#super cute and funny and cute and funny as hell

[rhysroshalfile]

normal about this

washroom angel

fem!remmick x reader (18+ mdni)

on a routine bartending shift you find a butch in the alleyway and decide to take her home

author's note: hello fellow wlw remmick fans. happy pride month (even though it's almost over) enjoy this delicious little number brought to you by the cigarette i had earlier. big shout out to @rhysroshalfile because their femmick is quite literally the blueprint for this. grma enjoy! warnings: oral (fem recieving), penetration, strap-on, vibrators, drool, biting, hair pulling, sub and bottom remmick, remmick being stalkery (the usual)

You pour another drink for a waiting customer, smirking as she hands over a bill and compliments your makeup.

“Your girlfriend must love all that,” she jokes.

She’s an older butch. She has a strong chin and short hair and a tattoo on her bicep. 

“I haven’t got a girlfriend.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Sure is.”

Another dollar in the tip jar. 

“Thank you, love,” you chirp, making her grin at you. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” a familiar face greets you, sitting at a stool. 

“Hi, Lola,” you greet her back. “You want your usual?”

“Please, babe. I’m dyin’.”

You giggle and start to work on a cosmo.

The night continues, you serve more drinks and get more compliments. Other fem patrons ask where you got your boots or what brand of mascara you wear. 

“Wait, the makeup is so on,” a one with a pencil thin mustache and pink hair purrs.

“Thank you, love your hair,” you return, passing a hard seltzer over the bar. 

You wipe your hands on your apron. 

“I’m going for a smoke, Colm!” you call to the other bartender, an older gay man who wears one gold earring.

“Right, dear.”

You step out the back into the alley and light yourself a cigarette. Your lighter sparks, but doesn’t light. 

“Oh, come on,” you hiss, shaking it.

You try again and fail.

“Shit.”

You look around, trying to ignore the multiple couples kissing, or the blowjob occurring in the corner. You see a scrawny butch alone.

“Have you got a light?” you ask her. 

She flinches. 

“You scared me.” 

She’s Irish. 

“I’m sorry,” you coo sweetly. 

“I-I got a light.” 

She nods, producing a lighter from her pocket. She lights your cigarette and you watch her hands tremble. 

You take a puff, tasting that bitter smoke as it fills your lungs. You exhale away from her face.

“Thanks, love.”

You lean against the side of the building.

“So, where’s your girlfriend?” you tease, pointing at the dark alley.

“What?”

“Your girlfriend. Unless this was a one-time kinda thing.” 

“I-I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Well, this alley’s just for smoking and fucking, so if you’re not doing either, why are you out here and not inside?” 

“I was nervous,” she admits sheepishly. 

You know this type. The baby gays who put on their dad’s clothes and go out for the first time, and shake like leaves in the corner of the bar. Too scared to make moves. 

Her clothes definitely don’t fit, baggy trousers held up too high by a tight belt. 

“First time?” 

She swallows hard. 

“Yeah…”

You introduce yourself, offering your hand. She shakes it.

“I’m Remmick,” she says.

“Remmick,” you echo. “Did you give it to yourself?”

“I did.”

“Would you like to come in with me, Remmick? I’m the bartender. I’ll give you something really strong, shake those nerves off.”

Remmick nods, eyes wide as she stares at you. You’re the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. Your breasts barely contained by your strappy top and the black lace of your panties peeking over the top of your short skirt make her heart thump in her chest. 

You finish your cigarette and flick it on the ground, putting it out with the heel of your boot. The sight makes Remmick weak in the knees. 

Remmick sits at the end of the bar and you smile at her.

“You want a drink?”

“Yeah. I… um…”

She’s staring at you. You raise a brow expectantly.

“Why don’t you take a look behind me and I’ll come back, okay?”

She nods.

You look back down, helping someone else and peeking at Remmick as she fiddles with her hands. 

“What’s got your eye?” Lola asks. 

“The baby butch down there,” you say, pointing to the anxious thing at the end of the bar. “I found her in the alley.” 

“Found her?”

“Like a stray kitten.” 

“She is cute. She looks nervous.”

“First time, I think.”

“Well, you’re always so welcomin’ to the new girls,” she jokes.

You are. The bar owner had to institute a rule of one person in the employee washroom at a time because of you. 

Not that anyone pays attention to it. 

“I sure am,” you joke. “Do you want another?”

“I always do.”

You can sense that Remmick is wanting to ask you something, so you make Lola’s drink and set it down, then float down the bar to her.

“Can I just have a beer?”

“Sure.”

You crack open a cold bottle and push it to her. 

“Thanks,” she says, unable to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, sure. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” you tell her, touching her arm. You can feel the muscle tense under your touch and you try not to laugh at her.

“I will. Thank- uh, thank you.” 

There is no way you’re leaving without her tonight. 

The night winds down, and more people leave. The bar that was previously hot, sweaty, and full of people dancing is now half-full but still hot. 

You glance over your shoulder and see Remmick’s finger under her collar, pulling at it.

“You can take your shirt off if you’re hot. Nobody cares.”

She goes red and shakes her head.

“I-I’m not hot.”

You give her a glass of ice water and she drinks it down quickly.

“You seem pretty hot to me.”

“I-I don’t have a shirt on under this…”

“I brought a shirt for the bus, you wanna wear that?”

She nods at you, dumbfounded as she watches you walk to the backroom and return with an oversized black tee you use to cover up on your commute home.

She unbuttons her shirt and pulls yours on in a swift motion, so you only get to see a glimpse of her pale skin and a black sports bra. You also see the glint of a chain around her neck. 

“My shift is almost over,” you tell her softly, leaning over the bar. Her eyes are obviously on your tits.

“Oh.”

“You got somewhere to stumble home to, Remmick?” 

“I’ll figure it out,” she mumbles.

“Yeah. Or… you could come home with me?” you offer, smirking at her.

She’s wide eyed, slack jawed, and tomato red as she blinks at you.

“You… really?”

“Mhm. I gotta go clock out and wash up and then we can go, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

You clock out in the office, fixing your hair in the tiny mirror before exiting with your purse around your body.

“Bye, Colm, bye Lola!” you call, grabbing Remmick’s hand and tugging her with you.

“I-I thought you said-”

“You can come with me.”

Lola laughs.

“She’s gonna eat that wee thing alive.” 

You enter the washroom and tug Remmick in, setting your duffel bag on the baby changing station. 

“A-are you sure you want me in here?”

“Don’t you wanna be?” you tease. You unzip your skirt and slip it off, pulling on a pair of sweatpants.

Remmick stares at your ass, trying to keep herself from drooling. You hold your hand out.

“You can give me my shirt or yours, up to you.”

Remmick pulls off the shirt she tied at her waist, handing it over. You put it on, finding it’s big on you, too. She was really swimming in it.

“Whose clothes are these? Your dad’s?”

“Does it matter?” she jokes lightly. You giggle and back her up against the wall, making her squirm.

“You are so cute,” you tell her, leaning in to kiss her. 

She kisses back enthusiastically, her hands flat on the wall. You hold her hips and squeeze lightly.

“You can touch me, love,” you purr in her ear, nipping at the lobe. 

She shivers and two shaky hands reach up to hold your waist.

You’re so warm. She can feel your blood pumping and the heat pulsating off of your body is addictive.

“You’re cold,” you tease, your pinky finger hooked in her waistband. 

“I-I won’t be if you keep going,” she urges. 

You scoff at that, slotting your knee between her legs. She groans against your mouth, keening for friction.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” she squeaks. “Yes, yes, fuck…” 

You giggle at her, twirling a bronze curl around your finger.

She kisses at your neck, her teeth scraping against your skin. She has to keep her fangs from sliding out, gripping your waist tightly.

You feel her nails dig into your skin, teeth not biting– just ghosting the skin, hardly pressing in.

“Are you trying to bite my neck, you little vampire?” 

She almost faints at that. Your hand curls in her hair and tugs it back, making her moan. She covers her mouth, her fangs having slid out. 

“You can be loud.” 

“Sh-shouldn’t we go?” she pants out from behind her hand.

“Aw, but I really want to make you cum in your trousers,” you tease, pushing your thigh against her.

She shivers as you kiss the shell of her ear.

“I can settle for watching you squirm on the bus.”

She whimpers and you grab her other hand, taking her out of the bar as you walk to the bus stop. She insists on carrying your duffel to be a gentleman.

“But gentlemen don’t eat pussy,” you tease.

“N-no, I can do that,” she affirms eagerly. 

“Haven you eaten?” you ask, changing the subject.

Remmick doesn’t figure that out, shaking her head feverishly.

“There was food at the bar, if you were that hungry.”

“We’re… not still talkin’ about pussy?” she squeaks out. 

You hyena-laugh, and see someone walking a dog look over at you from across the street. 

“You can do that. But I’ll make you some dinner first.” 

You sit next to Remmick on the bus. She remains standing, holding the bar next to your seat. You would love to tug her into your lap and make her squeak again, but there are too many people on this bus. You tug her into the seat next to you instead, grinning.

She’s stiff and nervous, clutching your bag like she’ll float away if she lets go. 

“This is us, c’mon.” Remmick follows you out, the cold air hits her face as she continues behind you. She’s like a lost dog following you home, and you hold her hand when you get closer to your flat. You step into the building.

Remmick waits outside, nervously tapping her hand on your bag.

“Won’t you come in?” you joke, waving her in.

She takes a step in and you drag her up the stairs, all the way to the third floor. You count the doors until you get to yours, fishing your keys out of your purse and unlocking it to push it open. 

“Welcome to my beautiful home,” you joke, showing off your shitty flat. “Please make yourself at home.” 

She pads in behind you and hands over your bag.

“Thank you,” you chirp, kissing her cheek.

She’s beetroot again, which has you giggling.

“You can sit down, I’m gonna put something more comfortable on.”

Remmick watches you go into the bathroom and sits on your cozy sofa. There’s a blanket draped over the back she can tell was handmade. Your home isn’t messy, but it is full of little things that tell you about her. Posters of films and bands. Tapestries and art prints and string lights of Polaroids you and friends have taken. She wants to flip through your records and look through your bookshelf, to know everything about you. 

You come back out in a faded and oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, stretching your back. 

“I can lend you some shorts if you want to get out of those trousers. You’re drowning in them.”

She’s still wearing your shirt, she realises. She was just looking for someone to feed on in the alley and instead she got picked up by the scruff and taken home. She’s a ruthless predator and you’re treating her like a stray kitten. 

She blinks at you.

“Right. Erm… did you want to eat?”

“I-I’m not hungry,” she lies. 

Of course she is. She’s starving. 

