#but first he needs to get rid of this body

[robinismywifesworld]

Ms. Manager

Saja boys x Fem! Reader

Summary: The Saja boys can't help but be enamored by their dumb and pretty manager.

Warning: Possessive! Saja boys, tw.death (not reader or any of the saja boys), dumb! reader, oblivious! reader, crybaby? Reader, a bit suggestive I guess?, might be incorrect grammar and spellings, probably more.

Author's note: Bear in mind that this is my first post here on tumblr, pretty new to this because I usually post my stories on Wattpad. I could write how they met or another part of this but I need some ideas, only if you end up liking this one though. I practically wrote this on a whim. I did not proofread this lol

[Last name] [Your name], a name most popular uttered by many people, a name who could turn many heads at the direction with just at a simple mutter, a name that could break a cold person's exterior, and lastly, a name that could easily steal the hearts of the upcoming Korean boy group the Saja boys.

The Saja boys were currently at their own dance rehearsals because they can't exactly steal fans if they don't look great, sing great and dance great, would they?

Jinu lets out an exasperated sigh as he stared at the group of demons, glaring daggers at the other four demons who just can't get the dance right. "We're meant to jump in sinc at this part." He said, crossing his arms as Baby Saja rolls his eyes from behind Abby, thinking their leader wouldn't be able to see. "Why you!-" the dark haired male was about to stomp over when the door opened.

The five males immediately straightened their postures at the sight of her.

[Your name].

Their very own manager.

Standing there with a bright smile plastered on your pretty face as you held the lyrics of their song Soda pop in hand given to you by Jinu.

"Ms. Manager, good to see you." Abby gives out a little wave, shirt riding up to show a bit of his skin and toned body. "You're late. Again."

It wasn't a secret to the five of them that you were admittedly... not that great of a manager, even though they don't have much experience of how a manager actually acts but they just don't want to get rid of you. Not when you looked at them so prettily that they can't help but want more of you, definitely not when you smelled so sweet that they just want to get closer to you just to smell you, and definitely not when you touch them as if they were made of glass (and they weren't, but to them, you clearly are).

Before they met you, you were in need of a job and well... you had a very unforgettable first meeting with them that they just have to keep you to themselves.

"I'm sorry, the landlord upped the expense of the rent." You said, giving them an apologetic look as you handed them each a plastic bottle of cold water. "And he wouldn't exactly leave me alone..." You added, unbeknown of the eyes glowing yellow at the mention of the bastard who wouldn't leave you alone when you turned around to fix the papers.

Romance hums, stepping closer to you. "We did offer that you could stay with us," He voiced, placing a hand on your waist.

You look up at the male who stared down at you, a dreamy look on his face as he tried his hardest not to brush his hand on your soft-looking cheek. "Like I said, there aren't exactly many rooms in the house you reside in that could let me stay there." You pointed out.

It was true, the house they stayed in or more likely, stolen from people before they got their souls, only had five bedrooms, fitting for the five of them.

The heart shaped haired male had his eyes trail over to your plump lips and before he could quip something else, he was suddenly bumped to the side by their muscular member who couldn't help but replace the hand on your waist with his own, pulling you closer to his bigger frame. "Just stay with us." He whispers, voice deep.

You can't help but feel your heart racing at his words but put some distance by leaning back, "Abby, that's not very nice. You just hurt Romance." You frowned as you turn to the other male who immediately changed his glare pointed to Abby to a happy smile as he saw you turn to him.

"He's a big boy, he can handle a little bump." Abby rolls his eyes as Baby snickers.

Before you could tell him to apologize, Jinu walks over to you. "They're right, you know. You wouldn't have to deal with your landlord if you just stayed with us, I can just give you my room and sleep on the living room." He offers, hoping he could change your mind and stay with them instead.

"It's fine, guys really. Thanks for the offer but I really can't, you already appointed me as your manager even when I don't have much experience..." You murmured before feeling Abby's hand on your waist tighten. "It's just some old guy anyway, it's not that big of a deal." You try to reassure, lips turned up in the pretty smile that softened their exteriors.

"Do you want me to take care of him for you?" Everyone turned to Mystery who uttered those words, the rest grumbled, clearly wanting to be the one to say that to you.

