiculous to him. Compared to throwing yourself in front of a train or overdosing on pills, this is your ideal way to die.

“...”

“... tsk.” He releases you and you can’t help but miss the feeling of his tail choking you. Oh, well.

“Mister Dragon?”

He returns to lying on his treasures, back turned away from you.

Not wanting him to think that you were going to backstab him, you get down on all fours and crawl towards the fancy bed. “Sir Dragon?”

He remains silent.

"Amazing, extraordinary, most handsome and venerable Lord Dragon–”

"Enough. Don't call me those embarrassing titles." He sighs and proceeds to give you his name. In the game's canon, the MC couldn't pronounce his name properly and called him Sylus instead. But the MC and Sylus have yet to meet.

Before you are two choices: 1) use his proper name, or 2) pretend that you can't pronounce it and ask to use "Sylus" instead. With the first option, there would be a connection between the two of you due to being the only person alive who knows his name. With the latter, you'd be stealing a defining moment for the heroine. Either way, the consequences will result in you forming a bond with Sylus.

The dragon waits for you to reply.

There is no need to complicate things, so you beam stupidly. "Your name is kind of hard to pronounce... can I just call you 'Sylus' instead?"

"Do what you want."

"Thanks."

“This is the part where you tell me your name.” He can’t believe he was teaching etiquette to a human.

“Er, right.” You give him your name. Though with that voice, he can call you whatever he wants.

“I won’t stop you so go back the way you came and leave me be.”

“I can’t.”

“This isn’t a request. Get out while I’m still being patient.”

“I mean, I literally can’t. I’m not from this place and I don’t know how to get back home.” To be frank, you have little interest in returning. Aside from the next LADS update, you aren’t going to miss anything. No friends, no family, only superiors who took advantage of you and a cold, barren apartment with a rent that was two months due.

Sylus sighs and rolls over. He lays an arm over his torso, looking gorgeous as he looks at you with eyes full of disdain. “Trying to get me to pity you, isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not.” You don’t need his or anybody else’s pity. You are simply tired, and you were sick of pretending that you aren’t. When Sylus does lose his temper, then at least you could be honest in your final moments.

Part 2: here Masterlist: here

Edit: Had to tweak the part where Sylus gives his name to Y/N.

#lads #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x y/n #non-mc!reader #non-mc #non-mc!y/n #dragon #dragon sylus #fan #transmigration #drabble #isekai #reader #xreader #xy/n #yn #x yn

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luludeluluramblings · 1 year ago

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Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Still establishing some more lore and feelings. Currently, the Batfamily has two yanderes. With more yandere’s being revealed outside of Gotham and some in Gotham about to start falling into obsession. Also, my favorite Reader is one who is manipulated into thinking the collar around their neck is a necklace. Will be working on Part Three, but it might take longer because we have obsessions starting and Reader starting to get to a breaking point.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Poor Reader has it rough. Not too rough, but still life kinda sucks and they wanna go home now, please and thank you.

But, as always, things start to brighten up a notch or two.

Reader is thriving at school, sure they can’t hang out with their friends, but their friends understand (which honestly kinda odd, but they’ll roll with it)

There is a small issue.

Reader is a metahuman. (I know, shocking. So unique.)

Reader controls the weather, at will or with extreme emotions (oooooo interesting)

Back in their hometown, Reader didn’t have to hide said abilities that much. (Hell, more than a few people knew about it. Such an understanding community.)

Here in Gotham, in a practical stranger’s house, they’re not gonna to that.

Which is fine. Fine fine fine

Okay, so Reader is tense. Doesn’t have a healthy outlet, and is bottling things up. So that storms brewing. Gonna be fun when that comes back to bite Reader in the ass.

But, things are looking up. (I swear this time!)

Duke and Cass are hanging out with Reader more. They’re sorta becoming a trio of amigos.

Though, they do disappear often. For long periods of time.

Reader is pretty sure Bruce is Batman, at this point.

They’re not stupid, it’s in their damn genetics to be somewhat intelligent, so to speak.