“Are you sure?” you coo, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

Remmick winces.

“You can relax, I’m not gonna bite. Even though I know you want to bite me,” you tease her. 

“C-can we keep kissin’? Like in the washroom?” 

“Can we?”

She swallows as you lean down to hold her face in both hands.

“Yeah, this would make a pretty good seat,” you purr, tapping on the tip of her nose with your finger. 

In one swift motion, Remmick grabs your arm and tugs you down to the sofa, right on top of her. She kisses you again and you thread your fingers into her messy hair. You straddle her and her hands grip your hips, squeezing the soft flesh there.

“Let- let me… ngh, p-please-” 

She can hardly get her words out as you kiss her neck. She pushes at your hem too and you straighten your back, slowly pulling up the hem of your shirt.

“You wanna see ‘em?”

She nods wildly, like she might break her neck.

“Yeah?”

“Please, please… please, wanna k-kiss ‘em and squeeze ‘em, I-I’ll be so gentle, I promise,” she babbles as you drag the fabric up slowly and let your tits bounce into place.

She groans, hands sliding up your sides to squeeze at both of your breasts. 

“Y’so soft, love,” she murmurs against your skin. 

You hum, feeling her gentle touches become rougher when she pinches your nipple, making you jerk.

Your hand flies down and grabs that damn chain around her neck, yanking her upward. 

“Gentle,” you tut. 

She nods, swallowing as she does. 

“Please, c-can I… can I taste you, please?” 

“Beg a little more,” you command with a smirk, holding her chin. “It sounds so good.”

Remmick’s never had a girl like you. You’re cruel, but not overly. Still sweet and affectionate, and you clearly want her just as bad as she wants you. 

“Please, I-I’m dyin’ to taste you…”

She whimpers, pleading with her eyes. She cradles your hand, kissing your palm. 

“I’m so hungry,” she whines, kissing your fingertips and taking your thumb into her mouth. “I-I’ll make you cum, please, I’ll be so good…” 

You climb off of her and point to the carpeted floor, which she darts to, popping up on her knees. You settle on the edge of the sofa cushion and she quickly pulls down your shorts, leaving only your soaked panties. Remmick feels her own drool drip onto her knee and ignores it as she parts your thighs.

She makes something between a growl and a whine and lurches forward, licking you over the cotton on your cunt. She groans against you as she sucks on the gusset of your panties, her nails digging into the meat of your thighs.

You tug her back by the hair. She pants with her tongue still out like a dog. 

“I won’t tell you again to be gentle,” you say firmly. 

“Yes, love,” she agrees, wincing as she tries to move forward despite the tight grip on her hair. “Please- please, fuck, you taste so good!” 

You release her and in a blink she rips the black fabric down your legs with her teeth, spitting them out beside her.

She hooks your legs over her shoulders and kisses your hole, her nose brushing against your clit. She whines against you, the vibration making you jolt.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you sigh, back arching.

Remmick feels her fangs threatening to slide down and sucks on your clit, making you cry out. She pushes a finger inside of you, pumping it and moaning at how slick you are. She adds a second as her other hand goes to work undoing her belt and slipping into her trousers.

“Yeah… f-fuck… t-take my fingers so good,” she encourages weakly, rubbing over her own underwear.

Her tongue lavs at your clit as she pushes a finger inside of herself, making her puff out air. Her nose pushes against you and she licks noisily at the slick dripping down her fingers. Only it mixes with her drool and slowly slides down her wrist. 

“Fucking yourself while you eat my cunt, that’s class,” you tease her, giggling. “Taste that good?”

“So fuckin’ sweet,” she manages to say, lifting her head for a split second before returning to your cunt. 

“Fuck, Remmick,” you breathe. “D-don’t stop- fuck! Yes, yes, right there!”

You look down at her.

“Don’t you fuckin’ cum,” you threaten.

“Wh-why not?”

“You’re only cumming if I make you do it,” you tell her. 

She obediently pulls her hand away and you hold out a hand. She hesitates and gives you her hand. You take her two fingers in your mouth, licking between them to make her gasp and squirm. She keeps pumping her fingers in and out, and you match her pace, bobbing your head as you suck her fingers.

You inhale sharply and bite down on her fingers accidentally, making her yelp and pull her hand away. The mounting pressure in your abdomen bursts and you gush into Remmick’s waiting mouth. Her fangs are out but she doesn’t care, drinking up your nectar as she lazily pushes her fingers into you.

“So good,” she gurgles, slurping up your wetness. Her drool is part of the mess, and you’ve absolutely left a stain on the sofa. 

You tug her head back to get her off of your sensitive cunt and she quickly shuts her mouth, willing her fangs to slide back up.

“Wass’at good?” she asks, grinning at you.

“So good,” you praise her, stroking the side of her face. She pushes into your touch like a cat.

“Do you want more?” you offer.

“Please, I want you so bad,” she whines.

You lean forward and grab her face, squeezing her cheeks.

“Who’s on top?”

She makes a little noise and you give her a stern look.

“Remmick.” 

“Y-you,” she stammers out.

“I can’t hear you. Who’s on top?” 

“You, you,” she chants. “Fuck me, please, I’m beggin’ you…” 

You stand up on wobbly legs and lead her to your bedroom. 

“You should take your clothes off.”

She peels off your shirt, wet and sticky with drool and your juices, and tosses it behind her. Her sports bra follows and she shoves down her too-big-trousers.

You glance at her and laugh at her plain white men’s underwear.

“What?”

“Those too.” 

You dig in a box in your closet and produce your double strap, which is just an egg attached to a dildo that you hold in place with a harness. Remmick is intimidated by the size, shivering. You harness up and she drools at the sight of the black straps squeezing the soft skin of your ass and thighs. 

“You drool a lot,” you note as you shove her back onto the plush covers. 

“Fuck, how can I not?” she groans as you climb up and settle over her. 

You shove her legs apart and pin her down against the bed, grinding the strap against her. She squirms and huffs, trying to get more friction.

“Let me stretch you out, love,” you tell her, pushing in two fingers. She makes a choked noise as her head lolls to the side.

“That’s good, just breathe,” you encourage her softly. 

She needs you so bad, needs you inside of her. She needs your warm body over her so she can bite you already. 

“You ready for it, Remmick?”

She nods and pants, her arms covering her face as she tries not to bite her own arm.

“Fuck, please,” she cries, wrecked already.

You reach down and flick on the vibrations, shivering at the feeling. You slip into her and she moans, her voice cracking as she arches her back. 

“That’s it, fuck, look at you,” you praise her. She locks eyes with you, panting as you push in further. The two of you are skin to skin. Remmick’s leg hooks over your hip and you slide all the way in, your hips meeting hers. You stay like that, grinding your clit against the silicone. You tuck your face into her neck and she can’t take it anymore. 

She’s so hungry. 

Her lips brush your neck and her claws grow from her hands as she grabs the back of your hair and bites into your neck, snarling.

You gasp, thrashing to get away but she turns you over, rocking her hips as she drinks from your pulsing jugular. 

She pulls back, blood coating her mouth and chin, fangs pointed behind her lips. 

She whines, bringing herself up and down, bouncing on the strap as you feel your body tense up. It’s not another orgasm. You feel your teeth and your hands changing. It’s a painful, slow process, like growing pains in triple time. You cry out and Remmick puts a claw to her bloody lips.

“No, shh. Don’t cry,” she comforts you, still riding your strap. She takes your clawed hands and brings them to her waist.

“Ngh… y-you’ll be such a good bride. And I will too, I promise,” she says eagerly. She has a little lisp now with her fangs.

“Y-you’re all mine, please… I deserve this…”

She gasps as she grinds down, pushing the silicone against you. You twitch and she digs her claws into your shoulders. It hardly hurts though, but you can feel your own claws in her sides. In your sides. But they’re your claws.

She gasps and straightens up, twisting her body and whimpering.

You feel yourself right on the edge, but you’re already cumming, twitching and spasming around the egg inside of you. But you feel the strap. And you feel your own hands. 

“It’s s-so much to st-start,” Remmick tries to explain, trembling from her own orgasm. 

You easily lift her off of your strap and reach down to turn off the vibrations. You slip it out of you with a slick pop and Remmick curls up to your side, licking the wound on your neck.

“I-I’ve been watching you for weeks,” she admits. “You take girls home and they don’t say thank you or… or stay for breakfast. I wanted you to cook for me, but human food just… tastes so bland now. You’ll understand.”

She nuzzles into your neck, kissing your chin.

“I’ve wanted to be your bride for so long now,” she sighs.

You look at her. You feel her admiration for you, her lust and the way you make her giddy.

“See? Now you’re my bride… and we feel each other.”

She kisses you, smearing blood on your lips.

“Mo chroí… now we’re together forever.” 

[lallyloo]

[x]

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[fraternum-momentum]

doodled my old sonas before going eepy

[runayachi]

tumblr user runayachi has a body ?!

[image description: a photo of lyz (me) taken in a bathroom mirror. Lyz has shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. The rest of their face is obscured by their phone. They're wearing a bleach dyed dark blue shirt, black shorts, and a Datekou volleyball club jacket. There is a soap dispenser in the bottom corner of the mirror. /end id]

got to see the haikyuu movie today :)

[branmuffins22]

iiiiiiii dreamt a dream of palismen last niiiiiight~

i think i might finally know what my funny little sona could have as a palisman (although they definitely wouldnt get it until postcanon). might even post a sketch of what it looked like in the dream, what it evoked, and what itd probably end up lookin like for "realsies". or hell, maybe i take the idea to blender and model it out. thats kinda like carving, right?

[mechahero]

@earthforsaken asked- ik they havent interacted much but ☎️ for Kakarot or Trunks? your choice! put ☎ in my ask for your muse's info in my muse's phone (accepting!)

NAME: 🥕 Kakarot 🥕

RINGTONE: Unstoppable Force

PICTURE:

LAST TEXT RECEIVED: so there's this thing going on right now. i think you might like it? i can tell you more if you want, no pressure though

LAST TEXT SENT: lol look at this cat

[alexfeelyx]

I'm living proof of this because when my mom first took my dad home to introduce him to her family, she phoned home first and told them that he was ‘very ugly... but a very kind person’ and essentially warned them not to be a dick to him.

To their credit, my family on my mom's side has nothing but respect and affection for my dad, so the warning at least worked!

[aleksatia]

Possession, Obsession, Devotion: A Study in Five Men

Nope, I haven’t vanished. Super grateful for all your messages and the sweet support — seriously, thank you. Just swamped with work right now, so writing’s slowed down a bit. Still working on your requests, I promise! And I’m knee-deep in a pretty massive, emotionally wrecking angst based on a Songfic prompt. While that one’s cooking, I thought I’d drop another batch of my random writer notes — all bundled up in one chaotic little post.

