jaysng

[jaysng]

When it hits 9 pm and I pull out this combo:

Ps: I have severe writers block. Help

[jaysng]

Dreaming of You

Bucky x reader

Summary: When Bucky has a good dream about you, he wakes up confused - and with the best sleep he's had in years. When he continues having these soft dreams, he begins to believe that maybe he does deserve comfort, despite his messed up past.

Word Count: 9,220

Bucky didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he was staring blankly at the ceiling of his room in the compound, the next, there was quiet. A different quiet.

He was lying in a bed. Not his own.

The sheets weren’t a deep navy blue. They were soft and rumpled, a light gray that smelled faintly of vanilla and something else – something familiar. There was no hum of the compound’s lights, no distant clang of Tony’s tech or the low murmur of the common room TV. Just stillness.

He blinked slowly, turning his head, expecting to find an explanation. But what he saw made him freeze.

You were there. Curled against him like you belonged there – like you chose to be there. Head resting gently on his chest, breath even and slow, your hand lightly curled into the fabric of his t-shirt. Your leg was slung over his like you’d done this before. Like it was natural. Like it was safe.

For a moment, he just stared.

You didn’t talk to him much. Not in a bad way – you were just quiet, like he was. But when you did speak, it was soft and easy. You didn’t tiptoe around him or treat him like a project. You gave him space. And somehow, without trying, you’d found your way into the parts of his life that felt…normal.

But this – this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t real.

And then he saw it.

His stomach twisted violently.

The metal arm. Shining silver. Red star on the shoulder.

The Winter Soldier.

Panic crawled up his throat.

He tried to move – tried to pull away – but he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t obey. His left arm, the metal one, lay at his side like dead weight. His right arm, the flesh one, was wrapped around you, and he hadn’t even realized it. He wanted to pull it back, wanted to get away before he hurt you.

The pressure built in his chest, heart hammering like a warning bell. His mind raced. He was him again. That version of himself. Cold. Weaponized. Dangerous.

Why couldn’t he move?

Why wouldn’t the dream let him move?

But then – you shifted, softly. Your hand curled tighter into his shirt. Your cheek rubbed against his chest in your sleep like you were burrowing closer. And your lips curved into the faintest smile.

Like you were happy.

With him.

Bucky’s breath stilled. The panic dulled at the edges, like someone had taken the volume knob and slowly turned it down.

You sighed. A soft, content sound. One that said, I’m safe here.

He stared at you, everything inside him slowly cracking open. The metal arm stayed still and lifeless beside him, but it didn’t matter now. You weren’t afraid.

You were still here.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, letting it all go with the exhale. The fear. The guilt. The weight. The arm still didn’t move, but it wasn’t the threat he’d imagined. Not in this moment. Not with you beside him.

Peace wasn’t something he often found – even in dreams.

But now he let it wrap around him like the warmth of the bed, the quiet of the room, the gentle rhythm of your breathing. His eyes softened, chest rising and falling with yours.

And then the dream faded.

But the calm stayed with him.

--

Bucky stirred slowly, eyes blinking open to the soft morning light filtering through his window. For once, he wasn’t jolted awake. No nightmares. No cold sweat. No tremor in his hands.

Just…rest.

He frowned at the ceiling. That was new.

He stretched slightly, joints stiff from staying in one position too long, but his body felt lighter somehow. Not in the physical sense – he still had the same weight, the same scars – but the kind of lightness that comes after real sleep. The kind that doesn’t happen often for him. Almost never.

His brows furrowed. Why?

Then – slowly – it came back to him.

The dream.

The warmth. The quiet. The feel of a body pressed to his. Your body. Head on his chest, hand holding onto his shirt, your leg tangled over his. Like you belonged there. Like he belonged there.

And the arm.

The metal one. With the red star.

He sat up too quickly, rubbing a hand down his face. The image of it all clung to his mind now – your peaceful face, that little smile in your sleep, how close you were. How it should have terrified him but didn’t – not in the end.

He didn’t know what the hell it meant.

Why you?

Why that version of him?

Why now?

Bucky exhaled slowly, trying to shove the dream to the back of his mind. Dreams didn’t mean anything. Not for him. They were scrambled echoes of memory and fear, things buried and half-processed. This was no different.

Still, his chest ached in a way he couldn’t explain.

He got out of bed and moved through the motions of his morning routine, then headed down to the kitchen.

There were already a few people scattered around the room, mugs in hand, morning voices low and mumbled. Sam leaned against the counter scrolling through his phone. Nat was picking at a muffin. And you were at the table, sipping from a light blue mug, eyes on a book with one leg tucked under you.

You looked up when he walked in. “Morning,” you said softly, offering him a little smile.

His stomach flipped.

It hit him like a punch to the gut. That smile.

Exactly like the dream.

He didn’t say anything at first, caught off guard. Your eyes lingered on him for just a second, warm and casual, like it was no big deal.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice gruff as he moved past you.

He busied himself with pouring his coffee, pretending he didn’t feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. Pretending the dream wasn’t clawing its way to the surface again, vivid and disorienting and suddenly way too close to real.

He took a long sip of coffee, staring blankly at the counter.

Just a dream, he told himself again.

But the sound of your soft sigh behind him, the scrape of your mug against the table as you took another sip – it sounded exactly the same.

And he couldn’t shake it.

--

The office was quiet, just the soft ticking of the wall clock and the hum of distant city traffic outside the window. Bucky sat on the familiar worn-in couch, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Dr. Raynor was scribbling something in her notebook as she usually did before looking up at him.

“So,” she said, tone casual but watchful. “How many nightmares this past week?”

Bucky opened his mouth, the number already at the front of his mind. “Uh, I think…”

He trailed off, brows drawing together.

He thought the dream a couple nights ago. About waking up without a jolt, about how calm his body felt for the first time in…God, he didn’t even know how long. It wasn’t like the other dreams – not dark or violent. But he was the Winter Soldier in it. That arm. That red star. That helplessness. That fear.

But…

Then there was you. And peace. And warmth.

He hadn’t had that. Not even in dreams.

“Bucky?”

Dr. Raynor’s voice broke into his thoughts, cutting through the silence.

He blinked, snapping his attention back to her. “Uh, sorry. I think…three.”

She nodded, jotting it down. “That’s good. Fewer than last week. Progress.”

He gave a small, vague grunt in agreement, but she was already watching him a little too closely.

“What was the pause about?”

He hesitated. He could brush it off. Say he miscounted. Change the subject. But the dream had stuck with him. Still clung to the edges of his mind the past few mornings. He was curious – about what it meant, and about what she’d think of it.

So he exhaled slowly. “I…had a different kind of dream. A couple nights ago.”

Dr. Raynor leaned back slightly, folding her hands. “Different how?”

Bucky stared down at his hands for a second before answering. “I was lying in a bed. Just…quiet. And there was someone with me. A girl.” His voice stayed even, careful. “She was laying on me. Head on my chest, hand holding my shirt, leg over mine. We were just…there. Like it was normal.”

Raynor’s expression didn’t change, but he could tell she was paying full attention now.

“I looked down, and – my arm. It was the Winter Soldier version. Silver. Red star.” He swallowed. “I panicked. I couldn’t move it. Couldn’t move at all. Thought I was gonna hurt her. But then she moved closer in her sleep. Smiled.” He paused, voice softening. “It calmed me down. I felt…okay. Even with the arm.”

Dr. Raynor hummed thoughtfully. “Did you know the girl?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked up to hers. There was a moment of hesitation, then a quiet, “No.”

She raised an eyebrow, the kind that said you’re lying and we both know it, but she didn’t press.

“Did you wake up after that?”

He shook his head. “No. Slept through the night. Woke up in the morning, and it was the best sleep I’ve had in…a long time.”

There was a pause. Then, to his surprise, Dr. Raynor smiled – a small, genuine smile.

“Well,” she said, “it sounds like your brain is trying to tell you something.”

Bucky frowned. “Like what?”

“That you deserve comfort like that. Even with your past.”

The words hit him harder than he expected – right in the chest. He sat a little straighter, caught off guard by the way those simple words landed. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She continued gently. “You’ve spent years believing you’re not allowed to have peace. That you have to earn something you already should’ve had. And now, maybe your subconscious is finally pushing back on that.”

Bucky looked down again, lips pressed into a thin line.

“That dream wasn’t about danger. It wasn’t about control or violence or punishment. It was about being okay, even with the parts of you you’re still learning to accept.”

He didn’t respond, but something settled in him. Not quite relief. Not quite understanding. But something quieter than what he was used to.

Something like hope.

She scribbled something else down, then glanced up again. “Let it stay with you. The way that felt. Don’t dismiss it just because it didn’t scare you.”

He nodded, almost to himself.

He wouldn’t forget it.

Not the dream.

Not your smile.

And maybe, just maybe, not the feeling that – just for a moment – he was allowed to feel that safe.

--

Later that night, Bucky fell asleep without much effort – something that still felt strange, even after his conversation with Dr. Raynor earlier that day. Her words had echoed in his mind, quiet and persistent: You deserve comfort like that. Even with your past.

He didn’t quite believe it.

But somehow, his body did, because sleep pulled him under fast.

And the dream returned.

The same soft hush of a room that wasn’t his. The same tangled gray sheets. The same smell – vanilla and you.

He blinked slowly, just like last time.

Except…this time, everything was flipped.

You were still beside him – but now, on his left. Your body tucked perfectly into his side, your head nestled just below his shoulder, your hand curled into his shirt, your leg tangled with his.

But his metal arm – the Winter Soldier arm – was curled around you.

Touching you.

Holding you.

He froze.

Panic surged through him like a current.

No. No, no, no.

He looked down at the gleam of silver in the soft light, the red star glowing faintly like a warning. His mind screamed. What if it was pressing too hard? What if it locked up or jerked suddenly? What if it hurt you and he couldn’t stop it?

He tried to move it. Tried to pull away. But just like last time, the dream held him in place. The arm wouldn’t respond. It just was – still, locked in its place around you.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat.

This wasn’t okay.

He shouldn’t be allowed to hold someone like this. Not with that arm. Not with the weight of what it had done. Not when it could still do damage.

But then – you shifted, slowly again.

You sighed softly. Peacefully. A little smile tugged at your lips as you nuzzled your face further into his chest, like you wanted to be even closer.

Like you were safe.

His panic stuttered. He blinked again, heart thudding for a different reason now.

You weren’t afraid. You didn’t recoil. You didn’t treat that arm like a threat.

You embraced it. Him.

Every bit of him.

Slowly, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His jaw unclenched. His shoulders eased down. He didn’t try to move the arm again – he didn’t want to. It was holding you. You were breathing steady, face peaceful, lips still curved with that small, content smile.

And somehow, for the second time, so was he.

He watched you quietly, letting the warmth of the moment soak into him. Letting it settle somewhere deeper than it had before. You hadn’t just tolerated the arm.

You trusted it.

Trusted him.

The room faded again. Soft and slow.

But the feeling – the comfort, the calm, the way you smiled in your sleep – it stayed.

Just like before.

--

Bucky woke with a slow inhale, the weight of sleep still clinging to his body.

But this time, he didn’t need a moment to remember.

The dream was right there, vivid and whole, waiting for him like it never left.

You, curled up against his left side. His metal arm – that arm – wrapped around you. And not by accident. Not something he couldn’t control. It was holding you. Touching you. And you didn’t flinch. You didn’t fear it.