But, no one actually tells reader. It’s lead to some awkward situations of them going silent when Reader enters the room, or the manor being unusually empty after everyone went to the ‘library’.

(Smalltown doesn’t mean stupid, bunch of jerks.)

It just makes reader feel even less like they’re part of the family. Even Alfred disappears for a time, leaving Reader completely alone with nothing, but portraits and old wood furniture.

No one says anything. No one mentions a single thing. (Am I not worthy of the secret? Why did you drag me here only to ignore me?)

Bruce continue to bounce between ignoring and coddling. Yet gets upset if Reader does the same. (Making them anxious.)

Dick pops back in, immediately showering Reader and excessive amounts of affection before shooing them off cause he’s gotta take care of somethings. (It makes reader feel like a pet in a degrading way.)

Jason gets caught harassing Reader by Alfred. Which leads to a screaming match between Jason and Bruce. It’s a violent one, but Alfred drags Reader out of the room before they can see. (But they hear things breaking and It’s terrifying.)

After that, Reader is extremely cautious around Jason. Which for some reason makes him angry and more violent. (Why does he hate me? This is scary.)

Stephanie starts to come around. Slowly. They’re getting there. (Stephanie still prefers to hangout with Tim and Tim…)

Tim ignores Reader the most. Will not talk to Reader at all. Which sucks because Teader thinks they would total get along. (But, nope. All they get is the cold shoulder.)

Reader just avoids Damian like the plague.

Reader talks more often to her other half-brother living miles away than the one she’s currently living with. (That’s gonna piss Damian off later)

While Barbara remains cordial.

Life is moving on. We’re good. Everything’s good.

Wait? Gotham Academy is having its own student Gala? That sounds amazing! Getting dolled up, having a night with friends. Maybe…. Having a date escort them….

And the best part is, Bruce says Reader can go.

Now, Cass and Duke and Damian won’t be going. Which is a bummer, but Reader understands.

Bruce even buys reader something to wear.

An obnoxious designer outfit. (A couture ruffle monstrosity that’s all the rage on the runway.)

It’s so terrible you have to laugh. (Just to hide how upsetting it is that no one actually knows what you like here or bothers to ask.)

Reader even shows Stephanie and they share a laugh. (It’s great. Reader needed that laugh.)

But, there’s no way Reader is going to wear this. So, Reader calls their childhood friend and favorite fashion designer.

Commissioning a more mature outfit. (Reader is almost grown, time to take a break from the ruffles and embrace the sexy.)

BFF comes through and then a week later someone shows up at Wayne Manor. (Damn that was fast.)

Someone from Reader’s hometown, and this starts to set things in motion.

BFF’s older brother, Reader’s childhood crush, shows up holding a dress and driving Daddy’s old truck. Which he hands Reader the keys too.

Nana and Grand Daddy, the Step Grandparents, wanted to surprise reader with a gift from home. (Remind Reader how much better living in a smalltown is compared to somewhere like Gotham. How much their town adores them and misses them.)

Poor oblivious Reader. Not realizing their smalltown is so desperate to have them back. (Reader was their’s first, they know Reader best.)

Nor how desperate Gotham is going to be to make force reader to stay.

#yandere dc #dc x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam #yandere batboy #yandere tim drake #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere alfred pennyworth #yandere dick grayson #yandere cassandra cain #yandere stephanie brown #yandere jason todd #platonic batfam #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #batfam #smalltown!reader

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lanabuckybarnes · 1 year ago

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Would you write a plus size reader w either bucky or steve(or both) where they are her first real relationship and she gets scared that she doesn't deserve to be with either of them and so she tries to push them away so she doesn't get hurt but instead they show her why she is their person.... like tooth rotting fluff and the filthiest smut..... if that's okay if not no worries

| All Yours, Only Yours |

18+ Minors DNI

✧Pairing✧ Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader

✧Warnings✧ A lil angsty, Sharon being a big bully (like seriously you’re 50 and you’re bullying someone? ick), Name calling, Angry Buck, Crying, Bucky is a simp, Confessions, Marking, Dry humping, Oral (F), Fingering (F), Teeny bit of cum play, Dirty talk, Unprotected PinV, Praise, Petnames, My shitty writing — again very tame for me but i didnt want to go overboard. If there any more I’ve neglected to add please let me know.