CW/TW: Headcanons, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Love, Jealousy, Power Imbalance, Toxic Romance, Red Flags Treated as Romance, Intimacy with Control Undertones, Emotional Manipulation (Mild), Dubious Coping Mechanisms, Intense Emotional Dependency, Suggestive Themes, Mild Sexual Content, Unhealthy Attachment Framed as Devotion Genre: Romance-Infused, Erotically-Charged Drabbles with a Generous Side of Fluff Words Count: 8.6K

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Caleb’s Obsessed With You

1. You call another man “handsome” — even as a joke. You were teasing. Flirting, in that harmless, breezy way of yours. Caleb laughed. Then immediately kissed you like he needed to reassert territorial dominance with tongue and body weight. Funny how your jokes always end with your back against the wall and his hand on your throat. Lovingly.

2. You go to someone else for help instead of him. You needed tech support. A charger. Help moving the couch. And instead of calling your six-foot-two, military-trained, emotionally unstable boyfriend — you asked Xavier. Caleb didn’t say anything. Just stood in the doorway, watching, calculating how long it would take to move the entire solar system to make sure you never do that again.

3. You don’t sit on his lap when there’s clearly space.You chose the chair. Next to him. Not on him. He’s not mad. No, no. He's just questioning the entire fabric of your connection and whether you’ve lost all sense of instinct. And when you finally realize and climb into his lap? He sighs like a man being restored to life.

4. You post a photo where you're not touching him.Nice shot. Great lighting. Cute outfit. But why is he two feet away and not glued to your side like a shadow with military clearance? His arm belongs around your waist. His hand belongs on your thigh. And your caption? Should’ve been his name, followed by a possessive noun.

5. You forget to wear his dog tags. He left them for you. Carefully. On your nightstand. The same tags he’s worn through hell. And you? Walked out the door wearing a cute sweater and nothing that says “belonging to Colonel Caleb.” He’ll never say a word. He’ll just strip you slow the second you get home and fasten them back around your neck himself. With teeth.

5 Lies Caleb Tells Himself About You

1. “I don’t care that she uses my toothbrush.”You could take a fresh one. You don’t. You reach for his, same as always — like that handle belongs to you more than to him. He mutters something about germs. Then watches you rinse with that smug little smile. And later, when you're asleep, he moves it back to your side of the sink. Right where you like it.

2. “She can wear whatever she wants.”And you do. His shirt. His flight jacket. That tiny black top you swear is “practical.” He acts unbothered. Says nothing. But the second someone else looks too long? He stands behind you. One hand on your waist. That casual kind of possessive that feels like a warning wrapped in warmth.

3. “I don’t need her to text me when she gets home.”You’re a grown woman. A Hunter. You’ve neutralized things with more teeth than common sense. You say “Don’t wait up.” He says “Sure.” Then checks his phone every ten minutes like it's a heartbeat monitor and he's waiting to hear yours again.

4. “It’s fine if she flirts. I know it’s harmless.”You’re charming. It’s part of who you are. You wink. Smile. Lean in a little too close. Caleb plays it cool. Says, “She’s always like that.” Then grabs your waist in front of everyone and whispers: “Try that again, and I’ll fuck you so hard next time you won’t remember anyone else’s name.”

5. “She doesn’t need to say she loves me every day.”You say it once. In passing. A low little “love you” as you walk away, like it’s nothing. But he hears it like an oath. And that night? He holds your hand a little tighter. Pulls your body a little closer. Not because he needs to hear it again. But because if he doesn’t touch you, he might forget how to breathe.

5 Things That Make Him Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. Your hair falls in his face. Leaning over him. Stretching across the couch. Just close enough that it brushes his cheek like it has rights. You don’t even notice. But he does. Every time. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just breathes in and lets the world narrow to that one soft, smug part of you.

2. You chew on your thumb when you’re thinking. Not seductively. Not even consciously. Just a tiny bite to the edge of your nail while you’re mid-rant about your latest recon or trying to remember the name of a street vendor. It’s nothing. Stupid. Barely a gesture. And yet — he stares. Tracks it like a countdown. Fists flexing slow. Jaw tight. Because that mouth should never look that innocent.

3. You interrupt him when he’s cooking. He’s focused. Knife in hand. Half-distracted by heat and oil. And then you slide in behind him. Touch his lower back. Squeeze something you shouldn’t. Say “Smells good, chef,” with a grin that makes his whole spine forget how to hold. He curses. Tries to shoo you off. You lick something off his finger. And now dinner’s going to burn.

4. You try on his Fleet cap like it’s a joke. You lift it off the rack. Set it crooked on your head. Salute with two fingers and that smile that once made him fall off a training tower. “Colonel,” you say. And he’s gone. He should laugh. He doesn’t. He walks over, takes it off you slow, and kisses your temple like he’s reassigning you to a very different kind of mission.

5. You say “I’m yours”. Not in bed. Not in public. Just… casually. In passing. In that low voice you only use when something’s real. “I’m yours.”He looks at you like you just disarmed a bomb with your bare hands. And then he ruins you for saying it so lightly.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You’re the only one allowed to fly with him in his military jet.Clearance denied. Protocol says no. Regulations triple-confirm it. And yet — you’re in the co-pilot seat, boots up, fingers tracing buttons you’re not supposed to touch. He doesn’t stop you. Someone once asked why you get to ride with him when no one else does. He looked up from the cockpit and said, “She’s my gravity.” End of discussion.

2. You only need to place your hand on his to calm him down.No words. No pleading. No strategic de-escalation. Just your fingers, settling lightly over his, when something in him starts to coil too tight. And just like that — his spine eases. The heat in his eyes lowers by a degree. People have seen him end arguments with three words. They’ve never seen him go silent for anyone but you.

3. You’re the only person he’ll interrupt a briefing for.He’s mid-sentence. Room full of officers. Tactical projections glowing on the wall. His phone buzzes. He glances down, sees your name — and pauses. “Give me five,” he says. And walks out without waiting for permission. Someone once asked who it was.  He said, “The only priority higher than this fleet.”  No one asked again.

4. You walk in on his arm at the Farspace Fleet annual gala.He’s in dress whites. You’re in black. And the room — full of admirals, envoys, diplomats — parts like mist when you enter. He doesn’t introduce you. He doesn’t need to. You’re not just his date. You’re the one who makes him dangerous in silence. And everyone knows it.

5. You don’t need words to communicate.One glance. A tilt of your head. A tiny shift in posture across the room. He’s already moving. Already reading you like mission data. To others, it looks like magic. Intuition. Maybe telepathy. But for you two?  It’s just muscle memory — built from years of almosts, nevers, and finallys.

5 Times Caleb Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He pulled the full personnel file on a man you once smiled at.You were being polite. Friendly. The guy asked something harmless, you laughed. By morning, Caleb had his record open on a secure datapad, scrolling like he wasn’t reading a life — just calculating the risk factor. You asked what he was doing. He said, “I like knowing who wants what’s mine.” And then kissed you like he hoped you never asked him to stop.

2. He showed up at your door at 02:03 AM. Soaking wet. Furious. Silent.You missed one message. One. He waited. Thirty minutes. An hour. And then something in him snapped. No threats. No drama. Just the sound of his knock like a warning shot. You opened the door. He didn’t speak. Just stared. And then pulled you in with a grip like survival wasn’t optional anymore.

3. He scared the hell out of a junior pilot for asking your name.The kid was fresh. Eager. Smiled a little too long. Said, “Hey, what should I call you?” You started to answer. Then turned — and saw Caleb across the room. Expression calm. Stance neutral. Eyes loaded. The pilot apologized before you even said a word.

4. He slammed his hand on the table when you joked about breaking up.Just a joke. A throwaway line. Something stupid like “Guess I’ll go find someone less intense.” And his hand hit the surface before the words fully left your mouth. Not loud. Not violent. Just final. He didn’t yell. Didn’t argue. Just looked at you like you’d put a knife in his ribs and smiled about it. You never made that joke again.

5. He called you “dangerous” — and meant it like a vow.It was late. You were arguing. You said something sharp. He caught your wrist and said it low, almost reverent: “You’re dangerous.” But not like an accusation. Like awe. Like worship. Like he’d already decided to stay, even if you wrecked him completely. Even if he’d have to protect the world from you. Or protect you from himself.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Zayne’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone else bandaged your scratch. Just a graze. A stupid piece of shrapnel across your forearm. A colleague wrapped it up. No big deal. You came home smiling. Told him it barely hurt. He nodded. Quiet. Then excused himself to the kitchen. Five minutes later, he returned with antiseptic, clean gauze, and the words: “Take it off. I’m doing it properly.”  You didn’t argue. Neither did he. 2. Someone at work lent you their umbrella. A man. It was raining. You forgot yours. He offered. You accepted.  Zayne didn’t say a thing when you mentioned it over dinner. Just hummed. Neutral. The next morning, you found a new umbrella in your bag. Carbon fiber. Windproof. Labeled discreetly with your initials. You didn’t ask how he knew the exact weight your bag could carry without straining your shoulder. 3. You asked the waiter to recommend a wine. It was harmless. Polite. You were curious. But Zayne was sitting right there. He didn’t blink. Just looked at the waiter, then at you. Then took the list back. “Actually,” he said, calm as glass, “she prefers reds with less acidity. I’ll order.” You nodded. The waiter nodded. And somewhere between the clink of glasses, you realized that wasn't about wine at all. 4. You didn’t invite him to your morning training. He’d had a night shift. Surgery ran late. You wanted him to rest. So you left quietly. He woke up to an empty bed, your gym bag missing, and a silence that felt like a closed door. You came back to find his routine disrupted, his pulse still too fast — and a protein shake mixed just how you like it, chilled and waiting on the table. He never mentioned it. But now, if you decide to “let him rest” again… your training starts later. And doesn’t involve clothes. 5. You called another man “smart.” It was a game show. Trivia night. Some stranger on-screen made a clever move. You smiled. “Wow. That was actually really smart.” Zayne didn’t look up from his tablet. Didn’t even shift. But ten minutes later, you found yourself in a very precise debate about probability, strategy, and why that move wasn’t that brilliant after all. You didn’t argue. You just leaned closer. He didn’t smirk, but you felt it anyway.