You smiled.

He blinked up at the ceiling, jaw slack with quiet disbelief. His heart wasn’t racing. His hands weren’t clenched. There was no cold sweat or lingering tension in his spine.

Just a steady breath. A strange calm.

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.

He slept better than he had in years.

Maybe Dr. Raynor was right. Maybe his brain was trying to tell him something. Something he hadn’t let himself believe for a long time. Something about softness. About comfort. About…deserving it.

Even now, lying there in the soft morning light, the feeling hadn’t left him. It buzzed quietly under his skin – warm, unfamiliar. Not something he trusted yet. But not something he wanted to shake off either.

With a grunt, he sat up and went through the motions of his morning routine again and headed down to the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face. The smell of coffee hit him as soon as he rounded the corner.

Voices filtered through the space – soft and half-awake.

Sam was at the counter again, talking to someone across the room. Natasha leaned over a bowl of cereal. And you were at the table, in the same seat as before, scrolling lazily through something on your phone. You wore a cozy sweater today, sleeves pushed up to your elbows, your mug cradled in one hand.

You looked up when you saw him, smile soft and casual.

“Morning,” you said, voice quiet but warm.

His stomach flipped.

Just like the other day.

He swallowed thickly, eyes catching on the curve of your smile. The exact one from his dream. That same relaxed expression. That same tiny upturn of your lips like you were happy to see him.

He forced his eyes away.

“Morning,” he mumbled, barely above a grumble, and headed straight to the coffee machine.

He busied himself with pouring his coffee, keeping his back to the others. But his mind wasn’t quiet.

All he could think about was that dream. The weight of your head on his shoulder. The feel of your hand against his chest. The way you smiled in your sleep like everything about that moment was safe.

He took a long sip of the coffee, letting the warmth ground him.

Bucky leaned against the counter, mug in hand, eyes fixed on absolutely nothing in particular. He was too aware of you. Of your presence. The sound of your laugh – soft and breathy – when Sam made some dumb comment. The way you sat, one leg tucked under you, like you were completely at ease here.

He wasn’t used to noticing this much.

Or rather…he wasn’t used to letting himself notice.

“Hey, Barnes,” Sam called across the kitchen, pointing a spoon at him. “You gonna just brood in the corner all morning or are you capable of eating like a normal human being?”

Bucky gave him a deadpan look over his mug. “I am eating. This is breakfast.” He raised the mug like proof.

“Coffee’s not breakfast, man,” Sam said, gesturing to the bowl of yogurt in front of him. “It’s a sad, bitter hug.”

You snorted into your drink, and Bucky’s eyes flicked over to you before he could stop himself. That sound – your laugh – was way better than whatever Sam thought was funny.

Natasha gave a dry smile, not looking up from her cereal. “Let him be. At least he’s not staring into the distance like he’s reliving war crimes again.”

“Pretty sure that’s just his face,” Sam muttered.

That earned a louder laugh from you.

Bucky took a long drink of coffee to hide the corner of his mouth twitching.

Then Steve walked in, holding a tablet. “Morning,” he greeted as he passed, setting the device on the counter. “There’s a meeting at ten. Just some info about the upcoming mission.”

“Who’s going?” Nat asked.

Steve tapped the screen. “Me, Sam, Nat, and y/n.”

You raised your brows, nodding slowly. “Cool. I haven’t had a field op in a week. I’m itching.”

Bucky’s eyes went to you again without thinking. That little grin, that spark in your eyes – it tugged at something low in his chest. You were so casual, so ready. Brave, smart, calm. Everything he felt like he had to force in himself just to function.

Then Sam, apparently unable to resist, added, “Don’t worry, Barnes. We’ll bring you back a souvenir.”

“I didn’t say I wanted one,” Bucky muttered.

“Your eyes say it. The haunted ones.”

Bucky rolled them.

You leaned a little toward Sam with a playful smile. “I think he just wants us out of the kitchen so he can mope in peace.”

Bucky looked at you, eyebrows raised, and – damn it – there was that same smile again. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just...soft. Familiar in a way that made his chest feel tight.

Like the dream again.

The red star flashed in his mind for just a second – how it had looked resting beside your head.

His grip on the mug tightened and he looked away.

“You’re all very funny,” he muttered.

Sam raised his hands in mock surrender. “We try.”

You slid out of your seat, passing close by him on your way to the sink. “Don’t worry, Bucky,” you said gently, voice just for him. “You’ll miss us when we’re gone.”

He didn't say anything. Couldn’t, really.

Because he was pretty sure he would.

--

A couple nights later, the world was green and gold.

Sunlight filtered through trees he didn’t recognize, casting dappled shadows on the path beneath his boots. A soft breeze tugged at the edge of his sleeves, carrying the scent of something fresh – flowers maybe.

It was quiet and peaceful.

Still, Bucky frowned.

He didn’t know this place.

The path curved ahead through a gentle park, benches spaced out along the edges, a few distant people walking dogs or pushing strollers. He glanced around, scanning like he always did – half instinct, half reflex.

Then he looked to his left.

And there you were.

Walking beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

No gear. No weapons. Just you, in casual clothes, looking comfortable and calm, your arms swinging gently at your sides. You didn’t say anything at first – just strolled, matching his pace, steps quiet on the pavement.

He stared, confused.

But before he could say anything, you looked up at him.

And smiled.

Not some bright, flashy grin. Just something quiet, warm, and familiar. Like you’d been here beside him the whole time and nothing about it was strange.

Then, without a word, you reached up and held his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

His metal hand. The Winter Soldier’s.

Bucky’s whole body went stiff.

His breath caught in his chest like someone had punched him.

The panic started the same way it always did – sharp, cold, immediate. That hand. That arm. He didn’t even like people walking on that side of him most of the time. Didn’t want them close to it.

But you…you hadn’t even hesitated.

You just laced your fingers through his like it was second nature.

Like it meant nothing.

Or maybe – everything.

He tried to pull away.

He couldn’t.

His feet kept walking. His body moved forward. But his hand – his metal hand – remained in yours.

And you didn’t look scared. You didn’t flinch or squeeze too tightly or act like it was anything other than his hand. Not a weapon. Not something dangerous.

Just…his.

You held it like you’d done it a hundred times before.

Like you wanted to.

And the whole time, that soft little smile stayed on your face.

He looked at you again, expecting to see some kind of shift – wariness, discomfort, anything. But all he saw was peace. Trust.

The panic in his chest twisted. Less sharp now. Still there, still curling at the edges of his thoughts, but quieter. Muffled under something heavier. Something warmer.

So he didn’t fight it.

He just…walked with you.

Fingers interlocked.

Sunlight dappling the path.

And when the dream began to fade, he didn’t want to let go.

--

Bucky woke up with the ghost of your hand still wrapped in his.

He lay there, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. But it didn’t. Just the same bland paint, same quiet hum of the AC, same everything. Except him.

He didn’t feel the same.

The dream hadn’t faded this time. It was sharp. Too sharp. The colors. The breeze. The way you looked at him. The weight of your fingers laced with his metal ones, swinging lightly between you as if you’d never thought twice about touching him like that. Holding him like that.

His left hand rested against his chest now, unmoving.

He stared at it, heart thudding a little too loud in his ears.

Usually, the panic hit him first.

Usually, there was cold sweat. A racing pulse. The instinct to get up, walk it off, ground himself.

But this time…it was different.

There was confusion, of course. Why that arm again? Why you? Why the park? Why did it feel so damn real?

But under the confusion, there was something else entirely, deeper and quieter.

Longing.

It sat in his chest like a weight, not painful, but persistent, like something had just barely brushed against a place inside him he didn’t even know was empty until it wasn’t.

You looked so happy in that dream. So peaceful. Like you wanted to be there with him. Like you didn’t care that it was that hand you were holding. Like it never mattered.

And for a moment…he let himself believe it.

He rubbed his face with his flesh hand, sighing deep into the quiet.

He wasn’t used to wanting anything like this.

Not comfort.

Not softness.

Not…you.

But now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

He stayed there for a while, lying in bed, trying to push it down – but the feeling clung stubbornly to the edges of his mind.

Eventually, he got up and got ready, heading downstairs.

The kitchen was quiet when he walked in. Just Sam, Steve, and Nat – already half-finished with breakfast, voices low, the occasional clink of spoons against bowls – the usual noise.

But you weren’t there.

And Bucky didn’t expect the disappointment that tugged at his chest.

He tried to ignore it. Shoved it down like everything else. You didn’t owe him your presence. It wasn’t like you should be here. Still, it hit harder than it should’ve.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, fingers tight around the handle, and sat at the island without saying a word. None of them pushed him. Nat gave him a polite nod. Steve offered a brief, “Morning, Buck.” Sam just nodded and kept eating.

Bucky sipped his coffee and stared at nothing, trying not to think about the park, or your hand in his, or the way it had felt like something he'd never known he needed.

Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen.

His spine stiffened.

Then he saw you.

Hair a little messy. Hoodie hanging over your frame. Sleep still soft around your eyes. You looked barely awake – but when your gaze found him, you smiled.

That same quiet smile.

His stomach flipped.

But this time…his chest fluttered too.

“Morning,” you said, voice a little hoarse from sleep.

“Morning,” he mumbled back, too fast, too quiet. Eyes dropping instantly to his coffee like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

You walked over to the coffee machine and poured yourself a cup of coffee in your favorite light blue mug. Then, you turned and walked over to the island and sat down. Not in your usual spot, which would put a chair in between you two.

Right next to him.

On his left side.

By his metal arm.

His entire body tensed. Not panicked – just frozen. Every cell aware. That old instinct to shift away, to hide the arm, to make sure no one accidentally brushed against it. But he didn’t move. You didn’t seem to notice the shift in him, the tension laced through his frame.

You just sipped your coffee, then turned a little toward him.

“How’d you sleep?” you asked, casual, soft.

He blinked. Swallowed.

“…Good,” he said, forcing his voice to sound even. Normal.

You smiled a little more. “Good.”

Then…nothing.

No follow-up. No chatter.

Just you, sitting beside him, quiet and easy and not even glancing at his arm.

Bucky stared into his coffee again, heart still thudding somewhere too close to his ribs. A part of him wanted to get up, walk out, hide like he always did when things got too close. But another part just wanted to stay.

Because sitting here, next to you, felt almost like the dream.

And for the first time, that didn’t scare him.

It made him feel like maybe – just maybe – it could be real.

--

Later that day, he was back in the familiar office sitting on the worn couch. Dr. Raynor glanced down at her notepad before looking up at Bucky, her tone casual but her gaze sharp.

“So, how many nightmares this week?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. “None.”

She blinked. Her pen paused mid-word. “None?”

He nodded once, folding his arms across his chest but not defensively – more like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

Dr. Raynor leaned back slightly in her chair, eyes narrowing just a bit, surprised but clearly pleased. “Well…that’s really good, Bucky.”

He gave a small nod again but said nothing. She let the silence linger for a beat before continuing.

“Any more dreams like the last one?”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes – something warmer than his usual stormcloud gaze. He looked at the floor, just for a second. “Yeah. Two more.”

Dr. Raynor smiled slightly. “Were they the same?”

“Kind of.”

“Tell me,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

Bucky shifted in his seat, arms still crossed, eyes distant like he was watching the scenes play in his head. “The first one…we were in bed again, the same one I didn’t recognize. Laying there. Only this time, she was on the other side of me. I had my left arm around her.”