✧Word Count✧ 4.3K

✧Author Note✧ I really hope you enjoy this and I've done your request justice, I honestly tried my best but idk…Anyways!!! Much love to everyone, please let me know what you think. Love ya xxx

“Still not answering?” Natasha asks from her spot in the cockpit, concern evident from the wrinkle between her brows.

“Nope” he spits his reply, reeling from the whole ordeal. He thrusts his phone into his jean pocket, sick to the back teeth of nothing but a black screen greeting him instead of your sweet little messages.

“Did you piss her off or something?” Sam tries to lighten the mood but is swiftly shut down, his hands rising in surrender at the killer glare the brunette shot his way.

“Calm down everyone, we’ll be home soon so we can figure this out” Steve, the voice of reason commands order within the small confines of the jet. He sits, a gloved hand rubbing over his friend's shoulder trying to reassure his muddled brain but to no avail.

Bucky is pissed. He’s pissed and he’s worried sick. A week he’s been gone for and he’s missing you like crazy. The only issue? You are ignoring him, straight up ghosting his brooding ass which is completely unlike you. Often on missions when Bucky clicks his phone on he’s greeted with a flurry of messages from you; photos of little birds you see on your walks, photos of alpine taken at odd angles and constant little messages that make his heart full and ready to continue his painstaking missions—none of it, just a notification from your favourite restaurant offering a discount to keep him happy.

As soon as this jet landed he was going to get to the bottom of what was going on and then he was going to cuddle you to death as punishment. Not that he’d let anyone else know that.

One Week Earlier…

Beep beep beep. Bucky’s alarm sounds at the ungodly hour of five am, his groan following. He didn't want to get out of this bed, he was too warm, his huge body wrapped around yours. Your movements spurred his own, your arm reaching over to switch off his alarm while he pushed himself into a sit, thoughts already on the mission afoot.

“Morning,” your raspy voice purrs, bringing his attention back to you. His eyes fall to your face; following the slope of your puffy cheeks up to your barely open eyes, your hues peeking through only enough to tease him. Putting his weight on his right arm he’s on top of you before you can blink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, peppering tiny kisses along the warm skin.

“Morning princess,” he bites back his yawn, shifting so his hips slot in their spot between your plush thighs, loving the way they wrapped around his narrow waist just the way he loved. Practice truly did make perfect. His dark vibranium fingers drifted from your collarbone, over the swell of your breast until it found its favourite perch on your hips.

“So fucking pretty” he breathes, his pupils dilating to let more of you in — until you pushed him away.

“You gotta get ready Mr” you giggle, moving your foot so you could push him further away, ruining his plan B of pinning you down by your hips.

“Don’t remind me…”

His cold left hand hooks around your ankle, pushing at it until your knee hinged, bending up and out. A suspicious hardness presses against you, a wicked smile on your boyfriend’s face.

“I mean it Buck we can’t, Nat will be kicking that door down any minute” he groans at your words knowing that you are completely right. That lock had been replaced an embarrassing amount of times because of that exact situation. You hated rejecting him, knowing that he could easily put you back to sleep until midday if he wanted. After a small standoff between you both you warn him again, an arch in your brow and a growl behind his name.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that?”

You laugh, sitting up, watching him skulk around the room in nothing but his grey Calvin Kleins, “I haven’t done anything!”

“Sure you haven’t” he argues, moving over to you again, his metal fingers looping under your chin to tilt your head back to gaze up at him, “Looking so fucking sexy in the morning and I can’t fuck you stupid. That’s not teasing that’s damn near criminal.”

You groan, rolling your eyes at your pouty 106-year-old man. You inch closer to his mouth, a sickly sweet definitely not bratty smirk on your face. “Get your ass ready.”

“Fine…but only because you looked so fucking sexy ordering me around,”

“Bucky!” You shout after him, blush on your full cheeks. He only smirks over his shoulder, pushing his briefs to the floor at the entrance to the bathroom, giving you a full view of his posterior.