5 Lies Zayne Tells Himself About You

1. "I’m just your cardiologist during exams." It’s clinical. Professional. Necessary. He listens to your heartbeat, takes your vitals, asks you to breathe deeper — deeper. You unbutton your shirt. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t feel anything. Except for the part where he adjusts his gloves a little too tightly. And maybe takes one extra second to remove the stethoscope from your skin. 2. "Lunch tastes the same without you." He orders the same thing. Same café. Same tea. But the pastry tastes off. The space feels louder. The table — emptier. He tells himself it’s fine. Then brings the leftovers back to his office. Doesn’t touch them. Just leaves the box where your hand might find it later. 3. "I don’t need to pick you up." It’s logical. You’re a professional. Your job runs over sometimes. So does his. But your message was short. The streetlights are on. The buses are unreliable.  He checks traffic cams. Weather. Public transit delays. Then sits very still, staring at his phone, wondering how to offer you a ride without making it sound like panic. 4. "I’m not checking. I’m sleeping." You once left while he was asleep. You thought it was kinder. Quieter. Now he says he “needed water” or “had a dream.” But every night, at 3 AM, his hand reaches. Just to feel your back. Your wrist. The smallest proof that you haven’t disappeared again. 5. "Short skirts are inefficient." He says they’re impractical. Not suited for cold weather. Definitely not for terrain with hostile wanderer activity. You raise a brow. He adds, “You’re not seventeen. Dress like it.” But the second no one’s watching, his hand is already sliding up your thigh under the table. And when you raise a brow at him, he just says, flat: “Checking for circulation.” You’re not fooled. He’s already failed the mission.

5 Things That Make Zayne Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You straighten his tie. You’re not thinking about it. Just reaching out, adjusting the knot, smoothing the line down his chest like it’s second nature. He stays still. Breath held. Eyes on your face. You step back. He doesn’t. Because now all he can think about is using that same tie to bind your wrists to the chair in his office — and how many minutes he can steal between appointments without compromising your breathing. 2. You dip your finger into the frosting of his pastry. You don’t ask. Just lean in, collect a bit of cream with your fingertip — and taste it. Oblivious. Innocent. Distracted by something else. He watches. Silently. And now the fork in his hand feels criminally unnecessary, because his mouth is dry, his mind’s gone blank, and he’s halfway to pulling you into his lap just to return the favor — with interest. 3. You take off your bra without removing your shirt. It’s casual. Automatic. You’re talking about your day, laughing, and then — One arm out. Then the other. The strap slides through the sleeve and vanishes into your laundry bag like it never existed. His brain glitches. His hands twitch. And he will absolutely spend the rest of the evening pretending to listen while picturing every technical step of reversing that maneuver with his teeth. 4. You imitate him. Badly. You’re wearing his lab coat. His glasses. Sitting at his desk, brows drawn, lips pressed tight. Your impression is awful. He should be annoyed. But instead — he watches. Sharp. Quiet. And when you finally laugh and start to take it off, he gets up. Takes the coat from your shoulders himself. And tells you, too evenly, “You forgot the gloves.” 5. You trace lazy shapes on his wrist while talking about something unrelated. You’re saying something about your neighbor’s cat. Something trivial. But your fingers are moving in a slow, absent pattern across his skin. And Zayne — who has operated on live hearts under pressure, who has held lives in one hand and death in the other — is currently struggling not to grab your wrist and drag you onto the desk. Because apparently, nothing in this galaxy has the precision impact of your fingertip.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You have a keycard to his office.Not a guest pass. Not a shared access code. A permanent, personalized, high-level card to a room most staff can’t even knock on without permission. You walked in one day mid-shift, casual, spinning the card between your fingers like it was a hairpin. Three nurses saw. One dropped her tablet. Rumors started before you even closed the door. Zayne didn’t correct them.

2. When he received a prestigious award, the first person he thanked was you.Best cardiothoracic surgeon of the year. Cameras flashing. Applause rising. Everyone expected a speech about innovation and responsibility. Instead, he said: “I’d like to thank the one person who keeps me alive enough to do this work. My partner. My favorite interruption.”Then he looked straight at you. The auditorium melted.

3. You’re both dressed like weapons. And everyone notices.He wears tailored coats, precision-cut collars, charcoal palettes like a tactical signature.You? Heels like blades. A suit that redefines “combat-ready.” And when you walk together — sharp, silent, side by side — people stop talking. Someone once tried to photograph you. The headline read: Unknown dignitaries arrive. Security does not comment.

4. You don’t argue. You duet.Someone crossed a line. Loud, drunk, smug. Zayne responded first — clean, cold, just one sentence long. The man blinked. Started to retort. You finished it for him. Elegant, sharp, no profanity required. He left. Fast. And you turned back to Zayne like nothing happened — while everyone else tried to recover from what could only be described as a linguistic orgasm.

5. He opens doors, buttons coats, and moves chairs like it’s instinct.Not performative. Not flashy. Just… precise. He adjusts your sleeve without thinking. Helps you into the car like it’s always been his hand. You barely register it. But the woman across the street? The one who saw it all from behind her coffee cup? She’s still texting her group chat about “the man in the long coat and the woman who ruined my standards.”

5 Times Zayne Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He gets live data from your heart monitor.Your Hunter’s Watch sends updates to the cloud. Zayne rerouted the feed to his private tablet. “Just in case,” he said. Now he knows when your pulse spikes. When you’re injured. When you don’t sleep. You never gave him access. You never had to. The first time he called mid-mission to say “slow your breathing” — you realized he wasn’t tracking. He was watching over.

2. He absolutely hates when you drive. Always.You're capable. Fast. Efficient. And yet — every time you take the wheel, something in him shuts down. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t protest. Just goes silent. And stares at the road like it personally offended him. He says, “It’s fine.” But he holds the dashboard too tightly for that to be true.

3. He freezes every time you say “I can handle it.”You mean well. You’re strong. You are capable. But when you brush him off with a casual “I’ve got this,” he doesn’t nod. Doesn’t smile. He just stops. Eyes unreadable. Hands still. And when you come back later — even fine — there’s already a backup plan on your datapad. Three versions. In color.

4. He never replies to emotional messages right away.You send: “I miss you. A lot.” His read receipt appears. Then… nothing. For two hours. And just when you start to spiral — he sends a photo. Of your favorite pastry. Waiting on his table. With one word: “Soon.” You hate how well it works. 

5. He spoke to the man flirting with you like he was reviewing his autopsy.It was harmless. A drink. A joke. A compliment. You laughed. Zayne didn’t. He stepped in, shook the man’s hand, and said: "Tell me, has anyone ever checked your prefrontal lobe for impulse control irregularities?"The man left. Quickly. You rolled your eyes. Zayne didn’t apologize. He just took your hand. And changed the subject. Completely calm. Fully satisfied.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Rafayel’s Obsessed With You

1. Someone comments “🔥” under your photo — and you like it.He sees it. Of course he does. He sees everything. You think it’s harmless. He thinks it’s appalling that someone dared mark your beauty with an emoji better suited to grilled meat. He says nothing. But that night, you get a charcoal sketch of yourself in your favorite pose, signed with a tiny flame in the corner. When you ask about it, he hums. “Oh, just honoring your admirers’ creative input.”

2. You linger too long in front of another artist’s painting.Not just glance. Linger. Eyes soft. Head tilted. That thoughtful little breath you take when something moves you. He stands beside you, perfectly still. Smiling. Then leans in and whispers, “Cutie, if you start weeping, I may need to challenge the gallery owner to a duel.” You're not sure if he’s joking. You’re also not sure you want him to be.

3. You talk about a beautiful place you visited… without him.You’re glowing. Describing the light, the air, the view. He listens, nods, even asks questions. Then: “And did the sun taste the same without me there?” You pause. He smiles, all charm and cheekbones. “I’m just wondering how it dared rise, knowing we weren’t together.”

4. You send him a photo — and there’s someone else’s hand in the frame.You didn’t notice it. He did. He stares at the image like it’s a crime scene. Zooms in. Later, he replies: “Beautiful composition. Fascinating use of background tension. Would love to discuss the symbolism of that wrist — whose is it?” You laugh. He doesn’t.

5. You say some actor is “exactly your type.”He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just goes very still, then casually asks, “Before or after makeup?” Later, you find your datapad background changed. It’s him. In perfect lighting. Shirt unbuttoned just so. The caption reads: “Still unsure who your type is? Look into my eyes. You’ll remember.”

5 Lies Rafayel Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t paint you. It’s just resemblance.”He insists it’s a study of emotion. A symbol. A face from memory. But the tilt of the head, the mouth, the birthmark near the collarbone — they’re all yours. You ask, teasing: “Is that me?” He blinks. Smiles slowly. “Cutie,” he says, “I wouldn’t paint you without permission.” And then changes the subject. Very deliberately.

2. “I don't reread your old messages.”He’s far too elegant for that. Far too composed. Except on quiet nights. On long flights. In museums where the silence scratches at his skin. Then he opens the archive. Just for the rhythm of your words. The accidental poetry. The way you once wrote “come home soon” like it meant more than time and place. He says it’s for “emotional reference.” He lies beautifully.

3. “I don't watch your mouth when you talk.”He’s an artist. A visual thinker. Of course he looks at faces. But not like that. Not at yours. Not like he’s memorizing the shape of every syllable just to feel them later against his throat. Not like he’s fantasizing mid-conversation about shutting you up with his tongue and tasting the sentence off your lips. No. Never. He’s listening.

4. “I haven’t memorized your scent through every season.”He claims not to notice. But he knows the spring version of you — soft rain, citrus skin, the aftershock of lilac. He knows the winter version — leather gloves, cinnamon breath, quiet wool. He doesn’t name them. Doesn’t chase the memory. But when you walk past — his eyes close. Briefly. Automatically. Like he’s gathering air before going under.

5. “I don't imagine your name with mine.”He’s not that romantic. Puh-lease. Marriage is a construct, surnames are politics, and love is beyond paperwork. He says all that with a flourish. And yet — there’s a notebook. Tucked under his mattress. Full of signatures. Yours. His. Just to see how it would look. Just in case.

5 Things That Make Rafayel Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. When you eat something juicy. Fruit. Fingers. With zero awareness.You bite into it slowly, distracted. Something sweet. Ripe. Juice glides over your lower lip, and your tongue follows without thinking. He watches, motionless. Not breathing. Not blinking. You glance at him. He tilts his head. Smiles. Says lightly: "That peach is about to become my personal enemy." You laugh. He doesn’t. He’s too busy wondering how it’s possible to be jealous of the fruit.