You look confused by what he meant but shook your head, "No, it's alright, you don't have to."

"I'd do anything for you," The male mumble as he watched you refuse their offers some more, clearly not having heard what he mumbled.

Baby slumps into your back making you let out a cute little yelp at the added weight, "You can just sleep with me." He said, lips brushing over the back of your neck causing you to shiver.

The others immediately disproved of that.

They watched as their little Ms. Manager gave them a wave goodbye before walking off towards the bus stop.

It was silent for a bit before Baby saja finally says, "We're getting rid of him, right?"

The next day, you slammed the door open, breathing shakily as the Saja boys turned to you in concern. You were trying to catch your breath, practically running here to inform them of the news that had been delivered to you by a fellow neighbour.

"You alright, pretty girl?" Romance was the first to ask as Jinu stopped the music.

Their concern was a facade of course. They know what you were gonna say, practically smelled your scent miles away as you moved to get to them. They held back smirks of their own as they stared down at your form.

"H-he... the landlord- he's dead," You said, eyes wide and clearly still in shock. "One of my neighbours saw dismembered bodies and- oh gosh... it sounded so frightening."

The whimpers you let out highened their growing arousal as they stared at you, eyes darkening as they fought the urge to take you right then and there.

"Wh-what if that happens to me-" You were tearing up now.

Oh, those tears. Those beautiful tears.

Baby licks his lower lip at the sight, the desire to lick them with his tongue growing. He can't help but wonder what you tasted.

Jinu walks up to you immediately, in faux concern, placing a hand on you shoulder to comfort you. "We're very sad to here that..." He said with a frown and furrowed his eyebrows. "But you shouldn't worry about that happening to you, Ms. Manager."

You look up at him and the dark haired male praised himself for not pouncing on you at the sight. Sniffling, you asked. "Wh-what?"

He gave you a small yet reassuring smile, "If you stay with us, you'd never get hurt by that awful killer on the loose."

"We'll be sad without our pretty little manager to tend to our needs..." Abby adds on.

"We need you, I need you." Mystery whispers.

Your body was shaking, overwhelmed by everything that's happening.

However, if this little thing didn't change your mind yet... then they'd just have to take you, with or without your consent. You're theirs after all.

You were just their pretty, dumb manager and they'd eliminate anyone who would stand in the way of their love.

[sourb1tter]

𐔌 : LARA RAJ...

──────── .☘︎ ݁˖ What's on the radio today ! : 15 MINUTES ! ༉‧₊˚.

Then I had a crazy thought in my head

Synopsis: you’re on the run with lara from the cops, whatever the crime is, but it’s still not stopping you & lara from a high speed chase with the law down streets & highways. in fact, it’s just a game to you both. it was fun & exciting, the thrill of practically playing mario kart in real life made it so much more addicting to do it again. once u & lara do eventually get away, high off the adrenaline was such a good aphrodisiac as well.

Warnings: mentions if criminal activity, smutt, Semi-public sex, g!p Lara, Switch!Lara, Switch!Reader, Dick riding, blowjob, breast/nipple play, praise/degradation, mentions of words slut and whore, Lara desperate and excited.

Tyy to my baby, @danisstarkon for giving me the idea to do thiss 💗💗.

the sound of the police alarms blared in my ears. “ Fuck. We gotta go. “ Lara said in a slightly frantic tone. She grabbed my wrist and led me onto her motorcycle carefully— her touch was gentle. As if i was a fragile, porcelain doll.

“ Stop immediately! “ the cop had yelled at us as he rolled his window down to try and get us to stop. Lara ignored him and the engine of the motorcycle roared loudly— the motorcycle drove off quickly. The cops had now started to chase us.

We giggled and laughed as Lara made multiple sharp turns around corners to catch the cops of guard. The red and blue siren light shined behind us. My arms clung onto Lara’s waist as i snuggled into her.

soon enough. We pulled off into a dark alleyway and the cops lost us. “ Fuck.. wow.. “ Lara exclaimed as she took off her helmet. She helped me take off mine and our eyes locked together. Our thrilling experience with eachother earlier turned into one of excited desire and wanting more. Lara sat down on a bench that happened to be deep in the alleyway, I got on top of Lara’s lap and hot kisses exchanged. Passionate and messy, i slightly nibbled on her bottom lip. Receiving a small sigh from her.