You get up too, knowing you had been awake too long to fall asleep again. You get ready with the shower as background noise, pulling on some workout clothes. Today you decided you’d try out the gym right here in the compound, you’d been to many different ones in the past; often polluted with the smell of days-old sweat and men reeking of testosterone, grunting and groaning at weights you could only dream of lifting.

An hour later, after waving Bucky off on his week-long mission you were in the gym.

“Hey” you smile as you pass Sharon, her blonde hair whipping as she ducks and weaves to dodger imaginary punches the bag throws out before throwing a couple of her own. She offers you a tight-lipped smile, her eyes straying from your face down your body. She takes note of your long top and shorts that settle around mid-thigh compared to her sports bra and tiny shorts — her flat stomach and sculpted legs on display.

God you wish you had just as much ventilation. Just as you go to place your earphones in your ears you hear a scoff coming from Sharon’s direction. You pay it no mind, setting the treadmill for a nice incline and pace, pressing the timer until it shone with the time you wanted.

The treadmill slowed for the cooldown. Your eyes moved from the display in front to glance over your shoulder, the gym was empty. You grab your bottle only to realise thanks to your distraction you'd finished off your water. You stop the treadmill and hop off, making a beeline for the kitchen. The walk to the kitchen from the gym wasn’t that long but with the feeling of your sweat culminating in places you didn’t want it to be it was almost torturous.

“I couldn’t believe it when I saw her,”

A gaggle of hushed laughs comes from the kitchen, stopping you. A familiar dread coils in your stomach, reminding you of when you were young, the children pointing and laughing — joking at your expense.

“she must been on that treadmill for about five minutes and she was all like huff huff” she laughs obnoxiously “Her face was like a big tomato, I almost died trying to keep myself from laughing” Sharon continues.

The group cackles again at your expense, almost doubling as Sharon makes the huffing noise again. You cling to your shirt, pulling it from sticking to your body. These women you thought were friends did just what everyone else did.

“She’s pathetic, I don’t know what Bucky sees in her” Your heart stops. That little devil on your jumps and cheers at the confirmation of what it has been telling you since the start of your relationship with Bucky. You were never enough.

“I can’t wait for him to dump her once he gets sick of her wide load.”

Tears fall on their own accord but you don't register them, too busy inside your head being suffocated by every doubt and self-conscious thought you ever had since you confessed your feelings for the super soldier. You didn't deserve Bucky and everyone thought that too.

Back at your room, freshly clean. You scrolled through your messages from Bucky. The little hearts next to his messages no longer felt genuine like he was only doing it merely to save your feelings from being hurt. You were nothing but a burden that he was forced to bear; it wouldn’t be long before like Sharon said, he got sick of the clinginess and the need for reassurance and broke up with you.

Well, you weren’t going to be a burden any longer. You wouldn’t let him break your heart first. You turned your phone off, tucking it into your bedside drawer.

—

“Bucky wait!” Sam calls from the quinjet but it goes ignored. Bucky’s face is twisted in annoyance as he takes wide, purposeful steps towards the tower doors. He was going to find you and you were going to tell him why the fuck you were ignoring him.

He ignores the shouts of his name as Nat, Steve and Sam follow him indoors, smashing the elevator button with his thumb and stepping inside. Once on your floor, he stormed like a charging bull to your room, slamming a gloved fist on your door in a poor excuse for a knock.

The loud knocking from the other end of the room had you jumping back in your seat, the slee overtaking you gone in an instant. Your heart lurched at the familiar face, worn from exhaustion and malice clear from the scrunching of his forehead and tick in his cheek muscle.

“Oh hello, where have you been?” Bucky snaps, glaring down at you as you use the door as a shield from his scrutinising eyes. Here it comes, the moment you’d prepared for all week. You don’t think you’ll go back to dating apps, too many weird me—

“You know how worried I was when you didn't answer me all week?”

Huh. “Huh?”