Dr. Raynor’s brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“It was still the metal one,” Bucky added, quieter. “The Winter Soldier one. But she didn’t mind. She was asleep against it like it was nothing.” He paused. “Like I was just...me.”

Dr. Raynor softened but stayed quiet, giving him room.

“The second dream…” he went on, “We were walking in some park. Not one I knew. Trees everywhere, real quiet. She was on my left side again.” He took a breath, like saying it out loud was harder than he thought it would be. “Then she reached up and held my hand. The metal one.” He glanced up at Dr. Raynor. “Still the old one.”

She nodded slowly, thoughtful. “And after those dreams...you still sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he said, more firmly this time. “I wake up feeling okay. Like I’m still there, kind of.”

“That’s a good thing, Bucky. That’s progress.”

He didn’t say anything, but his posture eased just slightly.

Dr. Raynor tapped her pen against the notepad. “Do you know the girl?”

“No,” he said quickly.

She raised an eyebrow at him, the same way she had the last time. No words – just that look, skeptical and patient and knowing.

Bucky sighed, his shoulders slumping just a little. “Yes.”

Dr. Raynor nodded, unsurprised. “Have you told her about the dreams?”

He shook his head.

“Who is she?”

“She’s…a teammate,” Bucky muttered, picking at a loose thread on the seam of his jacket. “New. Doesn’t talk much, but…she’s always nice.”

Dr. Raynor hummed, a thoughtful sound. She didn’t press, just let the silence stretch until it made Bucky glance up again.

“You should think about telling her,” she said gently. “See what she thinks.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He just stared down at his hands again, frowning.

He couldn’t tell her. He knew it. Because if she heard what he dreamed – if she knew she was part of this ideal version of his broken subconscious – she’d bolt. Or worse, she’d pity him. And either would be unbearable.

So he stayed silent. And Dr. Raynor didn’t push. But he could feel her eyes on him, reading everything he wasn’t saying.

--

The next dream started in a familiar place – the in the common room of the compound, the soft glow of a movie playing quietly on the TV.

He settled into the couch, feeling the familiar weight of his metal arm resting at his side, cold but steady.

Then, he became aware of you.

On his left side again.

You were sitting close, wrapped in a blanket, the fabric pooling softly over your legs.

You didn’t look up at him this time.

Instead, you shifted slowly, leaning over until your head came to rest on his metal shoulder.

Bucky froze for a moment, but the panic didn’t rise like before. It didn’t claw at him.

Instead, a quiet calm settled through him.

He felt…comfortable. Almost warm.

He looked down at you, watching the peaceful rise and fall of your breath.

After a moment, you tilted your head just enough to glance up at him, eyes soft, the same little smile curling your lips.

Then, without a word, you turned your gaze back to the movie.

Bucky settled back into the couch, heart steady, chest lighter.

He let himself enjoy the moment – the quiet closeness, the softness of the night, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was where he belonged.

And then the dream faded.

--

Bucky woke slowly, the edges of the dream still clinging to him like mist. For a moment, he stayed still, eyes half-closed, breathing even. The quiet hum of the compound in the early morning was a stark contrast to the gentle glow of the dream’s memory – the movie, the couch, the familiar weight of her head against his shoulder. He could almost still feel it.

He rubbed a hand down his face and stared at the ceiling, brow furrowed in thought.

He knew what it meant – at least, in the vague, half-therapeutic way that Dr. Raynor would explain it. His brain, reaching for peace. For softness. For something to hold onto when the world always felt like it was trying to push him away. It made sense, kind of. A subconscious reminder that he deserved comfort, despite everything.

But why her?

It could’ve been anyone. Some faceless, gentle figure. Or no face at all, just a blur that whispered kindness in silence. That’s what he would’ve expected. Not someone real. Not someone who existed within arm’s reach in his actual life.

Not a teammate.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and exhaling slowly. Maybe if he just kept moving, it’d fade. The thoughts, the dreams, the softness of it all.

He pulled on a hoodie and headed toward the kitchen.

The sounds of morning met him as he approached – soft laughter, clinking mugs, voices overlapping. Everyone was already there, it seemed. He hesitated in the hallway, only for a second, before stepping inside.

And then he saw her.

She was seated in her usual spot at the island, barefoot and cross-legged in her chair, talking to Steve about something.

His chest fluttered – sharp and uninvited.

Bucky looked away immediately, cursing silently under his breath as he made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Morning,” she said, bright and easy, like it cost her nothing.

He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. “Morning,” he muttered, pouring himself a cup. His hand was steady, but his stomach wasn’t.

He considered sitting. There was space next to her. She’d sat next to him just the other day – plopped down like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he wasn’t a walking museum of trauma and metal and things better left unsaid.

But he stayed standing, back leaning against the counter, eyes flickering in her direction despite himself.

She was laughing now – head tilted slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners, hands wrapped around her mug. She didn’t glance at him. Didn’t need to. She just kept being herself.

And he just kept watching her, silent and still, wondering when she’d started feeling more like home than his own bed did.

--

You’re sitting at the island, fingers curled around your warm mug, letting the easy flow of morning conversation wash over you. Sam says something that makes you chuckle, and you offer a quiet reply, but your eyes keep drifting.

You glance over toward Bucky. The moment your eyes meet, he looks away. Fast. Too fast for it to be casual.

Your smile falters, and your brows draw together just slightly.

It’s the third time this morning you’ve caught him doing that – avoiding eye contact, ducking away like the sight of you is something sharp. He hadn’t even looked at you when he walked in. Just a low, distracted “morning” with his eyes glued to the coffee pot.

And that isn’t like him. He usually at least looks at you.

Bucky's never exactly chatty, but he’ll usually give you something – an amused comment, a dry joke, even just a subtle glance that says yeah, I heard you, and that was funny. But the past week or so, it’s like a wall’s gone up. A quiet shift you can’t quite name, but you feel it all the same.

It’s in the way he keeps his distance, and how you catch him looking sometimes, only for him to immediately pretend he wasn’t.

You sip your coffee, trying not to let it get to you. Trying not to read too far into it.

Still, your mind turns over the possibility that maybe – somehow – you did something. Said something. Made him uncomfortable. You’ve gone over your recent conversations in your head more times than you’d like to admit, but there’s nothing obvious, no red flag.

And yet, the cold space between you now feels intentional.

You want to ask. You want to turn around right now and say “Hey, did I do something?” but not here. Not in front of everyone. Not while Natasha’s discussing training schedules and Sam’s recounting whatever bizarre YouTube rabbit hole he fell down last night.

So you just stay quiet.

You bring your mug back to your lips and steal one more glance toward the counter.

He’s standing there with his coffee, back straight, face unreadable. Watching the room. Watching you, maybe. You can’t tell.

And so, for now, you let it go. But the worry still lingers, curling low in your stomach.

--

The run didn’t help.

Bucky had hoped it would – the steady rhythm of his feet on pavement, the wind slicing against his skin, the silence of early afternoon. But even with his heart racing and muscles burning, his mind never quieted.

He kept thinking about you.

About the way your head felt resting against his shoulder in the dream. About how you’d smiled without looking up. About how he’d woken up with that calm still in his chest, only for it to twist into knots the moment he saw you in the kitchen.

Why you? Why not some faceless person? Why not no one at all?

He didn’t have answers. Only questions that kept piling up and looping back on themselves. The only thing he was sure of was that avoiding you hadn’t done a damn thing to fix it.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding and he stepped out into the common room, sweat cooling on his skin. His shirt stuck to his back, and his dog tags shifted with each step as he moved toward the kitchen.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting at the island again, perched on the same stool, legs tucked up, scrolling casually through your phone. A half-eaten bag of pretzels sat in front of you, one hand idly reaching inside every so often. Your expression was relaxed and unaware, until you looked up and saw him.

“Hi,” you said, your voice light, but tinged with something that sounded almost...careful.

Bucky’s eyes met yours for the briefest second. “Hi,” he mumbled, already moving past her.

He went straight to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting the cap off. Cold condensation dripped down his fingers. He turned around quickly, fully intending to walk right back out.

But then–

“Hey, wait.”

His feet stopped before his brain caught up. He turned slowly, water bottle still in hand.

You were watching him now, your phone resting face-down on the counter. Your brow was creased, concern etched subtly between your eyes.

“Did I...do something?” you asked.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

You hesitated, like you hated even asking. “It just feels like you’ve been avoiding me. You haven’t really talked to me lately. Not like before.” Your voice dropped a little. “If I said or did something wrong, I’d really like to know.”

The words hit him harder than he expected.

He hadn’t realized you’d noticed. Or that you cared.

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it again, taking a breath. “No,” he said finally, his voice rough. “You didn’t do anything.”

He could see the tension in your shoulders ease slightly, but your eyes were still searching his. Not angry, just worried.

He thought of Dr. Raynor, and what she said. You should think about telling her. See what she thinks.

He looked down at the floor, then back at you. You were still waiting, quiet and patient.

You tilted your head slightly. “Then…is something going on?”

There was a pause. A long one.

And then, before he could stop himself – before he could talk himself out of it –

“I’ve been having dreams about you.”

The words were out. Heavy, real, and hanging between you like something fragile that could shatter with a single wrong move.

Bucky kept his gaze on you, waiting for you to laugh, to recoil, to look at him like you didn’t know what to say.

But right now, he couldn’t take it back.

“Oh,” you say after a beat, eyes wide. “Are they…good dreams or bad dreams?”

Bucky feels the corner of his mouth tug upward, just slightly. “Good,” he says, then pauses. “Really good, actually.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink. “Oh.”

There’s a shift in your tone – subtle, but unmistakable. And Bucky sees the flicker of realization behind your eyes. Your posture straightens ever so slightly.

His eyes widen, and he quickly holds up both hands. “No. No – not like that.” His voice jumps a little higher than he meant it to.

Your lips press together, a small, amused line forming as you clearly try not to laugh.

Bucky groans quietly, rubbing a hand down his face. “Great,” he mutters. “Now I sound like a creep.”

“No, you don’t,” you say gently, and somehow that only makes the heat rise higher in his face.

He exhales sharply, then walks over to the island and sets his water bottle down. He leans against the counter, arms folded loosely over his chest.

“I’m gonna sound crazy either way, so I might as well just say it.”

You nod, encouraging but quiet, waiting.

“The first dream…I was laying in bed. A bed I didn’t recognize. And you were there next to me, with your…head on my chest. And your hand was holding onto my shirt, and your leg was over mine.” He paused and took a breath before continuing. “My real arm was around you, but my metal arm…it was my arm when I was the Winter Soldier.”

He glanced up at you, looking for a reaction, but you were just listening intently. So he swallows and continues.

“I freaked out. Scared I was gonna hurt you with the arm, since I was…y’know, him. But I couldn’t move. The dream wouldn’t let me. But then…you just nuzzled closer. You smiled and sighed, like you were content. Like you were safe.”

He looked back up at you, and this time, there was a little smile on your face. The same one from the dreams, which made him relax a little bit.

“The second one was the exact same. Except this time, you were on my left side. And my metal arm was around you. Still the Winter Soldier one. I was even more scared, worried that it was crushing you or that I’d hurt you. But again, I couldn’t move. But you just…curled into me again, like it was natural.”

You don’t speak, but your expression softens – eyebrows raised just enough, lips parted slightly like you want to ask something but don’t want to stop him.