Her hands roamed my back as she snuck her hands underneath my white plan tank top and unclipped the back if my bra. Her hands found my breast instantly. Groping them as if they were meant to be there— shaky breaths left between our lips, my lipstick now smudged and ruined. Her lip liner now smudged with light pink lipstick.

She quickly and desperately unbuckled the belt on her jean pants. Hands fastly unbuckling it, her breath was heavy. “ Baby, calm down.. no rush. “ I said calmly as i leaned back in for a kiss. Further helping her unbuckle her pants— the palm of my hand immediately landed on the tent on her boxers, she whimpered quietly— i immediately pulled down her boxers. Her dick first hit my stomach then hers— my hand wrapped around her length at a slow pace.

Her lips left mine as she started begging for me to go faster. “ Mmfh.. Faster.. please.. “ She said in a shameful tone as she bucked her hips upwards to chase my hand, “ It feels so good. Doesnt it? My little slut. “ My pace picked up as she started babbling incoherent sentences about how she needs to cum so badly, and how good she feels.

I quickly unbuttoned and pulled my shorts down my thighs and calfs— throwing them somewhere near the bench, I desperately climbed back on top of her as I lowered myself onto Lara. Her groaning from how tight my cunt was as I slowly rid her.

Her hands gripped my hips and forcefully made my go faster. Lars immediately let go of my hips— now thrusting inside of me as her hand reached to the back of my neck to engulf me in another kiss with fiery passion.

Our lips only parted for 10 seconds to get some air then immediately went back. " Fuck.. your doing so good baby.. " Lara muttered between hot, open mouthed kisses. I threw my head back and just nodded and gripped onto her shoulders for more support.

Lara's hands roamed all over my body as if she couldn't get enough of me. Particularly spending more time on my breast— groping them every chance she gets " your such a whore.. so desperate for me. " She said as her hand landed on my throat. Only further pushing me to the edge as she planted dark love bites and marks on my skin, my collarbone and chest were covered in them.

I felt my release wash over me like no other— I practically screamed her name out loud. Her hand covered my mouth as she help me getting over mines. I smiled at her softly as I climbed off of her— I knelt down infront of her as my hand closed around Lara's cock— bringing it to my mouth as I first kissed her tip and then slowly. But she made sure I engulfed her whole cock down my throat.

Gagging slightly from her length being in my mouth. Lara's hand reached to grab a fistful of my hair. Guiding my movements with a fast pace, her hips jerked at how fast she was going. She was muttering stuff under her breath about how I'm such a slut for her cock and whispering sweet praises mixed with dirty words.

Her hips stuttered and she fluttered inside my mouth as she finished in my mouth, she kept thrusting to help ride it out— pulling out afterwards. She caught her breath and looked down at me as I swallowed her cum whole.

" Good.. " Lara said breathlessly as she zippd the zipper up on her pants and rebuckled her belt. I reached for the shorts i threw to the side and put them back on and hopped back onto her lap. My face nuzzled into the crook of her neck as she held me on that alleyway bench.

Prodotto da sourr

[bewitched-hours]

Forsaken | Mafioso & (His)Child!Reader (Part 3)

Go see Part 1 and Part 2 here~

Reader gets She/Her once more（-＾▽＾-）

Your pace only picked up the louder the whistling got...

You could feel your body shift and twist in uncomfortable ways.

Bones growing and deforming but not hurting you.

Even your vision was blurring and forcing you to rely on your hearing to go forward.

By the time you've reached the source of that comforting melody, you could feel yourself going limp and passing out. All the pain and exhaustion from your sudden change caught up to you in one swift move while the figure who had been whistling quickly approached in a clear panic.

Did you look bad? Maybe you looked worse than you felt...

Whichever the case, you felt much better upon awakening.

Especially when you saw the goons around you. Amongst others.

"Kid, you okay?!" One of them asked as they noticed you woke up. You felt groggy but nodded, shuffling your body towards your family as they were quick to go in for the reunion hug.

Only when you stood up did you notice you'd gotten taller. It was hard to balance at first.