“‘Huh?’ Are you joking? You ghosted me, left me scared to death on a mission halfway across the globe and all you can say to me is huh!” His blue eyes glisten and you look at them closer. There was no anger there, only concern and fear culminating in swirls across his blue orbs, rearing its head in rage across Bucky’s face.

“Bucky I—” you try but you can’t find the words, each syllable sticks in your throat, balling up until it feels like you can no longer breathe. The week of bottled-up emotions spills forth at the sight of him — at the revelation that he was utterly terrified. Tears fall from your eyes before you know it, your lip wobbling as you keep trying to speak.

Bucky’s shoulders tense at the sight of tiny tears falling over your full cheeks, guilt replacing his earlier pain,

“Fuck c’mere baby” he pulls you close, bending at an almost uncomfortable angle just to hold you as close as humanly possible.

“I'm so sorry for being so annoyed but you have to see why I was so scared something had happened to you. You left me on read for an entire week and blanked my calls. That isn’t you, you know how scary that was for me?” He whispers so softly, backing you up to sit on your bed.

In his arms, surrounded by his warmth and scent the week you had fell from your mouth like alphabet soup, from the gym to Sharon to how hard it was to ignore your phone knowing that Bucky would’ve been calling you every single day but you did it to protect your own heart. Nothing was kept a secret.

“I’ll kill her,” he growls when you finish, muscles tightening even more around you.

“Buck.”

“Right…sorry, I won't kill her” He lied between his teeth, well sort of. He wouldn’t actually kill Sharon but he knew you'd be upset if he did anything to her which he was indeed planning to do but to save you any more pain for the evening, to keep that teeny tiny smile on your face he lied.

“What makes her think she has any fucking right to speak on other people’s appearance anyway?”

“She wasn't lying…” it came out in the tiniest little voice, maybe your way of silently hoping he didn't hear it and he wouldn’t have if it weren't for his super soldier ears.

Gripping onto your wrists Bucky flipped your world in an instant, the breath leaving your lungs as your back makes contact with the bed, your wrists caught on either side of your head.

“Are you lying to me doll?” He says, raising a brow at you.

“No…”

“You are! You're lying right to my face,” he argues, pressing your wrists further into the mattress below. Your eyes fall shut as his face inches closer to yours.

“Look at me princess,” he waits until you open both eyes again, looking up at him as if he strung the stars in the sky “There is not a single thing that I'd change about you and I mean that. I fell in love with you the way you are now, you aren't some bitch that gets off on making fun of others. I fell head over damn heels for you because you are you.”

His eyes sparkle with adoration, his hands running up and down your body softly. The juxtaposition of metal on one side and warmth on the other sends shivers up your spine.

“I love you,” he breathes, leaning down again till your lips graze his. A teasing smile pulled on the pink corners of his mouth, a similar glint in his eyes, “you know that right?”

“Yes,” you nod, pushing up to close the distance between your mouths but he pulls away.

“I don't think you do,”

“I do Buck I promise.”

“Well…�� he began, the glint in his eyes dulling as want engulfed the colour, “let me make sure.”

Bucky takes his time. He has to knowing that you're feeling small. Slowly his lips slot with yours, ushering out sweet little sounds to replace the broken ones that still thrum fresh in his mind.

“I love you,” he says again, capturing your hitched gasp with his tongue as he pushes it past the seam of your mouth, the tip flicking against your own to entice it to mingle. Slowly but surely the tension drips from your shoulders, your arms moving from his grip to trail up over his rigid stomach and chest. They sink below the shoulder pads of his jacket, pushing it off his broad frame and onto the floor beside the bed. Your hands paw at the exposed skin on his arm, fingers squeezing, nails scraping over the corded muscle.

“All of yours…all of it.”

Each time the seal of your mouths broke you chase them, planting kisses teeming with nothing but raw desire onto kiss-bitten lips. The words that Sharon said are long gone from your mind now, replaced by the man in front of you. Everything you smell, taste, touch and see — it's all him.

The brunette slips off his glove; his warm and cold, metal hand grips your hips, pulling you up into his lap with a squeak.