“The third one was in a park I didn’t recognize. You were walking beside me, on my left again. And then you just…reached up and held my hand. The metal one. Still the Winter Soldier one. You didn’t flinch or hesitate. You just did it. Like you had before.”

Your gaze flicks to his arm for a second, then back to his face. Still, you stay quiet.

“And the last one,” he says, more quietly now, “was here. In the common room. Movie playing on the TV. You were next to me, wrapped in a blanket. You leaned on my metal soldier. The Winter Soldier one again. And I just…let it happen. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t panic. I felt…calm.”

He exhales, steadying himself. You still haven’t said anything, and he’s not sure if that’s better or worse.

“I told my therapist about them,” he admits, avoiding your eyes now, fiddling with the cap of his water bottle. “She thinks it’s my brain’s way of telling me that I deserve comfort. That I’ve earned peace after everything. That it’s okay to want something soft.”

There’s a long pause. Then he finally meets your gaze again.

“But I don’t know why it’s you in them.”

He doesn’t say it accusingly. It’s not a complaint. It’s a quiet confession – equal parts wonder and confusion. Like he’s still trying to solve a riddle his heart already understands.

And you’re still looking at him, a little wide-eyed, clearly surprised…but you’re smiling.

Not laughing. Not running.

Just smiling.

--

You don’t say anything at first.

Mostly because you’re still trying to take it all in.

Bucky Barnes – quiet, guarded, “I-don’t-do-feelings” Bucky Barnes – just told you he’s been dreaming about you. Four different times. And not nightmares or weird memory-warped missions, but soft, good dreams. Ones where you’re cuddling or holding his hand or doing…couple-y stuff.

You’re not sure what shocks you more: the fact that you’re in them, or the fact that he actually told you.

But he’s just standing there now, clearly uncomfortable, his arms crossed tight over his chest like he wants to disappear into the counter. His eyes won’t quite meet yours.

Still, you smile.

“Well…that’s new,” you say first. “But…I’m glad it’s me in them,” you say softly, voice steady. “Because you do deserve comfort. And for the record, I’m not scared of you. Or your metal arm. I’m really glad you told me.”

His eyes finally lift to yours, and even though his face doesn’t fully relax, you see the subtle flicker of relief behind his features.

“Thanks,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh...still feel kinda stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” you say, then pause before teasing lightly, “Just very bad at not looking like you’re panicking.”

That earns you the smallest smile.

You tilt your head, thinking back through what he said. “You said you didn’t recognize the bed? In the first two dreams?.”

He looks a little confused but nods. “Yeah.”

“What did it look like?”

He blinks, then shrugs, thinking. “Uh…light gray sheets. And it smelled like…vanilla.”

You blink. And then you laugh.

He looks startled. “What?”

“My sheets are gray,” you say, grinning now. “And everything I use – body wash, lotion, perfume – is vanilla-scented. Like, obnoxiously so.”

His eyebrows lift, and he actually laughs – soft and a little shy, but real.

“Oh,” he says, then clears his throat. “So, either my brain’s really good at guessing, or I’ve subconsciously memorized what you smell like.”

You pretend to consider that. “Creepy either way.”

His smile widens a bit, and he ducks his head. “Great.”

You nudge the snack bag toward him as a peace offering. “Guess you’re gonna have to keep dreaming about me now.”

He huffs a soft laugh, looking up at you through his lashes. “Yeah,” he says, quieter this time. “Maybe I will.”

And even though there's still a little awkwardness between you, it doesn't feel heavy anymore.

It feels...kind of nice. Like something new is starting to settle between the two of you – gentle, tentative, but warm.

And maybe that’s worth leaning into.

--

Fresh from the shower, your skin still slightly warm, you smooth the last bit of vanilla-scented lotion into your arms, the familiar scent wrapping around you like a soft blanket. You tug on your sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt – one of your comfiest – and run a hand through your damp hair as you walk over to your bed.

But you don’t get in.

You stop at the edge, eyes drifting over the crumpled gray sheets, the soft pillows, the blanket still a little twisted from the night before.

And all you can think about is Bucky.

He dreamed about this bed.

Your bed. Light gray sheets. Vanilla.

You tell yourself not to read into it. That maybe it didn’t mean anything. That maybe his brain just filled in blanks using details it picked up around the compound without him realizing it.

But you can’t shake the thought.

Can’t stop imagining him lying there – his broad frame stretched out under your blanket, arm around you, soft breathing in the dark. Not in a dream. Not in his head.

In real life.

You blink, startled by yourself.

Your eyebrows raise slightly, arms crossing over your chest as you frown down at the bed, telling yourself it’s time to get in.

Still, you don’t move.

You sigh, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it back.

But you don’t climb in.

You just…stand there. Staring.

And then, before you can talk yourself out of it – before your brain has a chance to spiral or question – you’re moving. Feet on autopilot.

Your hand closes around the doorknob, and the next thing you know, you’re stepping quietly into the hallway. The air is cooler out here, the compound quiet and still. You don’t even stop to think about what you’re going to say when you get there.

You just start walking. Down the hall.

Toward Bucky’s room.

--

Bucky lay in bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The room was dark and quiet, but his mind wouldn’t follow suit. Sleep hadn’t even crossed his mind yet – he was still replaying the conversation you two had in the kitchen, word for word. The way you smiled when he told you about the dreams. The surprise on your face. The way you’d said you were glad it was you. He could still hear your laugh when you told him his brain must be creepy or psychic.

It made something in his chest ache – in a good way, but still a little overwhelming.

So when a soft knock came at his door, he actually jumped. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Definitely not now, this late.

He swung his legs off the bed and crossed the room, cracking the door open.

And there you were.

Standing there with damp hair, dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung loose over one shoulder. You looked like you were already halfway to bed – but your expression was uncertain, like you hadn’t fully thought this through.

“…Hi,” he said, confusion thick in his voice.

“Hi,” you echoed, a little hesitant.

He stared at you for a beat. “Uh…do you need something?”

You glanced up at him, then down again, then let out a small, anxious sigh. “Do you wanna sleep with me?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide.

His brain short-circuited.

You looked back up, saw his face, and your eyes went wide too, horror flooding your expression.

“No – no, not like that!” you blurted, already scrambling. “I didn’t – I mean I just thought maybe you’d…want to sleep in my room. Since you…y’know dreamed about my bed, I just thought maybe you’d want to do it.” Her eyes went even wider, which he didn’t think was possible. “Not do it, just – like – spend the night…in my room.”

You looked up at him again, face flushed with embarrassment, and honestly? You looked like you were about to turn and run.

But Bucky didn’t move. He blinked once. And then he laughed.

It started as a low chuckle, but it slipped out before he could stop it, shaking his head as he grinned down at the floor.

Your hand went to your forehead, covering your face as you laughed too, half in amusement, half in absolute mortification.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, voice muffled. “I should not have said any of that.”

But Bucky was still smiling.

You weren’t just asking for company. You were offering comfort. To him.

It was kind. And sweet. And, if he was being honest, a little brave.

“Yeah,” he said, cutting through your nervous laughter.

Your hand dropped from your forehead, eyes snapping up to meet his. “Really?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I mean–” He scratched the back of his neck, still smiling. “If dreaming about it helps me sleep that good…I figure I might actually sleep even better if it’s real.”

You let out a soft breath – half-relief, half-surprise – and nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Cool.”

The two of you turned, heading down the hallway side by side in the quiet dim light.

After a beat, you glanced up at him. “I had no idea what I was gonna say when I knocked,” you admitted, still sounding a little breathless. “I completely butchered it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah, it was memorable.”

“I walked up to your door and said, do you wanna sleep with me like I was reading off a bad rom-com script,” you deadpanned.

He grinned. “Hey, could’ve been worse. You didn’t add finger guns or a wink.”

You snorted. “Don’t tempt me, Barnes.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and easy in his chest. And somehow, walking beside you in sleepwear, both of you still recovering from the awkwardness, it didn’t feel weird or tense. Just…light.

And for the first time all night, Bucky wasn’t overthinking. He wasn’t questioning the dreams or spiraling over what they meant.

He was just walking beside you. And it felt good.

When you stepped into your room, the soft scent of vanilla hit him immediately – just like he remembered from the dream.

You walked over to the bed without hesitation and crawled in, pulling the covers back and settling under them. Bucky hesitated just a second longer, then followed.

He climbed in next to you, lying on his back. The mattress dipped under his weight, the blanket settled lightly over his chest. There was still a space between you – enough that he could feel the distance – but not enough to make it feel cold.

He stared up at the ceiling, heart beating a little faster than it probably needed to.

“…Wow,” he said quietly.

You turned your head, voice low. “What?”

He smiled, almost to himself. “This is…exactly like my dream.”

You let out a soft laugh, and he joined in, both of you breaking the tension just a little.

When he turned his head to look at you, you were already looking at him.

There was a long, quiet beat – one of those moments where neither of you really knew what came next, but neither of you wanted to move too fast either.

Then you started scooting closer. He watched you, surprised but not resisting, and when you were close enough, he lifted his flesh arm slightly – just enough of an invitation.

You curled up against him, warm and soft, resting your hand gently on his chest, your leg sliding over his like it belonged there.

He let out a slow breath, wrapping his arm around you, holding you there. Like it was natural. Like it had always been this way.

“…What about now?” you asked softly, voice muffled slightly against his t-shirt.

He looked down at you, heart squeezing tight in his chest. A small smile pulled at his lips.

“This is perfect,” he said.

You looked up at him, returning the smile – sleepy and sweet, like you were already half-relaxed just lying beside him.

And somehow, that smile of yours made something inside him go quiet in the best way.

No tension. Just peace.

You nestled in again, eyelids already heavy. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight,” he murmured, voice low, arm tightening around you just a little.

He stared at the ceiling for a while longer, your body warm against his side, the scent of vanilla in the air.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t dread falling asleep.

When it came, it came easy. And he fell asleep happy.

--

Masterlist

Author's Note: sorry for like falling off the face of the earth for a second there, I got busy😭 Part 2 of Darling and I Noticed and Part 3 of The New Winter Soldier will be coming at some point, I promise! Just wanted to give you guys something while I continue working on those!!

Bucky Taglist: @winchestert101 @herejustforbuckybarnes @avengemepercy @buckyslove1917 @nelachu2423 @iyskgd @navs-bhat @starstruckfirecat @yes-ilovetowrite @bonnyclydecat @knowingnothingnoel @muchwita @hanniebee33 @awesompawsum @knoxic @miss-chuchu @writtenbydianna @rnurse-kole @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @beanzwritez @barnesandbouquets @buckysgirl-12 @butnotmontana

[jaysng]

bucky barnes would like getting his hair pulled i fear

he looks at you almost pissed when you do it. indignant and appalled that you'd dare. he's typically the one in control, he's been tortured by having his bodily autonomy taken from him so now that he's got it back he's very purposeful with it. sex goes how he wants it to go because he's the one doing it. he leads; he doesn't offer, he takes charge. so whether you yank on his hair to get him to stop biting so rough at your tits, or whether it's because you're blissed out with your fingers tangled in his hair and you can't stop yourself, once his neck rolls back he's letting out a guttural groan that sends a wave of raging heat through your sex, almost enough to make you cum right then and there, and he's stopping dead in his tracks. he looks almost possessed, eyes locked firmly and predatorily on you, something animal alight inside of them. he stares, every ounce of his attention focused on you and what you're doing.