You were still smaller than your dad but now were as tall as the goons. It surprised even them.

"Explaining this to your dad is gonna be tough..." One of them chuckled nervously, though you just made little happy squeaks.

You were just happy to have your family back, it allowed the Spectre to manipulate you better. Now you could safely betray the survivors without any guilt, right?

Exactly.

Watching their faces twist in horror when they first saw you in a round gave you an odd sense of pride.

You were no longer just a scared kid constantly needing help and protection. You were your father's daughter and made sure to get rid of the debt-ridden survivors to make him proud.

Which was technically already the case. Mafioso would always be proud of his kid and regardless if you won or not, you'd be rewarded with headpats and praise before being dragged off by the kids to play with them. Since you were slightly smaller than them, you loved convincing them to play hide and seek so you could find new spots where you barely fit into.

Though Mafioso wasn't exactly one to want you in danger, he could recognize that the fact you couldn't die or take real damage was an opportunity for you to have fun and learn.

Even if he was confused whenever you'd bring up being a survivor before...

I kinda enjoy child!reader, especially when they're the kid of someone else lol

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[penelopehere]

How They Became Demon Hunters HCs With Huntrix

Rumi

Her backstory is partially explained in the movie, and I built my own headcanons of how her parents met in another one of my post

However it’s very clear that she was raised by Celine to hate her demon side, wanting to hide and even destroy it from a very young age

She was constantly pushed towards being perfect in every aspect of her life, whether that be in sparring, singing, social skills etc

This was all done in the hopes of eventually getting rid of her marks and protecting the world

However, she also thought that being perfect would make up for the fact that she was a mistake

Despite not knowing exactly how her mum died, I believe she would still blame herself; thinking that being half demon brought misfortune to her mum

In regards to her father, she just pictured him as an evil figure that managed to trick her mum and never considered the fact that he may have been a good person

She would also be homeschooled and sheltered for most of her life, any public appearances done purposefully in order to build her life as an idol

Because of this she would be put on a lot of korean variety shows and do interviews when she was a teen in order to get public support early

On the side, she would also train and even hunt demons with Celine so she would be strong enough to lead the next generation of hunters

However the feeling of loneliness would constantly consume her since she had no one that could understand her life as a half-demon, and she didn’t have any genuine friendships at this point

Celine would notice this and tried to reassure Rumi that this was all for the greater good, and that the hunters were all she ever needed

However, this only worked to a certain extent

Eventually though, Celine would introduce Zoey to Rumi for the first time

Rumi finally felt like she could let her guard down a little, instantly bonding with the other teenage girl

She still felt insecure about her demon blood, and Celine warned her to not reveal anything about that side of her so she wouldn’t lose her new friend

So Rumi stayed silent, not saying anything about her heritage even after Mira came to join the group a few months later

Rumi vowed to do whatever it took to protect the world, even if that meant lying to those she loved

Mira

Similar to Rumi, Mira would most likely also be a legacy

However the difference being that not everyone in her family had hunter abilities, so a lot of them had no idea what demons even existed

This was further emphasized by the fact that most of her relatives that did carry these powers were deceased or estranged

Because of this, Mira always felt like the odd one out and never truly knew what made her so different

She tried to express how she felt through her clothing and artworks, but her family- being rather strict- didn’t appreciate her creativity

They refused to listen to her, causing Mira to act out in many ways

She often spent late nights outside by herself, doing whatever she felt like

From this she would spot her first demon, sucking the soul out of someone until they died

She didn’t know how to react, not fully understanding what she was seeing

Once she managed to snap out of her fear she would go to check on the victim, only to find the body was no longer there

From there she would just run, not knowing when to stop until she subconsciously came all the way back to her house

She wanted to scream and tell her parents what happened, but the moment she walked through those doors she realised they wouldn’t believe her and that she was truly alone

She would carry this fear with her as she got older, not truly knowing if there was something wrong with her brain and making her see these things

Sometimes she would try to fight the demons she saw, rarely succeeding due to her lack of proper training

She had to constantly see people because of this, traumatizing her even further

One day however, she was listening to a song and began singing, not noticing the demon in front of her until it began to get repulsed by the music and ran away

She tested this out the next time she found one, blasting the song towards it while fighting