2. When you kiss his hand instead of his mouth. He leans in, expecting lips. Contact. Heat. And instead — you take his hand. Press a kiss into his palm. Soft. Deliberate. His breath catches. His throat tightens. Because that wasn’t affection. That was submission. And now he’s wondering just how far you’d let him take it. 3. When you tease him with your voice. Not the words. The tone. The whisper. You say his name like silk sliding over glass. You ask “You think so?” like it means “prove it.” You laugh — not loudly, but just enough to make his chest hurt. He could diagram it, break it into sound waves, prove the seduction in math. But instead, he just steps closer. And says, low: "Say that again. Slower." 4. When you sit on the floor, barefoot, flipping through his sketches — looking like you belong there. You’re humming something. Knees tucked up. No shoes. No guard. You tilt your head, study a piece, murmur: “I like this one.” He doesn’t even remember drawing it. He just remembers the way your hair spills over your shoulder and how the studio feels suddenly too small for how much he wants you. He doesn’t touch you. Not yet. He just watches like a starving thing. Memorizing the moment in case he dies of it later. 5. When you say “more.” In any context. “More sugar.” “More time.” “More.” That’s all it takes. One syllable. One open door. You never mean it the way he hears it — but he takes it as a promise. Like permission. Like a match tossed onto something already too dry to survive. And the next time he touches you? He makes damn sure you say it again.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. He painted a self-portrait — with you reflected in his pupils. Not your full form. Not a shared composition. Just his face. Direct gaze. And in both eyes: you. Looking at him. Always. When the painting debuted in the gallery’s main hall, critics called it “a study in obsession.” He called it accurate. 2. In an interview, he said you’re the only one who gets his sketches. The host asked who his work goes to first — gallery, agent, press. He smiled lazily and answered, “Her.” The room stilled. “The raw ones. The incomplete. The brutal drafts no one else deserves to see.” He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to. The moment he said it, you were already trending. 3. He delayed his own exhibition opening because you weren’t there yet. The venue was full. Lights ready. Guests murmuring. But he stood at the entrance, fingers laced behind his back, perfectly calm. “She’s on the way,” he said. “She had a prior engagement.” No one questioned him. Later, when you finally arrived — graceful, composed, in a deep sapphire gown that matched the evening — only he noticed the tiny scratch on your knuckle. The faintest shadow of something darker, just beneath the perfume. You smiled. He took your hand. And the doors opened like they’d been waiting for you all along. 4. Someone flirted with him. He looked at you. Then said: “I’m already spoken for. Permanently.” It was charming. Playful. Someone touched his wrist, laughed softly, leaned a little too close. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t react. Just turned his head toward you. Found your eyes. Then said it — quietly, cleanly, like a closing signature on a finished masterpiece. 5. At a charity auction, he sold a painting titled: “Painted Between Her Breathing and Mine.” The crowd didn’t know what to do with that. Some laughed nervously. Some applauded. The bidding started high and ended astronomical. But as the winning guest walked past you, holding the canvas with reverent hands — he still glanced back. At you. As if to say: That canvas holds the image. But I keep the original.

5 Times Rafayel Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He can disappear for three days and return with, “I just needed to stop being jealous.” No warning. No calls. Just silence, like he fell off the planet. You panic. Rage. Rehearse five speeches. And then he walks in — composed, scented like night air and oil paint. “Sorry,” he says softly. “I was being irrational. Had to… recalibrate.” You want to scream. Instead, you breathe him in like he’s home. 2. He destroyed the career of a critic who called your photo “poorly lit.” It wasn’t even a real insult. Just a throwaway line in a blog. But Raf read it. Once. And within a week, that critic was blacklisted from three galleries, publicly corrected by five curators, and accidentally misquoted in a viral controversy. You found out much later. He just looked at you and said, “No one calls shadow a flaw when it falls across you.” 3. He faked an illness so you wouldn’t leave for a mission. Nothing dramatic. Just a cough. A warm forehead. You hesitated. Postponed. Stayed. The next morning, he was radiant. Healthy. Annoyingly smug. You narrowed your eyes. He only shrugged, kissed your wrist, and whispered, “I needed one more night. Forgive the performance.” You did. Of course you did. The guilt felt almost like foreplay. 4. He left your clothes wet in the wash so you’d wear his shirt instead. Accident, he claimed. Timing. Cycles. But somehow, your entire outfit was still in the machine — cold, damp, and useless — while his favorite linen shirt lay folded neatly on the bed. You put it on. He watched you button it. And smiled like he'd won a silent war no one else even knew was happening. 5. He reads your messages without asking. Calmly. You know it. He knows you know. He doesn’t deny it. Just traces your jaw one evening and says, “You don’t hide anything from me. That’s why it doesn’t count as intrusion.” And the worst part? He’s right. You stopped hiding a long time ago.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Xavier’s Obsessed With You

1. You nap on the wrong side of the bed.You nap on the wrong side of the bed. Not wrong, exactly. Just… not his. You’re curled up in the late-afternoon light, peaceful, quiet, unaware. He doesn’t wake you. Doesn’t move you. But when you stir, there’s a weight in the silence. His side of the bed is untouched. Pillow perfectly aligned. No warmth. No scent. And your blanket — tucked just a little tighter — like a quiet reminder that even when you’re here, something’s missing. Something he’s not sure how to ask for without sounding ridiculous. Like: your perfume. On his pillow. Where it should be.

2. You tell him about a dream. Someone else was in it.You describe it absently. A mission. A flash of danger. And a man — not him — at your side. He listens. Nods. Doesn’t blink. But that night, when he kisses you, his hand stays on the back of your neck longer than usual. And his mouth says I want you, but his grip says: you don’t forget me, even in sleep.

3. You keep something old, worn, unnamed.A keychain. A patch. A folded slip of paper. Nothing dramatic. But it’s always near. He asks, once: “What is that?” You smile. “Just something from a long time ago.” He nods. Never brings it up again. But two days later, he leaves something else beside it. Not to replace. Just to match the weight.

4. You let the barista choose your drink instead of him.You smiled. Said “sure, why not.” Took the new coffee without hesitation. He was beside you. Holding your usual. You didn’t notice. But when you left the café, his own drink sat untouched. And he walked a little faster. A little quieter. As if recalibrating the fact that maybe someone else knows your taste. Even if it’s just in coffee.

5. You close your laptop too fast when he walks in.“Just a movie,” you say. Too quickly. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t tilt his head. Just nods and sets his gloves on the table like he didn’t notice the flicker in your tone. Later, while checking your tabs, he sees the paused frame — teeth on skin, hands holding wrists, someone begging. Silently. His breath doesn’t change. His expression stays neutral. But when he finds you, hours later, he doesn’t speak. Just pins your arms above your head and kisses you until you can’t remember what the scene looked like — only what it felt like when it became real.

5 Lies Xavier Tells Himself About You

1. “I’m not jealous of whoever taught you how to fight like that.”He knows it doesn’t matter. It’s skill. It’s history. Efficiency passed from one warrior to another. He tells himself it’s irrelevant. But when he watches you move — precise, lethal, beautiful — something coils in his chest. Not because of the technique. But because someone else saw you become this version of yourself. And he didn’t.

2. “It’s logical to sleep apart sometimes.” You need rest. Space. Post-mission decompression. He understands. It’s healthy. Statistically sound. But the first night you say “I’ll sleep in my own apartment,” the bed feels wrong. His internal balance off by degrees he can’t quantify. He tells himself it’s fine. Then stares at the ceiling for hours, heart syncing to a rhythm that isn’t there.

3. “It doesn’t bother me when you keep things to yourself.” You’re independent. He respects that. Boundaries are natural. But you say “I’m fine” with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, and he catalogs ten micro-expressions that say otherwise. Still, he nods. Doesn’t push. Then replays your words in his head for the next three days, trying to solve you like a puzzle that refuses to open.

4. "I could walk away, if it ever came to that." He tells himself he’s rational. Detached. If you chose something else — someone else — he would adapt. But deep down, he knows: he’s already memorized your weight in his arms, the way your name fits inside his silence. If it ever came to leaving… he wouldn’t walk. He’d stay exactly where you left him. Quiet. Waiting. Ruined.

5. "You wouldn’t lie to protect me. Would you?" You say “it was nothing,” “I’m just tired,” “I handled it.” And he accepts it. On the surface. But his mind starts building alternate versions. Safer ones. Worse ones. Ones where you bled and said nothing. He tells himself you’d never hide real danger. But he still checks your vitals in the logs. Every time.

5 Things That Make Xavier Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You walk in wearing a bright yellow duck kigurumi.  Absurd. Fuzzy. Zipped up wrong. You yawn, mumble something about tea, and pad across the room like comfort incarnate. He looks up. Blinks once. And forgets what he was doing. The beak hood. The bare ankles. The way you scratch your neck, half-asleep. None of it should be seductive. But now he can’t look away. His gaze tracks you like threat assessment — only it's not danger he’s calculating. It’s proximity. Access. How long he can pretend he's unaffected… before you end up against the wall. Still wearing the duck. For now.

2. You adjust the chest plate of his armor.  No rush. Just fingertips over matte metal, sliding a buckle, pressing a clasp. Your hands linger longer than they need to. You don’t even realize you’re doing it. But he does. He’s counting your seconds, your pressure, the exact placement of your thumb. If anyone asks why his next shot missed the center by half an inch, it’s because you touched him like a secret no one else was allowed to see. 3. You peel off your combat gloves with your teeth.  It’s efficient. Quick. Practical. But the way your mouth closes around the strap and your fingers flex once, twice, before they’re bare — He’s staring before he knows he is. Processing nothing but the curve of your jaw and the memory of that same mouth around his length. The second glove doesn’t stand a chance. Neither does he, honestly. 4. You wear a thin black choker.  No explanation. No warning. It’s not part of your gear. Has no field utility. But it’s there, snug against your throat like a promise no one else knows about. He sees it once and looks away. Sees it again and swallows too hard. The third time, he doesn’t look at all — he just shifts in his seat like everything in his world needs immediate recalibration. 5. You say “later” when he leans in.  Just a little. Enough to feel the pull. And you smile, soft, apologetic, not teasing — just... not now. He nods, like he understands. He always does. But from that second forward, every calculation, every breath, every cell in his body becomes attuned to the moment you say now. And when you finally do — he doesn’t wait. He doesn’t ask. He just takes, like patience was never part of the equation to begin with.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. You moved in perfect sync — without saying a single word. In the training hall, you didn’t say a word — but moved like a mirrored code. You shifted, he adjusted. You reached, he passed. No signals, no commands. Just two bodies in absolute sync. Someone watching whispered, “Do they rehearse this?” Someone else muttered, “No. That’s just them.” And suddenly, no one wanted to spar with either of you. 2. Someone called him “too quiet.” You didn’t let it slide. It was a throwaway comment —“He’s so silent, it’s weird.” You didn’t even look up from your drink. “Then you’ve never heard him breathe next to you.” The room went still. Xavier didn’t react. But you felt it — how he went still too, the way his attention locked fully on you. As if your words changed the temperature. 3. He braided your hair for three weeks while your wrist healed. At your desk. Between reports. No comments. No hesitation. Just practiced hands and quiet efficiency, like it belonged in the schedule. And maybe it wasn’t romantic. Or loud. But after that, no one ever looked at you the same way — because somehow, without trying, the two of you had redefined what closeness looked like. 4. You didn’t ask for his jacket. You didn’t have to. A shift in the wind. Goosebumps on your arms. No complaint, no drama. He just stepped behind you, slid his cardigan onto your shoulders like it belonged there, and said nothing. The couple walking by paused. Stared. You didn’t. You were already reaching for his hand. 5. There’s a photo of you on his desk.  Just you, caught mid-laugh, in natural light. Among tactical reports and encrypted drives. He never explains it. Never acknowledges it. But everyone who enters that room sees it. And no one ever asks if he's serious about you. They already know.