'where the fuck did you learn to do that, hm?' he murmurs, his voice raspy and gruff as you untangle your hands from his strands of hair, 'got someone on the side i don't know about?'

'n-no,' you whimper helplessly, fingers tense from the muscle strain of tugging on his hair, 'no, i- i just wanted to, it felt right and it made you-'

'do it again,' Bucky offers, his stubble-covered jaw inches from your own as he leans in to let his breath wash over your face, 'and you won't walk for a week.'

whether that's an invitation or a threat, you can't figure out, but he's not lying.

[jaysng]

if i had the attention span id be unstoppable jsyk..

[jaysng]

girly are you dead☹☹

NOOO 😭😭😭

[jaysng]

waiting drives you crazy.

waiting drives you crazy.

waiting drives you crazy.

waiting drives you crazy.

waiting drives you crazy.

[jaysng]

shaving his face | kmg

you offer to shave mingyu’s face for the first time, despite having no idea what you’re doing—and he lets you, all smiles and patience. between messy foam, playful threats, and him trying (and failing) to stay quiet, the slow morning turns soft in all the ways that matter. [wc. 1k]

PAIRING. husband!mingyu x wife!reader

GENRE. fluff

NOTE. come back after god knows how long, hoping that you enjoy this.

“okay. sit. don’t talk. don’t move.”

mingyu raised both brows as he lowered himself onto the small stool in the bathroom, the one you usually kept tucked under the sink. it wobbled slightly under his weight.

“you sure this thing’s safe?”

“well, if it breaks, that’s on you for being massive,” you muttered, grabbing the can of shaving foam and shaking it aggressively.

he smirked, adjusting the towel around his shoulders. “wow. love the support, babe.”

“just shut up,” you said, but you were smiling too.

he obeyed, lips twitching as he pressed them together dramatically and tilted his chin up. he looked ridiculous—bare-faced, sleepy-eyed, hair still damp from his shower, and way too amused for someone about to have a first-timer drag a razor across his face.

you stared at him for a second, holding the razor awkwardly. “you know i’ve never shaved anyone else before, right?”

“mm-hmm,” he hummed.

“like, i know how to shave my legs and stuff, but this is your face. your pretty face. what if i mess up?”

he opened one eye. “you won’t. i trust you.”

you groaned and leaned in to press some foam onto his jaw. “you’re so annoying. why are you always sweet when i’m trying to be mad at you?”

he smiled, lips still sealed, and made a little mmm sound to tease you.

you rolled your eyes and started carefully spreading the foam across his face, moving slowly like it was some kind of art project. the cream coated his jawline and chin easily, but then he opened his mouth slightly to speak—

“stop.”

you pointed the nozzle directly at his lips. “i’m warning you.”

he blinked, then tried to say something again, just to be difficult.

so you squirted a big blob right over his mouth.

“there,” you said proudly. “you talk too much anyway.”

his eyes widened. he made a muffled noise and reached up to wipe it, but you slapped his hand away.

“nope. hands down. let the professional work.”

he laughed through his nose, head tilted back slightly as you brought the razor closer to his face.

you moved slow at first, dragging the blade carefully across his cheek. every tiny scratchy sound made you more nervous, but mingyu didn’t even flinch. he just sat there quietly, eyes flicking up to yours every now and then, like he was studying your face more than he cared about his own.

you paused halfway through and frowned. “do i… go up or down?”

he tapped the counter behind you twice with his fingers — his way of saying ‘down.’

you nodded to yourself. “right. that makes sense. i think.”

he made another sound, like a muffled laugh, but you just wiped more foam on him to shut him up again.

“this is harder than it looks,” you said under your breath. “you have such a big face.”

he pointed to himself proudly. big face, big brain.

you rolled your eyes and kept shaving.

it took longer than you thought. he had a lot of facial hair, and you were being extra careful not to nick him. your hands were a little shaky at first, but eventually, the rhythm settled. foam, razor, wipe. again. again.

at one point, you felt his eyes on you again — really watching you this time — and you glanced at him.

“what?”

he shrugged slightly.

“you’re staring.”

he raised both brows and gestured like you’re cute, duh.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “stop being romantic. i’m holding a blade.”

he smiled through the foam. “mmph.”

finally, you finished the last section on his neck and stepped back, exhaling like you just ran a marathon.

“okay. done. don’t touch anything yet.”

he sat still, eyes curious, while you grabbed a damp cloth and gently wiped the leftover cream from his skin. the towel was warm from the water and smelled like your fabric softener. you could feel the way his skin was smooth now under it, freshly shaved and clean.

he didn’t say anything, just let you wipe his face like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“there,” you said softly. “mission complete.”

he reached up to touch his face and let out a soft, impressed, “woah.”

you blinked. “what? did i miss a spot?”

he grinned. “no. it’s good. really good.”

you looked at him suspiciously. “you’re not just saying that to make me feel better, right?”

he stood up and leaned down to kiss your forehead, hands on your waist. “nope. you actually did a great job.”

you felt yourself smiling as you leaned into his chest. “i was scared the whole time. you’re lucky i love you.”

“i know,” he said, kissing the side of your head. “i could feel the love in every terrified little stroke.”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, laughing. “shut up. go get ready. you’re gonna be late.”

“don’t wanna leave now,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. “you just pampered me. feels wrong to go.”

“mingyu.”

“okay, okay,” he sighed, finally pulling away and heading to the bedroom.

you stayed behind to clean up the mess — foam on the sink, water on the floor, the little towel you used to wipe his face. five minutes later, he came back out fully dressed, wearing that navy button-up you loved.

you paused when you saw him. “you look really good.”

he smiled and opened his arms dramatically. “because my amazing wife shaved me.”

you laughed, stepping into his hug again. “yeah, yeah. just don’t let anyone else touch that face today.”

“only you,” he said easily. “always.”

you walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye — once, then again, because he always stole a second one.

“text me when you get there,” you reminded him.

“i will.”

“and don’t skip lunch just ‘cause you’re busy.”

“i won’t.”

you watched him leave, the front door clicking shut behind him, and let out a breath.

quiet mornings like this were your favorite — where nothing big happened, but everything still felt soft and full. shaving cream in your hair, mingyu being annoying in the best way, your little apartment filled with sleepy laughter.

this was marriage.

this was love.

this was yours.

do not copy or repost my work // @ jaysng

[jaysng]

loki laufeyson is oblivious - drabble #1

i'm feeling dramatic, and therefore, this was made. enjoy!! confessions, arguing, the rain, kissing, lots of back and forth, flirting, allusion to nsfw ig word count: 1,039

"You're behaving irrationally."

You stared at the god in disbelief. "Did you actually just say that?" He refused to meet your gaze, looking anywhere but your eyes. "Screw you, Loki." You scoffed, stalking toward the elevator.

"Please, just-" The elevator doors closed, effectively cutting him off. Leaning your head against the wall, you let out a heavy sigh, reflecting on your night.

Your date had been cut short when you spotted Loki spying on you from outside the restaurant. You knew he'd been following you all evening, seeing his frame at every destination. The final straw had been simple, but enough to put you over the edge. Your date had reached out to hold your hand across the table, only to find that his hand had been turned into a lobster claw.

Funny to Loki, not funny in the slightest to you. Or your date, who was hysterically screaming at his changed hand.

Loki had been sweet to you since before he'd moved into the tower. While you were not an Avenger when he invaded New York, you were a SHIELD agent, tasked with watching him in his cage.

You saw how broken he was, how he seemingly talked to himself in that cage, how he had an evil sort of twinkle in his eye, one that you believed he did not truly possess. You'd been right, of course.

When he moved in and you were promoted to Avenger, he quickly became one of your closest confidants, a protector. He made sure to keep the brand of tea you liked on reserve, he bought you new books (or stole them, you honestly weren't sure), even going so far as to abandon his post to 'protect' you on missions.

But this, this 'protective stint' was too far. He was now interfering with your love life. You went on this date to try and get over him, and there he was, haunting you. It was like he knew; you believed he did.

He had never said anything to you, and you had never said anything to him. You thought that would be the end of it. The ever-familiar ding broke you from your thoughts, and the doors opened, Loki waiting on the other side.

"Darling-"

You groaned, pushing past him. "They were right about you, you know." You felt horrible saying it, but you wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt you.

"Oh?" You were sure his eyebrow was quirked. "About what exactly?"

"About the fact that you're an ass."

"I was merely-"

"Stalking me!" You yelled, whipping around as the security guard watched with mild interest. "You had no right."

"I beg to differ." Loki's eyes were dangerous, clouded with something you were trying not to think about. "He seemed questionable."

"Is that what you're telling yourself?"

"It is the truth." He didn't look distressed in the slightest, his face as casual as ever. But you knew him better than that, you knew that he fidgeted with his ring when he was nervous, or lying.

You fought against the smirk that threatened to break free. "You would think the God of Mischief would be better at lying."

"I will have you know I am a fantastic liar."

"Not something to be proud of, Laufeyson." You took a step closer, whispering. "You fidget with your ring when you lie, you know."

He scoffed, pulling his hand away from his ring, trying to prove a point. "How observant."

You shrugged, turning back toward the lobby doors. "If you'll excuse me."

"Where exactly are you going at this hour?"

"To apologize." You pushed the door open, frowning at the downpour before you. "You turned his hand into a lobster claw."

He ignored your comment, standing stoically beside you. "You'll catch a cold."

"Do me a favor and leave me alone."

He stared at you for a moment, taking in your features as if he would never see you again. "Don't go to him." He whispered, barely catching it over the noise of New York.

You walked out of the shelter, deciding the cold would be better than facing your fears. "You're being mean." You smiled to yourself, looking up at the umbrella Loki had conjured above you.

He followed after you, hair dripping within seconds. "Was that what that was?"

"You cannot drive away any man who is interested in me. You aren't my-" Your eyes widened, and you panicked, flailing your arms around in the air. "This isn't fair! You can't suddenly find interest in me the moment I'm trying to get over you!"

"Suddenly find interest?" He seemed to be stuck on repeat.

"Are you capable of saying anything original?" You glared, crossing your arms.

His calm facade had faded, eyes hopelessly looking over your features, trying to figure out your thoughts. "You must know, you must have realized how much I-"

"I'm not one to assume." You scoffed. "It's too late, anyway."

"Too late to tell you that I love you?" His voice was strong, certain and confident. You gasped, entirely caught off guard. "Too late," He stepped closer and closer with each word, your lips inches apart. "To say that you are the only reason I wake in the morning, that you cause my heart to skip with your smile, that I only look forward to those dreaded team bonding exercises because I know I will see you?"

His palm cupped the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "You must know how utterly drawn I am to you, that I cannot breathe when you are not near-"

You jumped up, wrapping your arms around his neck and closing the distance between your lips. "You talk too much."

"Oh?" His nose nudged yours, pupils overtaking his beautiful blue irises, his other hand wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. "In the future, I will ensure my talking is kept to a minimum."

You kissed the corners of his mouth, grinning at the way his breath caught. "I never said to stop."

"My, you are dangerous." He whispered, eyes full of adoration. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

You shrugged, looking at the tower behind you. "I could think of a few things."

[jaysng]

shaving his face | kmg

you offer to shave mingyu’s face for the first time, despite having no idea what you’re doing—and he lets you, all smiles and patience. between messy foam, playful threats, and him trying (and failing) to stay quiet, the slow morning turns soft in all the ways that matter. [wc. 1k]

PAIRING. husband!mingyu x wife!reader

GENRE. fluff

NOTE. come back after god knows how long, hoping that you enjoy this.