This is when she realised the demons were weakened by the music

She’d track down the artist of the song, eventually finding Celine in a fan meet and trying to see if she knew anything about the monsters she was seeing

She’d try to be subtle at first, not fully revealing everything she saw just in case Celine thought she was crazy

Mira got her contact information, and was told to meet her in a couple days

From this Celine realised Mira also had hunter abilities, and began to train her in secret

Mira’s parents wouldn’t care about her extended absences, relieved that their daughter was no longer getting in trouble with the police or acting out at home

Celine would reveal what hunters and demons were, explaining their history

Mira was skeptical at first

However, with everything that had happened, she had no choice but to believe Celine and for the first time in her life she didn’t think she was crazy

They trained together for a couple months before Celine introduced Mira to two other young teenagers who had the gift; Rumi and Zoey

From then on Mira finally felt like she had a family, and would do everything she could to keep them together

Zoey

Zoey would be a partial legacy, with only one side of her family knowing about demons and hunters

She didn’t know of her abilities at first, thinking all the monsters she saw as a kid were just a figment of her imagination

Especially since by the time she looked back, one of her family members would be there innocently waving and telling her to go play

It wasn't until she was older was it revealed that she had hunter blood inside her, and that she could begin training to become one

Zoey would be ecstatic, believing she was a real life superhero; wanting to tell all her friends and the rest of the family about it

However, this idea was quickly crushed as it was explained to her the importance of protecting their secret; not wanting to worry others with matters they couldn’t control

They also believed it would keep the non-hunter family members safe if they didn’t know about demons or Gwi-Ma

From then on Zoey had to live a double life, training and hunting demons in secret while also pretending to be a normal girl

This was exhausting, especially since she hated lying to parts of her family and felt as though they couldn’t understand her if they didn’t know who she really was

Then with her hunter relatives, because they were all older than her, she constantly felt like she skilled enough to keep up with them

Therefore she was constantly trying to prove herself to both sides, being the perfect kid and warrior at the same time

Her only solace was writing lyrics and using them against demons, feeling as though this was the only time she could unapologetically be herself

However, all these negative feelings eventually began to hinder her training, since she felt too alone and unworthy to focus on fighting

One of her relatives got the idea of contacting a friend in Korea, sending Zoey there to meet them

She was then introduced Celine, who empathised with her difficulties living a double life

Being an idol and hunter, she understood the difficulties that came with lying to those you loved

However, she assured that Zoey that her fellow hunters would always be there to understand her

For a while, Celine assessed and developed Zoey’s skills, impressed with how she could make her own songs in such a short period of time

She then introduced her to Rumi, the two of them instantly connecting over this feeling of loneliness

To Zoey, it felt like they were the only people in the world that understood each other

When Mira came a couple months later, they welcomed her to their small family

Zoey couldn’t believe there were others her age who felt the same way she did, and never wanted any of them to feel alone again

[amortsukii]

bed chem // nsfw headcanons

pairing. adam warlock x f!reader | wc. 843 | 18+

a/n. honestly could be for either mcu or rivals/comic him 🤷🏼‍♀️ i just love him, your honor. this is like pure filth btw so minors... shoo 🫸

short n' sweet collection. | masterlist. | request info.

as is known, he is the himbo ever. literally the definition of the word may as well be "adam warlock". he is so sexy and he doesn't even know it. you'll get women coming up to him on random planets whilst walking through various civilisations, or at afterparties thrown in the guardians' honour. he's always respectful (obviously!) but so so oblivious to their flirting. you'll have to go up to them and pull him away with the dirtiest death glare on your face aimed towards her. (you ride the life outta him after so he knows who he belongs to.)

adam loves worshipping you. in his eyes, you're a goddess. his goddess. and several times a week will he take you to someplace private— whether that be his bedroom, a bathroom, some abandoned place on a mission— and shove his face between your thighs. he'd lay you down, or set you on a table or counter, and spread your legs to worship you in his most favourite way.

loves marking you. you're his queen— his mate, his goddess— and he needs everyone to know. you're his, and he's yours. bruises; shaped like his hands from where his fingers dug into your hips with every thrust. bites; all along your collarbone and chest, with the most prominent mark on the side of your neck.