5 Times Xavier Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He monitors your meals like it’s a clinical trial. “You didn’t eat enough protein today.” “That pastry had no nutritional value.” “Are you hydrating?” He says it softly. Calmly. Like a doctor. Like someone who cares. And yet — you’ve seen him survive three days on black coffee and whatever snack bar was closest to his hand. You mention this once. He pauses. Then says, “That’s different. I’m used to operating under stress. You’re not.” End of discussion.

2. He didn’t argue. He made the argument disappear. You disagreed about something small. Nothing dramatic. Just opposing views. He didn’t push back. Just nodded, quiet. Said, “If that’s what you think.” Later, you realized the entire issue — schedule, person, condition — was gone. Resolved. Removed. Replaced. No apology. No discussion. Just silence... and a solution that left you with nothing to win.

3. He never asked where you’d been.Not once. Not even after you were late. Not even when your message came hours too late. He didn’t accuse. Didn’t guess. He already knew. Tracked your path, logged your signal drift, checked your pulse history. All without a word. And still held the door open when you arrived.

4. He always calls via video when you’re in another city.He never misses a day. Never just texts. Always video. He says he likes seeing your face. That it “grounds him.” And maybe that’s true. Maybe. But every time the screen lights up, you notice how carefully his eyes scan the room behind you. How his voice sounds different if there’s movement. How he never quite hangs up until you say, “I’m alone. It’s quiet here.” Only then does he relax. A little. Maybe.

5. You told him, “Sometimes, you scare me.” He said, “Good.”It slipped out. Low. Uncertain. Not a joke, not an accusation — just the truth. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t soften. Just met your eyes and said, calm as ever, “Good. Then you’ll stay alert.” And for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was warning you… or protecting you from something only he could see coming.

5 Petty Jealousies That Reveal Just How Much Sylus’s Obsessed With You

1. You didn’t tag him. He made sure the world knew anyway.You posted a photo. Cute. Stylish. Perfect lighting. But no mention of him. No tag. No trace. He reposted it within minutes. Same photo. New caption: “Correction: mine.” It got five times the reach. And suddenly, everyone knew better.

2. Someone else made you laugh. Sylus didn’t.The waiter was charming. A little too witty. You laughed — loud, unfiltered. Sylus just raised a brow, pulled out his wallet, and handed the man $2000. “For your last night in customer service,” he said. He smiled. You choked on your wine. The waiter never came back.

3. You called some man a friend. Sylus ran a background check.“He’s just a friend,” you said. Lightly. Barely thinking. Sylus smiled. Tilted his head. “I’m just a man with access to his tax history.”And that was the end of that conversation.

4. You said another man had a nice voice. Sylus gave you no air.It was innocent. Harmless. “His voice is kind of nice.”  Sylus said nothing. Just waited. That night, he read you poetry in three languages, one line at a time — mouth against your neck, breasts, stomach, thighs — until you begged him to stop. Not because you wanted him to. Because you physically couldn’t take more.

5. You forgot to wear his ring. He didn’t forget anything.It wasn’t intentional. You were rushing. Distracted. But he noticed. Of course he did. He said nothing all day. Then, that night — when you were breathless, undone, on your knees — he took your hand, kissed your finger, and slid the ring back into place. Slowly. Deliberately. Like sealing a deal you forgot you signed.

5 Lies Sylus Tells Himself About You

1. “I didn’t pick your outfit to match mine. Must’ve been the stylist.”It was just coincidence. That your lipstick matched his cufflinks. That your dress followed the same line as his collarbones. That when you walked in together, people paused — like royalty had arrived. He didn’t say a word. Just looked at you once. And didn’t look away for the rest of the night.

2. “I’m not furious that I wasn’t your first.”He says it doesn’t matter. Shrugs. “I’m not a teenager.” And yet, the thought of someone else touching you before him? It coils in his chest like smoke that won’t clear. He tells himself you chose him now — and that’s what counts. But the next time you moan his name, he fucks you hard enough to make sure no one else’s ever mattered.

3. “I don’t answer your messages instantly. I’m just always holding the phone.”He just… saw it. Right away. Just happened to be holding his phone. Just happened to pause mid-meeting, mid-deal, mid-war — to write: “Be safe.” You tease him for how fast he replies. He teases back. And never mentions the part where your name makes him drop everything.

4. “I’m not obsessed with the way you say my name when you’re annoyed.”You do it without thinking. That exact tone. That breath. That syllable dipped in heat. He rolls his eyes. Says, “What now, kitten?” But every time it happens — he shifts closer. Hears it again later in his head. And stores it next to the version you whisper when you want him most.

5. “I wouldn’t beg. If it came to that. …But only for you. And only once.”He’s not that man. He doesn’t plead. Doesn’t bend. But when he thinks of you leaving — really leaving — something dark and fragile coils behind his ribs. He tells himself he’d let you go. That he wouldn’t chase. But even in the lie… he’s already halfway down the hallway.

5 Things That Make Sylus Go Completely Feral (In Lust, Not Rage)

1. You ask him to zip your dress. Then don’t wear anything underneath. It’s casual. Innocent. “Help me?” You turn your back, lift your hair, and wait. He moves slow — almost reverent. But when his fingers meet bare skin where silk should be… he doesn’t finish the zip. He turns you around, steps in close, and says, “You came dressed for trouble. Good. So did I.” 2. You say “don’t be gentle” with a smile that promises you’ll say it again, louder. He always controls the pace. The heat. The rhythm. But when you lean in, lips brushing his ear, and whisper those words — something in him fractures. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He doesn’t give you time to change your mind. He just obeys. And makes sure you feel the echo for days. 3. You use his tie to pull him into a kiss. He likes power. Centered, composed. Collar straight, voice cool. But when you grab that perfect silk tie, wrap it around your fingers, and yank — he stumbles into you like a man starved. You kiss him once. He kisses you back like vengeance. 4. You say “yes, sir” in a tone that means the opposite. You drawl it. Sweet. Defiant. Like you know exactly what it does to him. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t smile. Just leans in, voice low against your throat, and says, “Keep using that tone, kitten. Let’s see how long you last when I take it seriously.” You don’t last long. Not that night. 5. You put on his ring and ask, “So what does this buy me?” It’s a joke. Almost. You twirl it on your finger, playful, reckless. He watches. Then smiles slow, wicked. “That?” he says, stepping closer. “That buys you a night where I don’t stop until you forget your own name.” And just like that, you do.

5 Power Couple Moments That Made Everyone Else Jealous (And a Little Scared)

1. The earring incident at the casino. You dropped it. Somewhere between the blackjack table and the bar. Nothing dramatic — until your face shifted. That quiet flicker of loss. Sylus didn’t sigh. Didn’t scold. Just raised a brow. And a dozen seasoned criminals began crawling across the velvet floor. They found it in twenty minutes. You wore it for the rest of the night. He wore the look of a man who’d moved the world back into place. 2. The arrivals are always his favorite part. You come back from missions — tired, sore, alive. And there it is: his sportscar. Engine humming. He’s waiting with a bouquet of roses so rare you don’t recognize half the species. The entire terminal watches. You don’t. You’re too busy smiling. He says, “Welcome home.” And just like that, the war disappears from your shoulders. 3. The seat at the head of the table. It was a high-stakes meeting. Old money. Dangerous names. Sylus led you in by the hand — then pulled out his chair. You blinked. He said nothing. And while you sat at the head, calm and poised, he stood behind you like a king who knows exactly where real power sits. No one even dared raise a brow. 4. The auction. Your hand. His silence. He gave you the paddle. Not instructions. You bid on instinct — numbers rising, tension thick. The item? A rare protocore with blackout-level clearance. Sylus didn’t flinch. Not once. And when the gavel dropped — he leaned in, lips brushing your ear, and said, “You can spend my money however you want, kitten. Just make sure they see you doing it.” 5. The moment the room lost him to you. It was mid-negotiation. Tense. Crucial. Every word counted. But across the table, your fingers tapped. Your eyes glazed. You were bored. Sylus watched. Then stood. “Deal’s done,” he said. “You’ll take our terms.” And somehow, they did. Because the only person in the room whose attention he wanted — was already drifting.

5 Times Sylus Was a Walking Red Flag But You Loved Him Anyway

1. He knows what’s in your delivery before you do. No one told him. But every time you order something — clothes, tech, vitamins — it’s re-screened. Not stopped. Not blocked. Just… “verified.” You only noticed when your favorite moisturizer showed up improved. New formula. Better scent. Hand-selected. Of course. 2. He said he’d put you on IV if you skip another meal. You were busy. Distracted. He asked what you’d eaten. You said, “Does coffee count?” He laughed. Once. And muttered something about installing a medical station in your apartment. He was “joking.” Until you saw the discreet courier bring an IV stand the next day. Just in case. 3. He took you to dinner at a place you hadn’t been since Academy. You didn’t realize where you were — until you saw your ex across the room. The one who cheated. Sylus just smiled. You were in a dress that made people stop breathing. He ordered champagne. Lobster. Left a four-digit tip. And made sure your ex saw everything. Including the way you kissed Sylus on the way out. 4. He froze your accounts. Just to prove a point. You said you didn’t need his money. You insisted on “independence.” So he waited until your card declined at the pharmacy. Then texted: “You have my black card. Use it. Or stay home.” You gave in. He sent flowers. 5. He apologized like a storm front. You fought. It was ugly. The next day, a gift arrived at HQ. Then another. Then six more. By day four, your car was full. You marched to his door, furious. He opened it, leaned against the frame, and said, “Took you long enough. Come yell at me. I’ll pour the wine.”

[navybrat817]

Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay. 

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one. 

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions. 

At least he wasn't until he saw your face. 