“okay. sit. don’t talk. don’t move.”

mingyu raised both brows as he lowered himself onto the small stool in the bathroom, the one you usually kept tucked under the sink. it wobbled slightly under his weight.

“you sure this thing’s safe?”

“well, if it breaks, that’s on you for being massive,” you muttered, grabbing the can of shaving foam and shaking it aggressively.

he smirked, adjusting the towel around his shoulders. “wow. love the support, babe.”

“just shut up,” you said, but you were smiling too.

he obeyed, lips twitching as he pressed them together dramatically and tilted his chin up. he looked ridiculous—bare-faced, sleepy-eyed, hair still damp from his shower, and way too amused for someone about to have a first-timer drag a razor across his face.

you stared at him for a second, holding the razor awkwardly. “you know i’ve never shaved anyone else before, right?”

“mm-hmm,” he hummed.

“like, i know how to shave my legs and stuff, but this is your face. your pretty face. what if i mess up?”

he opened one eye. “you won’t. i trust you.”

you groaned and leaned in to press some foam onto his jaw. “you’re so annoying. why are you always sweet when i’m trying to be mad at you?”

he smiled, lips still sealed, and made a little mmm sound to tease you.

you rolled your eyes and started carefully spreading the foam across his face, moving slowly like it was some kind of art project. the cream coated his jawline and chin easily, but then he opened his mouth slightly to speak—

“stop.”

you pointed the nozzle directly at his lips. “i’m warning you.”

he blinked, then tried to say something again, just to be difficult.

so you squirted a big blob right over his mouth.

“there,” you said proudly. “you talk too much anyway.”

his eyes widened. he made a muffled noise and reached up to wipe it, but you slapped his hand away.

“nope. hands down. let the professional work.”

he laughed through his nose, head tilted back slightly as you brought the razor closer to his face.

you moved slow at first, dragging the blade carefully across his cheek. every tiny scratchy sound made you more nervous, but mingyu didn’t even flinch. he just sat there quietly, eyes flicking up to yours every now and then, like he was studying your face more than he cared about his own.

you paused halfway through and frowned. “do i… go up or down?”

he tapped the counter behind you twice with his fingers — his way of saying ‘down.’

you nodded to yourself. “right. that makes sense. i think.”

he made another sound, like a muffled laugh, but you just wiped more foam on him to shut him up again.

“this is harder than it looks,” you said under your breath. “you have such a big face.”

he pointed to himself proudly. big face, big brain.

you rolled your eyes and kept shaving.

it took longer than you thought. he had a lot of facial hair, and you were being extra careful not to nick him. your hands were a little shaky at first, but eventually, the rhythm settled. foam, razor, wipe. again. again.

at one point, you felt his eyes on you again — really watching you this time — and you glanced at him.

“what?”

he shrugged slightly.

“you’re staring.”

he raised both brows and gestured like you’re cute, duh.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “stop being romantic. i’m holding a blade.”

he smiled through the foam. “mmph.”

finally, you finished the last section on his neck and stepped back, exhaling like you just ran a marathon.

“okay. done. don’t touch anything yet.”

he sat still, eyes curious, while you grabbed a damp cloth and gently wiped the leftover cream from his skin. the towel was warm from the water and smelled like your fabric softener. you could feel the way his skin was smooth now under it, freshly shaved and clean.

he didn’t say anything, just let you wipe his face like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“there,” you said softly. “mission complete.”

he reached up to touch his face and let out a soft, impressed, “woah.”

you blinked. “what? did i miss a spot?”

he grinned. “no. it’s good. really good.”

you looked at him suspiciously. “you’re not just saying that to make me feel better, right?”

he stood up and leaned down to kiss your forehead, hands on your waist. “nope. you actually did a great job.”

you felt yourself smiling as you leaned into his chest. “i was scared the whole time. you’re lucky i love you.”

“i know,” he said, kissing the side of your head. “i could feel the love in every terrified little stroke.”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, laughing. “shut up. go get ready. you’re gonna be late.”

“don’t wanna leave now,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. “you just pampered me. feels wrong to go.”

“mingyu.”

“okay, okay,” he sighed, finally pulling away and heading to the bedroom.

you stayed behind to clean up the mess — foam on the sink, water on the floor, the little towel you used to wipe his face. five minutes later, he came back out fully dressed, wearing that navy button-up you loved.

you paused when you saw him. “you look really good.”

he smiled and opened his arms dramatically. “because my amazing wife shaved me.”

you laughed, stepping into his hug again. “yeah, yeah. just don’t let anyone else touch that face today.”

“only you,” he said easily. “always.”

you walked him to the door and kissed him goodbye — once, then again, because he always stole a second one.

“text me when you get there,” you reminded him.

“i will.”

“and don’t skip lunch just ‘cause you’re busy.”

“i won’t.”

you watched him leave, the front door clicking shut behind him, and let out a breath.

quiet mornings like this were your favorite — where nothing big happened, but everything still felt soft and full. shaving cream in your hair, mingyu being annoying in the best way, your little apartment filled with sleepy laughter.

this was marriage.

this was love.

this was yours.

do not copy or repost my work // @ jaysng

[jaysng]

i am alive!!!!

[jaysng]

WHOEVER YOU WANT ME TO BE

You wanted a way to escape your misery, and Mingyu was exactly that.

❧ PAIRING; mingyu x reader

❧ GENRE; fluff, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; strangers to lovers kinda, hurt/comfort, mention of infidelity, smoking, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 0.8k

𐚁₊⊹

▍2 FEBRUARY 2024

You pressed your back against the cold brick wall with your arms wrapped around yourself as you tried to steady your breathing. The best still pulsed from the inside of the club, and you could hear the laughters and chatters from people whose lives weren’t falling apart like yours.

You wiped your face, smearing mascara across the back of your hand. You were fine — really, you were — until you weren’t. One moment, you were dancing to the music, and the next — your whole world shattered.

You hated this. Hated that you let yourself care so much. Hated that you let him break you like this.

There he was, the boy you loved for two whole years, the boy who whispered promises into your skin, his lips now pressed against someone else’s.

You stared for too long, frozen in place, waiting for him to pull away, to look guilty, to do something. But he didn’t. He just kept kissing her.

So you left.

Now, you were out here, your breath hitching and fingers digging into your arms as you tried to hold yourself together.

The scrape of a lighter pulled her attention.

You turned slightly, just enough to see a boy — maybe a year or two older — leaning against the wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was very tall — at least six feet two inches. His hoodie was unzipped which revealed a worn-out band tee underneath. He had a dark leather jacket on, and his hands were stuffed in his pockets. He leaned casually against the wall as he exhaled a slow cloud of smoke.

He noticed you staring and turned his head towards your direction. “Bad night?” he asked, exhaling another smoke into the cool air.

You let out a bitter laugh as you swiped your hand across your damp cheeks. “Something like that” you answered.

The brunette boy studied you for a moment before flicking ash onto the pavement. “Let me guess,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Boy troubles?”

You let out another hollow laugh. “How did you know?”

“You’ve got the look” he smirked, but there was something softer behind it.

“What look?” you frowned.

“The I just had my heart ripped out and I’m trying really hard not to fall apart in front of a stranger look.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Great. Love that I’m so obvious.”

The boy took another slow drag before exhaling. “Want me to beat him up for you?”

That caught you off guard. You turned your head to look at him properly, and searched his face for signs of teasing.

“I’m kidding. Unless you want me to” his smirk deepened.

You actually laughed at that, though it was short, surprising yourself. “Thanks, but I don’t think he’s worth it.”

“Probably not,” the boy agreed, flicking his cigarette away. “Most of them aren’t.”

A silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You found yourself breathing a little easier.

“Who are you?” you asked finally. ‘What’s your name?’ would’ve been more appropriate.

The boy pushed off the wall and turned to face you fully. His gaze held yours for a long moment before he gave a slow, crooked smile.

“Whoever you want me to be.”

“That’s not an answer” you blinked.

“Sure it is” he shoved his hands back into his pockets.

“You want a distraction? I can be that. You want someone to listen? I can do that too. Or—” he grinned, eyes glinting.

“You want to forget for a little while? I’m your guy.”

You tilted your head, considering him. “And why would you do that?” you questioned.

The boy exhaled, looking up at the sky as if thinking. “Because I know what it’s like.”

He then looked back at you, and the teasing edge in his voice softened. “To need an escape.”

You bit your lip, considering again. He was a stranger. You had no idea what his story was, but there was something in his eyes — something that made you believe him.

And maybe you did need an escape.

“Okay,” you said finally.

The boy’s smirk returned. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Be my escape.”

“Come on, then” he held out a hand.

You hesitated only for a second before slipping your hand into his. His fingers were warm against yours despite his tough exterior, and oddly you felt safer than you did with your now ex-boyfriend.

You both started walking away from the club, away from the past few hours, and away from the pain that was simmering in your chest.

For tonight, you didn’t have to be the girl whose heart had just been broken.

For tonight, you could be whoever you wanted to be.

And so could he.

“I’m Mingyu”

“I think that was the right question you were meant to ask”

“Y/n” you replied, a little embarrassed.

[jaysng]

it makes you worry a bit, how quiet mingyu is. he's lying on his stomach, limbs spread out on the bed, his face pressed against his pillow as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone - and you know he ain't paying attention to it.

"are you hungry?", you ask him, after getting out of the shower.

mingyu slightly shakes his head, looking up from his phone.

"are you?", he asks, pouting when you nod. "do you mind ordering something? i don't feel like cooking..."

wow, okay. now that's new.

mingyu watches as you climb in bed with him, laying on top of his exposed back.

"what's wrong?", your voice sounds like a key trying to unlock something to him, and he huffs.

"nothing", his voice is muffled by the pillow. "i'm just tired".

"are you sure? would you tell me if there's anything bothering you?"

mingyu sighs, trying to look at you from the corner of his eyes.

"yeah. i'm just feeling down, the tour was great, but i'm exhausted, and we have many more schedules coming... i feel like i'm out of energy."

"wow, kim mingyu out of energy?"

your playful tone makes him laugh a bit, dropping his phone so he can reach for your head that's resting on his shoulder, caressing your hair.

you press a tender kiss to his skin, letting it linger.

"it's just one of those days... where i wish i didn't exist. i wish i could be a tiny dust floating in the air."

"just recharge, baby. go to sleep and don't worry about anything", you tell him.

mingyu hums, sighing so deeply yet again.

"will you be with me?", he shyly asks, as if he's a 5 year old boy; as if he hasn't been dating you for so long.

as if you could ever leave him.

"of course i will."

[jaysng]

CALM IN THE CHAOS

pairing : boyfriend!jay x female!reader pov : he kisses your forehead during an argument to calm you down the atmosphere in the living room was tense. you stood with your arms crossed and your eyes locked with jay's. his sharp jawline was set as he stared back at you, equally frustrated.

"i just don’t understand why you can’t see my side of things!" you exclaimed, your voice breaking slightly, betraying the hurt underneath your anger. "every time we have a disagreement, you shut me out instead of talking to me!"

he let out a sigh, running a hand through his jet-black hair. "it’s not that i don’t want to talk to you" he said, his voice lower but no less firm. "sometimes i just need time to process things. why can’t you understand that?"