his cum is glittery. this is definitely canon, marvel told me. its glittery and slightly gold tinted... and also really warm. he loves coming all over your body, especially your chest, to see how you look painted with gold.

as said before, he loves to see you draped in his colour. like that one time you wore a silky gold dress to a gala the guardians were invited to, he had to drag you off to the closest bathroom to get rid of his sudden erection. he'd bent you over the counter and took you from behind— dress still on and bunched at the waist— while whispering in you ear how good you look.

adam is such a soft dom. he'll essentially fold you in half— dick prodding deep into your walls— and still make sure you're comfortable, that he's not hurting you. he'll mutter dirty talk into your ear (which sounds incredibly endearingly silly in his way of talking) and slip so much praise into it that it becomes less sexual and more worshipful.

a fiend for creampies. there is nothing he loves more than seeing you filled up with his seed— watching with keen eyes as it slowly drips out of you. sometimes he'll even shove his fingers into your hole to keep it in there and make sure it sticks.

oh yeah he has a massive breeding kink as well. you're his mate, why wouldn't he wanna breed you properly? the mere suggestion of using a condom has him scoffing and rolling his eyes. he can be so sassy sometimes.

he's a cosmic being so his stamina is definitely higher than the average human man. he can last at least 4 rounds without even beginning to feel tired. there has definitely been multiple times that you've passed out mid-sex, and oh my god does he panic. the first time you did he genuinely thought you'd died, that he'd killed you. he had hurriedly gotten dressed and covered you up with a blanket before rushing to gamora for help. she teased you both relentlessly for months, but luckily didn't tell the rest of the team.

so so strong. will manhandle you into all sorts of positions. he's gently, obviously, but still enough to leave bruises on your hips and hand prints on your ass.

you once had sex whilst flying (it was your suggestion) and he came so hard his powers malfunctioned briefly and you two started falling. safe to say, that will likely never happen again.

he's pretty loud in bed. mainly grunts and groans but sometimes— if hes in a subby mood or you've reduced him to tears— he'll whimper and moan your name. adam's voice is pretty deep and when he moans all raspy and broken it's so beautiful. his head will tilt back, exposing the curve of his jaw and neck, and his mouth drops open.

as much as adam loves giving you oral (and it is a lot), he much prefers to be on the receiving end. there's nothing better to him than coming home from a stressful mission and seeing you sink to your knees and undo his belt. just the feeling of your mouth encompassing his cock, the warm wet of your saliva coating him, is enough to brighten his day.

he is the king of aftercare. "you deserve nothing but the best," is what he recites almost every time. he'll gently wipe you down with a wet rag, place kisses on the marks he left on your skin. sometimes he'll run you a bath with your favourite bubble scent, carefully scrubbing off the aftermath when you've calmed down. he'll then carry you back to bed and wrap himself around you.

taglist. @articel1967

[zzpupz]

Arthur knew he was dying. Hell, he’d known for a while. The coughing fits, the blood, the way his body didn’t listen like it used to. But dying on that mountain there, with the world split wide open around him and Dutch walking away without a word. that’s not how he thought it would end. not alone. not like that.

The sun was rising. Orange bled across the sky like fire, like the world was burning down just to say goodbye. The mountains stood quiet and still, snow catching the light like glass, and for a moment… it was peaceful.

But Arthur couldn’t feel peace. Not yet.

His ribs ached from Micah’s boot. His head spun from the fight. But the real pain was deeper than all that. Dutch had left him. Walked away without looking back. Not even a goodbye. Just cold eyes and silence. And Arthur laid there thinking

He’d spent years chasing Dutch’s dream. Believing in it, following him even when it didn’t make sense. Even when it turned dark and bloody. He’d called that man a father figure. Defended him. killed for him. and in the end? Even when Arthur was finally trying to save him from the poison rotting their gang from the inside out… Dutch picked Micah.

Arthur didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just hurt, quietly, deeply.

He thought of John. God, he hoped he made it out. That he was running with Abigail and Jack, heading toward something better. something maybe he’d just never get to know. toward freedom? He thought of John’s dumb grin, his stubbornness, the way he always got back up. Arthur never said it out loud, but that boy had become like a brother to him.

And now… he’d never know if he made it.