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes. 

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date. 

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one. 

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in. 

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help. 

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled. 

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam. 

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out. 

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to. 

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked. 

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked. 

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said. 

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did. 

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that. 

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so. 

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered. 

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said. 

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised. 

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all. 

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought. 

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena. 

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days. 

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked. 

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased. 

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back. 

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled. 

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again. 

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse. 

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well. 

“You are something,” he said to himself. 

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you. 

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy. 

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave. 

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked. 

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that. 

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before. 

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around. 

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on. 

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered. 

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed. 

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot. 

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something. 

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered. 

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it. 

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he? 

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked. 

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked. 

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. 

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[batsandbirdbrains]

Pls just imagine how dramatic a young justice fic would be if it was like

The one where Batman and Robin are magically de-aged to when they first started working together

So now you’ve got a very paranoid and over protective Batman who hasn’t actually met any of the other justice league members yet and an itsy bitsy Robin who looks like he’ll tear someone’s head off. The Justice League has them quarantined in the Watchtower, they’re not letting them go home to the batcave or anything, and Batman is arguing with Green Arrow while holding a flailing Robin by the scruff of his neck. He looks like a feral kitten.

Now keep in mind, no one in this scenario knows Batman and Robin’s secret identities. They’re not even really sure if they’re father and son, brothers, uncle and nephew, or maybe strange mentor and protege picked off the streets, they’ve no clue. So seeing what is now clearly a young twenty-something Batman trying to wrangle in a wriggling eight year old is both highly entertaining and totally baffling. Where the hell did these two even come from. And how has that tiny kid been around longer than some actual adult heroes.

“He bit me!” Kid Flash cries, running away from a glowering Robin.

“Don’t try to touch me next time, asshole!”

“Hey!” Batman barks, holding Robin up by an arm and dangling him in front of him. “We don’t bite super-powered strangers. Who knows what kind of radioactive germs they might have.”

“But B!” Robin’s voice is so high and whiny, Conner is starting to feel dizzy. “He tried to pick me up! He called me cute! I’m not cute I’m terrifying.”

And the two just keep bickering back and forth, Robin eventually hanging with his ankles and hands hooked around Batman’s arm. Batman is trying to shake him off like a bug. They are both still arguing with each other as this happens.

“Did Batman just accuse me of having radioactive germs?” Wally is gaping at the scene in front of him.

As is everyone else. This is a total mindfuck. Who let Batman be in charge of a kid.

The two of them do eventually, reluctantly, start to trust the league. And they’ve been told they have to stay on the Watchtower until their magic expert gets back from a mission. Four days from now.

There’s one point when most others stationed on the Watchtower are sleeping or taking a break, and Batman is holding a drowsy Robin close to his chest and looking out the windows of the observation deck. Someone brought them some casual clothes to wear during their downtime, but they both have domino masks over their eyes. Those who see them like that can’t quite comprehend just how young Batman looks without the cowl.

“The moon looks so big,” a sleepy Robin mumbles, his cheek squished against Batman’s shoulder.

“That’s ‘cause it’s so much closer here,” Batman tells him, his voice incredibly soft. “Can you see where Gotham would be?”

Robin’s head turns just slightly, looking toward the Earth, and he hums, a fist moving up to scrub at his eye.

“S’over there,” he points. “With all the clouds ‘n stuff.”

“Looks tiny from up here, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Robin mouth opens in a comically wide yawn, then he shoves his face in Batman’s neck.

“S’not gonna fall from the sky, is it?”

“Nah.” Batman shifts his arms, holding Robin a little tighter. “This place is in orbit, kinda like how the moon is. It’s not gonna fall.”

“Would you catch it if it did?”

“I’d steal us a ship from here so fast, I wouldn’t need to catch it.”

“Kay.”

Batman presses his cheek to the top of Robin’s head, stray curls tickling his nose.

“Do you wanna practice your flips and shit in the morning? I’ll spot you.”

“Yeah,” Robin mumbles, “And I wanna scare Green Lantern by poppin’ outta the vent again. He screamed like a little girl when I landed on the table.”

“Do a flip when you do it and I’ll smuggle you an ice cream bar from their kitchen.”

“Deal.”

Batman has to twist his left arm funny so he can shake Robin’s hand, his right arm occupied by holding Robin up, and they shake on it.

Batman lets out a snort of a laugh, looking at Robin with an incredibly fond look on his face.

For everyone else, it’s a very long four days of them being menaces and encouraging each other to do more and more odd shit.

When they get turned back, they act like nothing was out of the ordinary. They’re not even phased when they’re reminded of some of the things they got into.

[evilminji]

"DO BETTER!" Says Now Televised Fanboy

He, Dash Baxter is a Phan-Stan!! It's kinda his thing. See, he's a fancy ass talk show host now. Married Paulie, moved out of Amity, actually DID something with his life. His parents? Did not approve. Long n short of it? He got kicked out.

Paulie's parents were PISSED.

Retaliated by giving him all the help he needed getting EVERY scholarship he qualified for. He went to a really nice college. Missed his girlfriend like mad. But she was off in Metropolis, terrifying weaker men. Conquering the fashion scene.

And SOMEHOW? Thanks to that long talk he had with Phantom (*incoherent fanboy gibbering noises* SO COOL!) he's worked to be... more of a LEADER, you know? Less of an asshole. Cause he's popular. People copy him. He can't be an asshole.

So, somehow, when he's punching out some try-hard that thinks he's hot shit for bullying a Nerd? He and the nerd get talking, right? Cause the guy got his glasses completely fucked up. And it's what Phantom would do.

But GET THIS? Guy's never HEARD of Phantom! Is super curious, cause he runs a small time Hero's show on the web. And, Dude? Is it your LUCKY DAY! Cause you just met THE number 1 fan of Phantom, hands down!! He makes his VERY spirited case, about why Phantom is THE best Hero to ever have lived. And this guy?

Entranced.

In AWE.

Just straight up BEGS him to join his show. Cause apparently? He was BORN for it. Which? Yeah. He HAS been giving speechs to the team for YEARS now. And Talking at fan meet ups. Leading fan meet ups. Hosting parties... actually, now that he thinks about it? He DOES do a lot of public speaking? Huh.

But still, he's about to say "no", when?

Dude mentions? He'll get to talk about Phantom.

SOLD!

It. Blows. Up. Absolutely EVERYONE is in love with his pretty face, hot bod, and STRONG opinions. But they ALSO have no idea who Phantom is! Paulie! This is CRIMINAL! Horrifying! What is going ON!?

Some bullshit information black out, apparently. At least according to her... friendly Nemesis? The Goth Dweeb. Who's engaged, apparently? So good for her. Unsurprisingly, it's too the OTHER Dweebs, but still. Bout time she started planning to drag them to a court house. She's the only one with any spine in that group! If she waited for THEM to propose?

Not even as Ghosts, man.

They'd get distracted by shiny nerd shit and whimp out.

Still... a world where NO ONE knows how Awesome, Phantom is? Not on HIS watch!

So he works it in. To every segment. It becomes "his thing". Oh? Super man saved a kitten from a tree? Cute. Well PHANTOM saved a bus full of Ghost Puppies from a shady, rouge, Goverment agency. Do BETTER, Superman!

The Flash, who is a cheap knock-off and stole his name, took down an Ice Villian? Adorable! PHANTOM stopped a Rouge WINTER SPIRIT with the help of YETI WARRIORS then assisted in giving FREE medical care for anyone who needed it! Here's a picture of him making GHOST ICE SNOWMEN for small children! Do BETTER, Knock-off!

What's THAT you say? Wonder Woman fought a GOD in down town paris?

Excellent work Wonder Woman. Flawless as always. But YOU, god-boy, are a disappointment! All that power! And WHAT do you use it for? Are you even supposed to BE here?? PHANTOM uses his power to HELP people! Is awesome and knows TONS of better gods! You're just salty you didn't make the cut!

DO BETTER!

And obviously? No one believes him. There's no record of this "Phantom" guy. The pictures look fantastical and vaguely glitchy/glowy. Not quite right. They GOTTA be photo shopped. Manipulated somehow. But? As a shtick? A fake "perfect Superhero" is kinda funny and unique.

And it's one hell of Fake Hero!

A Dead Champion? Who fights gods and monsters? Rouge agencies? Sassy and tragic? With a mysterious past? Pretty cool! There's even an Offical Comic from some guy that went to the same high-school as Baxter!

Of course, as Baxter get more and more popular? The "meme" hero, Phantom, get more well known? People get more interested in where Dash grew up. You know, just a bored Google. Maybe see if the hero was based off a local legend or something. But... huh...

The Town website?

Weirdly? Sanitized.

Like... like aggressively sanitized. All smooth edges and no details. Very "move along, citizen". Ha ha... it's part of the joke right? They get it! They'll just look up local restaurants or som-....

Wait...

Hey, guuuuys?

Are you finding ANYTHING?

And! Nothing. And I do mean NOTHING! Triggers the "oh? Secrets???" Instincts of a Hacker, like finding a hard blank wall of "KEEP OUT". Especially when it's somewhere it rightfully shouldn't BE.

All it would take? Is ONE person, of decent skills and an account on Certain Forums, getting bored enough to Google the Dude On The TV(TM)? For the GIW's lil walls to come crashing down. Because yeah, you can stop ONE hacker. Even two. Probably five or six.

But how about thousands?

Hundreds of thousands?

From every time zone. Competing. Just to see what you HAVE and don't want them to see. Maybe they do something with it, maybe they don't. But fuck it, you're being RUDE and now they're CURIOUS. And THEN? Oh. Oh holy shit.

Not a meme.

Very real.

Not a joke.

The walls come crumbling down, down, down. Ripped apart by hundreds of hands. Emails sent to every sort of agency. The JLU line inundated with emergency tips. Not a joke. Not A Joke. Holy Shit, IT WASN'T A JOKE!

Phantom is REAL!

And there, on TV, stands the Man. The signal FINALLY breaching containment. Fighting off the invading God of the week. Built like statue, hair like an aurora borealis of white fire held almost delicately in place by a CROWN of ice, a suit made of void and starlight. Inhuman. Beyond human.

Here to help.

A laugh that crackles like ice and the snap of winter, rolls through the air like coming storms, rich and somehow warm. A smile that bares teeth, yet turns so KIND when he looks upon humanity, as though we are precious and worth fighting for. A living star.

A... a once living star.

And in the center of it all? Wearing his BESPOKE, custome made, Number 1 Phan full body outfit? That's right. Dash Baxter. Ha! You fuckers doubted him! Behold his blorbo and WEEP, ya fuckin casuals! The BESTEST of boys! The FINEST of Heros! Superman? Could NEVER.