"because it feels like you’re pushing me away!" you shot back, your chest rising and falling as you tried to control your anger. "i’m your girlfriend, jay. i’m supposed to be the one you can talk to, not the one you avoid"

the room seemed to shrink as the weight of your words settled between you. his lips parted as if to respond but he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. the silence was deafening and the lump in your throat grew heavier.

finally, he looked up, his eyes softer now. "i’m not good at this" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i’m not good at... expressing myself. but it doesn’t mean i don’t care"

you opened your mouth to respond but the words caught in your throat as your emotions surged. frustration, hurt, love, they all tangled together, making it hard to think clearly. "then show me, jay" you said, your voice trembling. "show me that you care instead of shutting me out every time things get hard"

he took a step closer to you. "you think i don’t want to?" he said, his tone more pleading now. "you think it’s easy for me to see you upset and not know how to fix it?"

"then stop making it so complicated!" you shot back, your voice raising again. "stop making me feel like i’m the only one fighting for this relationship!"

before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you in one swift movement. his hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

the gesture caught you completely off guard, your breath hitching as you felt the warmth of his lips on your skin. "i’m sorry" he murmured against your forehead, his voice soft and sincere. "i don’t mean to hurt you. i’m trying, i swear"

your arms which had been tensely crossed, slowly dropped to your sides. the fight drained out of you, replaced by a mix of confusion and tenderness. you pulled back slightly just enough to look into his eyes which were now filled with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

"jay..." you began but the words failed you. instead, you rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you let out a shaky breath.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. jay’s hands slid down to rest on your waist, pulling your body closer to him. "i'm so sorry, please forgive me. i know i shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't shut you out like that. i'm sorry. please, i promise i won't do that again. i don’t want to lose you over my stupid pride"

you looked at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his words. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your head to rest on his chest. "forgive me, hm?" he mumbled. you softly chuckled and just nodded.

[jaysng]

good behavior .ᐟ.ᐟ

you're riding kim mingyu and find him absolutely beautiful and perfect. and so it's so easy for good boy to slip from your lips. little do you know that's all he needs to take full control so he can truly show you how much of a good boy he really is.

꒰୨୧꒱— kim mingyu x fem!reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.8k

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : smut (mdni)

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : switch!gyu and switch!reader with dom!gyu. penetrative sex, unprotected sex. gendered praise on both sides (good boy/good girl), pet names (reader: princess). descriptive dirty talk, both narratively and with dialogue itself. heavy praise kink!

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : overstimulation, dummification, crying during sex from pleasure n overstimulation. cumming inside, heavy (?) subspace.

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : pure smut! this fic is written very stylistically for smut lol

you don’t think you’ll ever get over the sounds your boyfriend makes. 

kim mingyu is beautiful; this is no different even when he is beneath you. 

your knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips. your arms are behind you, hands braced on his strong — thick — thighs. you can feel the clench of muscle underneath you with every gentle fuck of your hips, every sweet roll. your body is like the bow of a violin, his the instrument; with every soft grind of your body against his, the most beautiful, loud song sings, his thighs and abdomen clenching underneath you, his mouth parted wide. 

your boyfriend’s pleasure is undeniable as you look down at him. your hips move in sweet figure eights that make his hands constantly shift from gripping at your thighs to the bedsheets, that makes his head tilt back and bare his golden throat to you. 

and of course his voice. 

mingyu is not quiet with his pleasure, body or sound. so while his body bends and shifts beneath yours, seeking and pushing from the pleasure of his dick in your cunt, his mouth sings. 

“fuck,” he whines, dark brows furrowed together. he hisses, white canines glinting in the bedroom light as his jaw drops in his moan. you can see where his teeth are indenting his pinkish brown mouth, marking his lips while in his sexual trance. 

“feels good,” you question, voice breathy as you continue to gently fuck down on him. it’s a trick question: you know he feels good. you feel so fucking powerful: mingyu, tall and broad and handsome and perfect mingyu, beneath you, his fat cock so deep inside your pussy you swear it’s in your cervix, gravity pushing you further and further down with every roll of your hips. 

his fat dick is deep within you, his large hands digging into the flesh of your thighs, and he’s moaning, mingyu is moaning, lips curling with pleasure. this man, this absolute powerhouse of a man, is moaning and whimpering beneath you, and fuck if you don’t feel absolutely heady with that power. 

when you fuck down on him you ensure his cock is sliding along that pleasure-spot in your pussy, sweetly stoking your own fires of passion. you can’t help but roll your head back at the slide of his dick, eyes falling shut prettily at the sensation. 

mingyu’s hands slip over you. he’s touching without any particular aim, just wanting to feel. he slides his hands over your thighs, your knees. he brush his fingers along the outside of your legs before he grips at your hips. he nails, neatly trimmed and cleaned, dig into the flesh there. 

he doesn’t use his grip to manipulate you in any way. mingyu just holds you like that, possessively marking your skin. 

“feels so good,” he says, hands flexing against you. you can feel him shift beneath you, hips minutely tilting. “you feel so good, princess.”

you let out a little huff of laughter. sweat dots your hairline, your skin is discolored from his enthusiastic mouth and teeth, and your cunt is soaking from your arousal and his precum; yet you’re princess. 

you move forward. you place your hands on mingyu’s abdomen. for a moment you just take in the feel of him beneath your hands. his soft skin, the way it rises and falls with every ragged breath he takes. you don’t think you’ll ever spend a moment not admiring mingyu; his heavy thighs and plush tits, his brown nipples and sweet mouth. 

using your hands to give yourself leverage, you raise your hips off of mingyu. he lets out a shuttering hiss, voice cracking high on the tail-end of it. 

when you drop back down on his cock, the flesh of your thighs meeting his with a sharp slap!, mingyu lets out a deep groan that seems to bubble out from deep within him. 

you laugh again. “that’s it,” you say, still smiling as you raise yourself up off of his dick once more. “gotta be loud for me, sweetheart.”

mingyu lets out another little noise at the deceptively-soft nickname. “gonna kill me,” he whines. “you’re so —”

you drop back on his dick roughly. if you hadn’t spent so long riding him already, hadn’t already been thoroughly fucked open by his cock, the momentum would’ve absolutely torn you in half. as it is you feel breathless, as if the wind had been knocked out from you. 

mingyu lets out a moan. “princess —”

“good boy,” you say, not quite aware of what words are escaping from between your lips, “such a good fucking boy.”

mingyu’s dark eyes open wide, his mouth parting. for a moment or two he just stares, just looks at you. 

you raise your brows at him, hips shallowly fucking down on him, a silent challenge. 

but then mingyu is flushing, blood rushing to color his golden skin. “say it again,” he properly whines, “say it again.”

you laugh at him, breathless. “taking me like a good boy,” you say. “you feel so fucking good inside of me, baby. stretching my tight little pussy so good like the good boy you are.”

mingyu groans again, and then he’s using his grip on your hips to tip you over onto the bed. his dick slips from your pussy as he moves the two of you, pressing your hot, sweaty body into the sheets and claiming your mouth with his. 

mingyu kisses you with absolutely no finesse. it’s all tongue. he shoves his tongue into your mouth and sucks at yours in turn as he lines his dick back to your pussy. 

he doesn’t fuck back into you immediately. mingyu holds his dick with one hand, sliding the tip of it along your folds. you’re absolutely soaking, and you can already feel fluid, a combination of your own juices and his precum, leaking down your cunt. 

“say it again,” mingyu demands, eyes pleading. his curls stick to his forehead sweetly. altogether he paints a cute picture of desperation, of a man trapped in a place where the lines between want and need blur completely. 

you laugh against his mouth. you wind your arms around his neck, bringing his mouth to yours once more. you suck at his lower lip, and for a moment he’s so distracted by your mouth that he forgets how he was taunting you with his dick, cock and the hand guiding it stilling. 

“fuck me, mingyu,” you say against his chin. “fuck me like a good boy.”

mingyu lets out a groan, and then he’s fucking his fat cock back inside. 

your cunt is, rather bluntly, gaping; there’s no pain from the stretch of his dick against your walls because there is no stretch. your pussy has so sweetly molded itself to the shape of him, allowing mingyu to seamlessly thrust back in. 

immediately he’s pushing until his dick is perfectly nestled in, the root of his dick against you. mingyu tucks his head against your neck, letting out a shuddering breath. 

you smile, one of your hands going to entangle with the sweaty curls at the base of his neck. “c’mon,” you gently taunt, “fuck me, baby.”

mingyu groans, a strangled noise, and then, ever obedient, he begins to fuck you. 

the slide of his dick against your walls has you tightening your hold on him, knees squeezing at his hips and toes curling. mingyu can’t help but grunt a little as you constrict him. so he shifts, arms moving to loop underneath your legs and forcing them up, breaking your hold around his neck. 

“gotta fuck you good,” he huffs. he uses the fold of your legs as leverage, slowly, maddingly, pulling his cock back from the hot heat of your pussy. “gonna fuck you so good, princess.”

his hands slip along the underside of your thighs, gripping them as mingyu moves to his knees. mingyu begins to fuck you properly, his thighs meeting your ass with sharp noises that seem to echo throughout the room; they do nothing, however, to hide the wet squelching noise of his cock thrusting in your pussy. 

despite all the times you’ve fucked before, you never seem to be able to get over this. the feeling of his dick striking against your cunt walls, the slight burn of your legs from the position he has you in, the noise of your cunt squelching with every quick thrust. 

because mingyu fucks you so eagerly. he’s chasing that high, chasing that hot pleasure that burns at his core. but he isn’t, of course, a greedy lover. 

mingyu makes sure to grind his hips against you, makes sure to rub against your walls and make those electric bundles within you dance from the stimulation. and he talks as he does it, lisp becoming prominent, eyes bright with the fever of passion. 

“feel so fucking good,” he says, and you almost can’t hear him over the sharp slap of his hips. “you’re so fucking hot and wet, princess — so fucking perfect, fucking made for me, made for my cock. 

“perfect pussy — it’s mine, princess. you’re mine, fuck —” and when your cunt clenches down around his dick in response, mingyu can’t help but laugh breathessly, canines peaking. “like that, princess? like me telling you that you’re mine? you are. all fucking mine, no one else’s.

“no one else gets to see this,” he says, eyes darting over your body. he takes in the jiggle of your tits as he thrusts, the sweat that glistens on your skin. “no one gets to see you all fucked out ‘n pretty like this. no one else gets to see your pretty fucking tits, your cute little cunt.”

he lets out another laugh, and then he’s covering your body with his, hands sliding to the backside of your knees to force them lower and lower. you can’t help but groan a little at the pain of it, toes curling at the stretch. 

and his dick — his dick seems to slide deeper in you, somehow forces itself further. 