“You feel that?” He grunts, moving from your mouth down your face to your neck. His lips suck and his teeth nibble, marking you, proving to anyone around that dare dispute his love for you again. With undeniable strength he grinds you down into a sizeable bulge poking from his tight jeans, he hisses at the contact, letting a hand fall to your ass with a small spank.

Your arousal seeps through your thin panties making them stick to your dainty folds; your clit buzzes at the delicious scratch the metal of his zip brings you — a gasp catching in your throat every time your neglected nub catches the pull tab.

As much as he worshiped the way you dry-humped his cock, soaking the front of his jeans. Bucky is desperate. After a week of no contact, not even a tiny emoji heart never mind a raunchy photo, he needs something — anything. And he's going to get it.

“Get on the bed” he demands, pushing at you ever so slightly. “Panties off.”

You do as you are told, fingers frantically hooking into the waistband of your underwear, rolling the material over your thick thighs until they hook around a single ankle.

“Spread those legs for me baby, lemme see that sweet little cunt.”

You hesitate for a second, your legs twitching to open but knees knocking again as you close them. Blown pupils snap onto your face his jaw clenched hard and his nostrils flared. Before you can react his calloused hands settle gently, luring you into a false sense of security.

They soothe down your thighs as his blue eyes study you. Inch by inch his dull nails tap over your beautifully wide thighs until he's back at your kneecaps. With a soft unassuming smile, bucky pushes your legs wide, a rush of oxygen leaving you as your sopping folds are exposed to the cool air of the room. He doesn't give you a chance to breathe before a warm hand smacks over your wet folds, your body jerks, an unabashed moan flying from your parted lips.

“Don't fucking deny me this” he growls, fire roaring in his eyes. “You ghosted me for a week, now you're gonna lie there all pretty and let me eat this sweet fucking cunt.”

You nod, biting your lip. At the first presence of him between your legs, his hot breath billowing over your labia, your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Over each fold, ridge and crevice his breath fans, a shiver rolling over your spine each time; without warning he lays his tongue flat and wide, licking a strip from hole to clit. His tongue disappears and he does it again, guttural sounds falling from him at your taste mixing with the sharp trills you let out.

“Sing for me baby, let me know how good I'm making that pretty pussy feel” He delves in like a man starved, devouring your cunt as though it were his first and last ever meal on earth. He'd die happily if it were.

You were a mess, a mess of pleading cries. Your legs shake against his powerful hold, your hands grip his unruly brunette locks. Letting his hands drop from your thighs he stops his slurping to lay a soft, sweet peck on your raw clit. He smiles up at you, his face glistening with your juices visible thanks to the city lights peeking in through your open windows. Your mind wandered, wondering if the people in the building across could see the way Bucky fucked his tongue into you, curling the long muscle up to press against that ridged spot on your upper walls — he hit it with ease every time.

Using your distraction as an advantage bucky moves a hand to join his mouth, sliding his fingers in alongside his tongue for a second before he pulls his tongue from you. He moves, looming over you with a massive shit-eating grin at how much he unravelled you. you should've been embarrassed at how wet his face was; slick ran from his stubbled upper lip over and below his chin. You had done that to him and he wore it proudly. His fingers push deeper and curl out, coaxing the coils in your stomach to snap.

“Come on baby I know you feel it” he speeds up, the sound of your messy pussy almost as loud as your harsh breaths and whimpers.

“Buckyyy” you squeal, gripping at anything you can.

“That's it, baby…you're squeezing around my fingers, are you gonna cum?”

You nod but it's not enough for your man. He dips, nipping at a pebbled nipple and that's all it takes for those tightly coiled ropes to pull taut and snap. A sound you've never heard from yourself erupts from your lungs, your fingers clutching at bucky, the sheets, anything. Stars peppered your vision, blocking out the smug image of your boyfriend, blood rushing in your ears muffling his words of praise.

“Come back to me baby, that's it, good girl. such a good girl” Bucky coos, his fingers slipping out to rub lazily at your clit. He keeps going until you jerk harshly in his hold.