And now? The weather!

@babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation

[eclips-moon]

Cute things the Batboys do in a relationship:

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Morning Texts: This dude lives for sending those “Good morning, beautiful ” texts, usually with some goofy selfie where his hair’s a mess. He just wants to be the first thing you smile about.

Random Dance Breaks: If you’re in the kitchen or just standing around, Dick will 100% spin you around for a random dance. He’ll hum some random tune and make you laugh like it’s a movie moment.

Spontaneous Picnics: Out of nowhere, he’ll hit you with a “meet me at the park” text, and you show up to find he’s got a whole cute picnic setup. The dude’s got snacks, a blanket, and everything ready like a rom-com lead.

Cuddle Monster: Watching a movie? Cuddling. Sitting on the couch? Cuddling. He’s got an arm around you, pulling you into his chest every chance he gets. And don’t even get me started on bedtime—he’s glued to you.

Pet Names: You’re never just your name. It’s always “Sweetheart,” “Princess,” or something that’ll make you blush and roll your eyes. He loves seeing you react.

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Cooking Shenanigans: He’s lowkey a beast in the kitchen, but acts like he needs your help. Next thing you know, you’re tossing flour at each other, making a mess, and laughing like idiots.

Protective as Hell: Jason’s that guy who’ll drape his jacket over you before you even realize you’re cold. If it’s raining, he’s got the umbrella over you—he doesn’t care if he gets soaked.

Books & Notes: He’ll leave books for you to read with little handwritten notes inside. Some are funny, some are deep, but he’s always thinking about you even when he’s not there.

Late Night Rides: He’s all about taking you on rides around the city late at night. It’s quiet, and the world feels like it’s just the two of you while the cool breeze whips by.

Forehead Kisses: Not super into PDA, but will definitely kiss your forehead when it’s just you two. It's his way of saying “I got you” without saying a word.

Tim Drake (Red Robin)

Study Dates: Tim’s ideal date is just chilling in a coffee shop, both of you working on stuff, but occasionally reaching over to hold hands or sneak in a quick kiss. He’s not the clingy type, but loves quiet closeness.

Geeky Gifts: He’s that guy who’ll surprise you with some gadget or comic you mentioned once. His memory for stuff you like is insane, and he’ll always find something that makes you smile.

Random Nerd Facts: You’ll be mid-conversation and he’ll just drop some random fact about the universe or tech that he knows will make you roll your eyes. He lives for those reactions.

Caring Vibes: Tim’s the type to bring you tea when you’re stressed or randomly tell you to take a break. And when you’re sad? He’ll pull you into his lap without saying anything—just wants to make sure you’re okay.

Subtle Compliments: He’s not super vocal, but you’ll catch him staring at you, and when you ask why, he’ll just casually be like, “You’re stunning,” with the softest smile. Smooth af.

Damian Wayne (Robin)

Low-Key Sweet: Damian won’t say it, but he shows love in little ways. Your favorite snack? He’ll just get it. Something broken? Fixed. His love language is basically “silent but effective.”

Learning Your Hobbies: Whatever you’re into, he’ll make it his mission to learn it. You mention an interest? Bet, he’s researching it like it’s a case for Batman. It’s his way of being involved without being obvious.

Animals Everywhere: He’s constantly bringing over animals, like “This cat needs to meet you.” If his pets like you, that’s basically a proposal in Damian-speak. And they always like you.

Art Hangouts: He loves painting, so sometimes he’ll invite you to join him, and it turns into a competition of who can make the dumbest art. Expect lots of teasing.

Acts of Service: He won’t say “I love you” all the time, but you’ll feel it in the way he does things for you—like carrying your stuff, fixing something, or just being there when you need him.

[titania-sleeps]

Submissive Omega Yandere x Alpha Reader (He Rides You)

hii reposting this since i wrote this for an ask that i incorrectly answered 😭 if you want a full fic of this instead of my lazy bullet points, pls do tell me

more works including Adonis: Adonis Introduction, First Heat

warning: nsfw, dom reader, omegaverse, sub omega yandere, GN reader has dick (cause you're an alpha), minors DNI pls

needy Adonis

• so in this first scenario, Adonis is super pent up and he needs you so bad

• maybe you're busy or not so much in the mood, but you feel bad for him so you let him ride you

• he doesn't think at all, he just goes for it. he straddles you in a moment, and you're nearly surprised by how needy he is

• he parts his ass with his fingers, his hole already dripping wet. the strong rosy scent emanating from him gets you hard pretty quick

• Adonis sinks down on your cock, not wanting to wait for another second. he loves the feeling of you filling him up, it makes him feel whole

• you kinda just lay down and chuckle because he looks really cute. his whole body is flushed and he has this hazy look in his eyes

• you don't say anything to him but you place a hand on his thigh, almost encouraging him.

• meanwhile, he's moaning and crying as he bounces on your cock. your hand on his thigh is his anchor because if it wasn't there he's sure that his entire being would kinda just... fly off because of how good it feels

• he's begging you to fuck him back but you just look at him with a devious grin

• so he's slamming his hips on you desperately, trying to get as much as he can out of you. maybe if you cum he'll cum too?

• an hour passes and he's still fucking himself on your dick. his brain is mush, his speech is slurred, and his eyes are half-lidded in pleasure.

• "Keep it up, good boy..." you drawl, knowing your tone gets him going.

• that's all he needs to hear to continue going for hours upon hours.

sub af Adonis

• in this scenario, you propose the idea first. usually Adonis is on the bottom, but you tell him that you want him to be on top of you. at first, he's really confused

• he doesn't argue though, because if you want to do it then so does he!

• you lay on the bed and he climbs on top of you, sitting softly on top of your dick.

• you shake your head and tell him to hover over your cock instead. he does so, and he's still so confused.

• you line up your dick to his wet hole.

• without warning, you grab him by the hips and slam him down onto your dick.

• he gasps, eyes rolling up at the sudden feeling of being filled. he takes a moment to adjust, his insides convulsing around your cock.

• after he takes his moment, he looks down and wants to ask you why you did that without telling him. he tilts his head, chest heaving a little.

• you love the little look of confusion he has. you lift him up and fuck up into him.

• he's squirming on top of you, body leaning back from the pleasure. is this what being a fuck doll feels like? if it is, he doesn't mind being your fuck toy for the rest of his life.

• you're thrusting roughly, holding him in place so he can't move. he's whimpering and begging you to go harder, to fuck him quicker.

• you think it's funny to tease him, so you slow down and purpose.

• immediately, he starts whining and crying, begging you not to stop. you can't be this cruel; first you give him heaven and now you put him in hell.

• "Nononono, please fuck me, take me, please! I'll be your good boy, your best boy, let me cum, please, please..."

• he's spasming on your cock for the next few hours. it's a good thing you're not in your rut yet, otherwise you'd be knotting in him for the next day and a half.

rereading it i realized it's like the same thing but in different fonts oop

-> masterlist

[peco5bi11]

shout out to my mans 2Snacks. the old sbfp fandom still remembers you, and we cheer at your sucess.

[elysianstarfall]

blue lock boys w/ a super expressive reader (hcs)

summary: your emotions are always written all over your face, and your actions are also a dead giveaway. what does your boyfriend think?

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, itoshi rin

a/n: god i hope this makes sense

i. yoichi

LOVES IT. SO MUCH.

he's always using so much brainpower trying to figure out what his teammates/opponents are thinking

so when he can tell how you're feeling with one look at your face, he's genuinely so happy

his brain is fried, he deserves a break

doesn't mean he doesn't care about you though!!

still has to figure some stuff out, but most of the time he notices your mood and adjusts to match it

you're really excited about something? he tries his best to get into it too

you're lowkey depressed? he softens his voice and listens to you intently

gets you whatever you need

the second he sees you're uncomfortable or something he tries his best to get you out of the situation even at his own expense

will embarrass himself to make you feel better

you always tell him he's the best bf ever but you seriously make it so easy for him to be

b. meguru

"you're just like me fr..."

yeah he's basically the same

you guys literally just sync up by accident

like if one of you is happy, the other one's mood just instantly gets better too??

bluetooth ahh relationship

also, miscommunication? what's that?

you know each other's feelings so well that misunderstandings are pretty much nonexistent

if something's wrong, it's so obvious

like if you're moping he'll make you talk things out with him or tell him what's wrong

same if he's feeling sad

thinks it's adorable when you're excited and your eyes just straight up light up

he just gets a stupid smile on his face which makes you even happier

cue the never-ending cycle of emotions

you guys are so soulmates

n. seishiro

he's so, so grateful

he doesn't have to put in any work deciphering your emotions? sign him up

consider yourself not a hassle!

it's actually perfect for a lazy guy like him

finds your facial expressions really cute

even when you're just voice calling, he can hear everything you're feeling

like when you laugh or when he can hear your smile when you're talking, he can relax

happy gf = he's doing something right

oh but when you're mad...

save him, he has no clue how to fix it

actually scared to talk to you because you look like you're gonna beat him up

and when you don't even look mad, when you act nonchalant and distant and he can't tell how you're feeling?

yeah, he's cooked and he knows it

will give you an apology with tears

he'd rather avoid that so he tries to keep you happy

m. reo

ok idk why they're all grateful but yeah. he is too.

he's been dealing with nagi's unemotional ass for forever, so he's pleased that someone actually shows their emotions and lets him know how they're feeling

finds it really helpful when he gets you stuff since he knows whether or not you actually liked it

like if your reaction is clearly fake as hell he knows not to get you something like that again

he doesn't take it personally ofc, just uses it to refine his gift-giving abilities

really likes it when you're genuinely happy because of something he gave you

you cannot stop him from blowing insane amounts of money on you

in his eyes you deserve it

just let it happen bro

also he's kind of a romantic and he loves seeing your reactions when he does something cliché or stupid

tells you horrible pick up lines out of nowhere and thinks it's so funny when you actually get flustered

i. rin

he couldn't care less.

JK he's secretly very happy

there's only room for one emotionally unavailable partner in the relationship (him)

so at least one of you can tell how the other's feeling!

thinks it's nice that he can tell when you're mad at him

because let's be real he's lowkey insecure

abandonment issues are not for the weak

so when you reassure him and your expressions and actions are backing it up?

he just fell for you even harder

but when you are mad? ouch

he's a "my gf is mad at me i hope i die" kinda bf but he keeps it very lowkey

will just sulk until he gets so sick of you ignoring him or being mean to him that he awkwardly breaks down and gives you a very sincere apology

hopes you never change because he loves you the way you are