“tell me,” mingyu hisses, beginning to fuck you once more. “tell me i’m doing good, princess. gotta say it. say i’m fucking you good.”

you can’t speak for a moment. so much is going on. your pussy is clenching, gut tightening. you’re trying to pay attention to what he’s saying, but you can’t help but feel everything so acutely; the slap of skin against skin, the stretch of your legs, his fat cock going so deep inside —

“tell me.”

your mouth quivers for a moment. when you speak it’s all automatic, not a single actual thought running through your brain. “so good, gyu — so — you fuck me so — so good —”

finally, and inevitably, mingyu slips his hand down to your cunt. it’s an easy glide of his thick fingers, slippery with your precious juices. for a moment he feels at your hole, feels your little hole gape around his dick as he fucks in out, in out. 

then mingyu’s hand continues on its journey, slipping up to frame your cute clit with his fingers. you’re already tensing up, pussy gripping his cock, in anticipation. 

and then mingyu begins rubbing at the muscle on either side of your clit, sending electric desire sparking up your body. he doesn’t rub in rhythm with his thrusts; instead mingyu keeps his hips quick and rabid and his rubbing smooth, a constant wave. it’s so much, it’s verging on overstimulating. 

you don’t know what to focus on — you can’t focus. 

your hips are bucking up into his, trying to meet each thrust, trying to spear yourself on his fat cock. at the same time you’re trying to force his fingers against you, trying to seek them out, and it’s this horrible, delightful overstimulation where you just don’t know what to do. 

it’s mind dumbing. you feel frantic; wantonly so. there’s no thought in your mind, no desire other than this. 

you want and you’re not even sure what you want; his cock fucking you so good, drilling into your sopping wet pussy, or his fingers, coaxing around your clit. 

you feel dumb with desire and overstimulation. you don’t know, you just don’t know. 

and it’s inevitable, really: you burst into tears. they spring out from your eyes and your mouth opens in a sob, your head pressing back against the mattress. you want want want but you don’t know, you don’t know —

mingyu presses his body against yours, grounding you with his heavy bulk. he presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders and throat and chest, trailing his lips. “c’mon,” he says, “gotta cum for me, princess. cum on my cock, fuckin’ cum on it.”

and you want want want —

mingyu’s teeth are sharp as he bites down onto your shoulder, digging in. the pain is bright and furious as it slices through you. it’s so startling that your entire body just seems to snap, and then you’re cumming, cumming cumming. 

it’s — you don’t even know what it is. all-consuming; electric; overpowering. it’s a cosmos bursting into everything and nothingness. 

mingyu stops thrusting as you cum, instead focusing on rubbing at your clit to get you through the orgasm. the loss of sensation has you sobbing once more, fingers twisting into the sheets as you buck your hips. 

you try to say something; fail. you try again. “p — please, please —”

mingyu lets out a loud groan. once he’s sure your orgasm has subsided, he withdraws from your cunt. you can’t help but cry at the loss, cry at how empty and gaping your pussy feels. 

mingyu manhandles you, twisting your body so your chest is pressing against the mattress and your ass is in the air. he mounts you, cock thrusting inside of you in one swift, almost brutal, movement. 

you press your face against the sheets, crying into them. so much is happening. your body is still ringing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but mingyu is fucking you, and it’s so so so much and it’s so so so wonderful. 

because you feel so utterly used. you’re just a hole for him at this point, just a pussy for him to fuck and get his full of. 

and mingyu does. 

mingyu fucks you. there’s no love in it other than the fact he’s fucking his girl, his princess; no love other than the fact you’re his. he fucks you purely to seek his end, to make that burning-hot fever within him snap, and it just so happens the hole he’s using belongs to you. 

his hands are strong as they grip your hips, slapping you back onto his dick. he lets out soft pants, deep moans. 

“good boy,” he hisses out, mostly air. “‘m your good boy, yeah? fuckin’ you so good, princess. say it. say i’m fucking you so good.”

you fight around the sobs that escape you, and when you speak your words are muffled by the mattress. “fuckin’ me good,” you sob, “my good — good boy, gyu —”

mingyu lets out a low noise, a growl, of satisfaction. he fucks your cunt a few more times, each thrust harsh and quick. the noises are crude, the sound of wet skin against skin, of his dick resisting against the wet suction of your pussy with every pull out. 

and then mingyu’s cumming in you. his cum is hot and thick, and as soon as you feel it fill you there’s an overwhelming satisfaction that shoots through you. 

you made him cum; he came from your cunt. 

mingyu drapes himself over your back, ignoring how your body collapses beneath him. he’s still inside of your pussy, dick plugging your hole and keeping his white cum from dripping out. 

he pushes your sweaty hair aside, presses his nose against the shell of your ear. when he speaks his breath is hot against your flesh. “good girl,” he groans, his hips giving a gentle buck into you. “what a good girl you are. you’re my good girl, aren’t you? my babygirl with the fucking perfect little cunt, perfect little pussy.”

you whine, nodding against the mattress. his words echo in your brain: good girl, good girl, good girl. 

“say it.”

“‘m your good girl,” you whimper.

mingyu laughs against you, breathless. “yes, you are. and ‘cause you’re my good girl you’ll let me, let your good boy keep fucking your cunt, yeah? let me fill you up?”

your body is exhausted. your mind is exhausted. you can’t think, and you don’t know, quite frankly, how you’re even breathing. absolutely nothing is happening; even your blood seems to slow to a stillness within you, your body overwhelmed to a point of merely existing. 

but still: 

“my princess is a good girl,” he says, nipping at your ear lobe. “you’ll let me fill you up again, yeah?”

and you are. you are his good girl, are totally, completely his. 

and so you say: 

“yes.”

[jaysng]

CALM IN THE CHAOS

pairing : boyfriend!jay x female!reader pov : he kisses your forehead during an argument to calm you down the atmosphere in the living room was tense. you stood with your arms crossed and your eyes locked with jay's. his sharp jawline was set as he stared back at you, equally frustrated.

"i just don’t understand why you can’t see my side of things!" you exclaimed, your voice breaking slightly, betraying the hurt underneath your anger. "every time we have a disagreement, you shut me out instead of talking to me!"

he let out a sigh, running a hand through his jet-black hair. "it’s not that i don’t want to talk to you" he said, his voice lower but no less firm. "sometimes i just need time to process things. why can’t you understand that?"

"because it feels like you’re pushing me away!" you shot back, your chest rising and falling as you tried to control your anger. "i’m your girlfriend, jay. i’m supposed to be the one you can talk to, not the one you avoid"

the room seemed to shrink as the weight of your words settled between you. his lips parted as if to respond but he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. the silence was deafening and the lump in your throat grew heavier.

finally, he looked up, his eyes softer now. "i’m not good at this" he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i’m not good at... expressing myself. but it doesn’t mean i don’t care"

you opened your mouth to respond but the words caught in your throat as your emotions surged. frustration, hurt, love, they all tangled together, making it hard to think clearly. "then show me, jay" you said, your voice trembling. "show me that you care instead of shutting me out every time things get hard"

he took a step closer to you. "you think i don’t want to?" he said, his tone more pleading now. "you think it’s easy for me to see you upset and not know how to fix it?"

"then stop making it so complicated!" you shot back, your voice raising again. "stop making me feel like i’m the only one fighting for this relationship!"

before you could say anything more, he closed the distance between you in one swift movement. his hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

the gesture caught you completely off guard, your breath hitching as you felt the warmth of his lips on your skin. "i’m sorry" he murmured against your forehead, his voice soft and sincere. "i don’t mean to hurt you. i’m trying, i swear"

your arms which had been tensely crossed, slowly dropped to your sides. the fight drained out of you, replaced by a mix of confusion and tenderness. you pulled back slightly just enough to look into his eyes which were now filled with a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

"jay..." you began but the words failed you. instead, you rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you let out a shaky breath.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. jay’s hands slid down to rest on your waist, pulling your body closer to him. "i'm so sorry, please forgive me. i know i shouldn't do that to you, i shouldn't shut you out like that. i'm sorry. please, i promise i won't do that again. i don’t want to lose you over my stupid pride"

you looked at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his words. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your head to rest on his chest. "forgive me, hm?" he mumbled. you softly chuckled and just nodded.

[jaysng]

౨ৎ it goes on and on - kim mingyu x reader

your roommate has found himself in a predicament after he took a blue pill... as a joke. of course, you don't mind helping him.

ᡣ𐭩 genre: smut ᡣ𐭩 cw: piv, no protection (don't do this), creampie, riding, viagra is used but everybody knows about it ᡣ𐭩 words: ~700

꒰୨୧꒱ 18+ content, MDNI ꒰୨୧꒱

it's difficult to stop once you've started.

your roommate, mingyu is sitting on the edge of the bed, while you're on your knees right in front of him. his thick cock is still rock hard, even after cumming once already, and you're slowly stroking it with your hand. his eyes are shut tight, and his mouth hangs open to let out the most gorgeous moans you've ever heard. all this because of a little blue pill you gave to him this morning.

he knew what it would do, of course... maybe just not to this extent. neither did you, to be fair, but you weren't complaining. mingyu had taken it, as a joke, right after he had come home from his work out. it started taking effect after he had finished breakfast, and after he had a shower he was practically burning with need.

he's already fucked your mouth once - it started out as normal head, but he couldn't hold himself back - and now you're debating on whether or not to keep jerking him off, or get some of your own frustrations out as well.

as if mingyu could hear your thoughts, he rasps, "please, baby, i need you."

"you have me, gyu."

"no..." he swallows. "need your pussy wrapped around my cock."

he almost sounds desperate, but it didn't take much begging to make you stand up and get in his lap. "you need me to fix your problem, baby?"

"yes, please." he nods and grips your hips tightly. "ride me, do whatever you want to me, i don't care."

you smile at his rambling, and take his cock to guide it to your entrance. teasing yourself with his tip against your clit, you let out a soft whine. as you sink down on him, you let out a simultaneous moan.

"you were fucking made for me," he breathes out.

as mingyu goes to litter your chest with marks, you start moving up and down his cock. you never thought your roommate's cock could feel so good. he fills you up perfectly, if you had known this you would've offered him that pill sooner. his hands roam your body, trying to cover every inch and pull you impossibly close to him.

"been thinking about this for so long," he admits in between the slobbery kisses across your naked skin.

you can't say that you didn't know. there was a reason you had given him that blue pill... as a joke, of course. you keep bouncing on his cock, whining out praises to him, and tangling your fingers in his hair. his cock just hits something inside of you that your fingers, or your toys, can hit. it's what you've been dreaming about.

"you feel so good inside of me, gyu," you whine. "wanna cum again? wanna cum in my pussy? please, baby, i want you to cum."

"fuck- y/n-" his hands grab tighter onto your hips. "don't say that-"

"i want you to cum inside, mingyu. i need your cum," you confess. "i've been thinking about it since i moved in- been dreaming about feeling your cum drip out of my cunt... do you know how many times i've made myself cum to the thought of you? it's too many to count, gyu."

at this point, you're panting, but your rambling just doesn't stop. mingyu's eyes roll into the back of his head as his noises grow louder.

"yes, yes, cum for me baby! cum inside me like i want you to." you grab his face and press a kiss on his lips, it's wet and sloppy. "want you to cum over and over- fill me up until i can't take it anymore, please!"

that sends mingyu over the edge, and with a guttural moan he spills himself inside of you. your hand flies down to your clit and you rub it until you're shaking and cumming over mingyu's cock. your body slumps against his, and for a moment the two of you are just breathing. then, he moves you to lay down on the bed - positions you on your hands and knees - and stands behind you. you look back at him with bewildered eyes.

"you wanted me until you can't take it anymore, right?" he grins. "and i'm still fucking hard."

[jaysng]

dad! mingyu: texts ♡

genre: husband mingyu | mingyu is an idol, a dad AND a local husband | baby girl and mingyu are the cutest duo | mingyu getting bullied by his own daughter

note by marie: I didn't die im alive and back with dad mingyu! ♡ as always, hope you guys like it!