“You did so well, such a good fucking girl cumming like that for me” He praises, kissing your cheek and then your mouth, a smirk pulling at his lips when you moan at your taste.

You flash him a big dopey smile in return, your eyes hazy and your plump little cheeks flushed. You look gorgeous; Bucky had seen many things in his long drawn-out life but nothing could ever compare to how you looked fucked out beneath him.

He would stay like this forever…if his cock wasn't aching for release.

He stands, fiddling with his belt and fly until it comes loose. He wastes no time in pushing them both past his round ass and onto the floor, his cock springing free. His shirt goes next, thrown somewhere in your small room letting you get the full experience of what Bucky had to offer you. Layers of corded muscle ripple beneath his silky but scarred skin, his chest peppered in tiny curly hairs that sink below his sternum and over his abs where they begin to thicken until they finish, well trimmed at the base of his thick, heavy cock.

His eyes never stray from your body as he takes himself in his hand, pumping once, twice, his thumb catching the precum leaking from his tip. He kneels back between your welcoming legs, rubbing his slick thumb over your lips. A hushed chuckle vibrates in his chest as you suck the thumb into your mouth, eagerly licking his taste from the digit.

“Such a dirty girl,” you giggle, pulling back until his thumb slips out of your mouth with a pop. “Do you think you can handle one more hm? Can you let me fuck that little hole?”

“yes Buck” you smile, your eyes falling shut as he kisses you again.

“good girl” he growls, moving your legs over his own before grabbing a pillow to squish under your hips. With one hand he pushes the head of his length through your mess, dipping into your hole before running back up over your clit. He does it a few times, occasionally slapping his cock against you, praising each tiny sound you let out.

“Please Buck” You toss your head back, grinding your hips up to meet nothing. At this rate, you were going to come to nothing more than his teasing.

“Please what?” Oh he's a piece of shit. He knows what you want because he wants it too. He waits for a beat, enjoying your huffs of frustration. “Tell me and I'll do it.”

With the last of your sanity, you cry out, “fuck me buck ple—ah”

You slap a hand over your mouth as he spears into you, stretching you like he does time and time again. It never gets any easier with a size like Bucky’s; his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust and your walls sing at the almost painful stretch.

Bucky’s thrusts are delightfully slow, letting you feel each drag and push, each rigid vein on his pulsing cock. There is no fucking involved, he's making love, making sure you know that he would spend eternity wrapped up in your body no matter what size you are. The deep coloured marks along your neck and between your thighs would attest to that.

“Fuck” he moans, mouth gaping. “Don't think ill last long princess” His vibranium fingers fall to your soft belly, skating over the smooth skin to your full hip.

He squeezes hard enough to leave marks, “fucking mine.”

His thrusts speed up, his head snapping back and eyes rolling. His balls bounce rhythmically against your ass, the bulbous head of his cock smashing into the end of your cunt where a dull ache forms — a warning of future hurt when you wake tomorrow. You don't care, not when his free hand dips between you both, pulling back the hood of your sensitive nub and flicking it over and over.

He feels the way you tighten around him, holding him in a vice grip, “hold it princess, just a little longer come on”

“I can't Bucky please” you whimper in response.

“Yes, you can baby—oh fuck I'm close” his weight falls atop yours, smothering you in him. His hips stutter, his balls pulling up towards his body.

“Cum now, soak my big fucking dick.”

The slamming of the headboard ceases when his thrusts slow to shallow grinding, his mouth swallows any sounds you let out.

“Such a good fucking girl for me—shit” he sighs, slips from you with a hiss.

“Buck—”

“Shh pretty girl you're alright” he holds you close for a while, holding you tight to his broad body. Tears fall from your cheeks but he swipes them away. You don't know why you ever doubted Bucky, he's the only constant in your life.

“I love you” He whispers as the blood rushing in your ears settles, running through your veins in exhaustion.

“I love you too”

“Don't you ever listen to those idiots again, because I will show you over and over what you mean to me” Bucky promises with a kiss on the crown of your head.

You smile, laying your own lazy kiss over your thumping heart. You like the sound of that.

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