But maybe that was alright. Maybe dying here meant John got to live.

He thought of Mary, too. Not with bitterness, just a kind of distant ache. She represented something that could’ve been. Something good. Something soft and quiet and honest. But he’d ruined that long ago. The man Mary needed wasn’t the man Arthur had been. She’d seen the good in him. but by the time he saw it too, it was already too late.

Still he hoped she was happy. Far from all this blood.

His breath started to slow. Chest rising shallow, vision blurring at the edges.

He looked up. His lungs were drowning him.

Every breath clawed up through his chest like broken glass. He couldn’t cough anymore. there was nothing left to cough up. Blood slicked his teeth, clung to the corner of his mouth. His ribs ached like they were cracking open with every inhale, like his own body was trying to rid itself of him from the inside out.

But still even then sun was warm on his face. For the first time in days, maybe years, he wasn’t running, he wasn’t killing. He wasn’t lying to himself about Dutch or the gang or the cause. He was just a man. A tired, dying man with nothing left to give.

The weight on his chest loosened not gone, but less. He could feel the warmth on his skin, just barely. It wasn’t enough to fight the cold in his bones, but it was enough to soften the edges. To remind him of mornings at camp, smoke curling off the fire, someone humming a tune. Jack laughing. Mary’s smile. John’s dumb comments. Charles presence, never loud but enough to notice he cared. The silence before the world woke up.

His vision blurred. Not from pain this time, but from something like peace. Like surrender.

And finally, even after everything…

The fear melted. The anger, the sorrow, the regret they all slipped away like snow under sunlight.

And for a flicker of a moment, Arthur Morgan felt something he hadn’t in a long time.

Freedom.

// FIRST POST…?! SO EPIC LETS GO?

[kingchroma]

Hey I loved your Gitae headcanons....

Can you please write Jichang kwak headcanons tooo

jichang kwak headcanons

࿇ pairing. jichang kwak x reader

࿇ disclaimer. might be ooc! mentions of trauma as well. i always put a disclaimer like this since some readers or fans of jichang may not like my headcanons or how i view him as. i’m always open for discussion (for any of the characters) though! thank you. i like learning about how you guys see your faves ࿇ author's note. sorry for posting late and thank you for your trust in my writing! to those reading this, requests are open as always (i don’t think i’ve closed it lmao) so you’re free to let me know what else you want to see me write!

masterlist. ࿇ requests.

IN GENERAL...

࿇ With Jichang, you have to acknowledge that he had gone through, what I feel like, all sorts of trauma during his time in Seoul.

࿇ Getting kicked out of the city by Gitae Kim, is in fact, a light testament of how the brute of a man had forcibly removed him from his position as king—swinging his axe haphazardly, but with the intent to inevitably get rid of Jichang not just from being the ruler of Seoul, but from the world in itself.

࿇ How he was beaten by James Lee twice to the point he had pitied him, not even bothering to remove a limb because he was just not worth it in the legend’s eyes.

࿇ How he was called weak not just by in losing fights, but in many different ways that had gone through his head.

࿇ I think it blew irreversible damage to his confidence and ego—especially if you think about how he felt during that time; how fresh it all feels for him.

࿇ How can the former King of Seoul be reduced to this?

࿇ I feel like it would take time for Jichang to heal from all of that, and while it doesn’t hurt as much as it did for him, it’s like a certain type of grief that lingers in his body, heart, and mind. There are reminders everywhere of what he had lost and what he had become, and so it will take a lot of patience with him.

࿇ Moving onto the lighter things, I want to take notice of how caring and loving he is towards his brothers. That one panel of him feeding them in Seoul and how he had advised Jinrang to break his shackles in order to protect his siblings—his pack—I feel like he greatly resonated with that, and that shows how much love he has for those who he truly cares about.

࿇ He’s strict—all business when needed be. And while I know that the Jichang from Seoul and the Jichang from Chungcheong are still somehow different, he still carries that with him.

࿇ I feel like he would be overprotective too given how he had ensured that Bakgu Noh was safe from the threats that possibly haunted the old man. While he did owe Bakgu Noh a lot of things (I forgot if anything was implied regarding this, please feel free to remind me), he’s protective still.

IN DATING...

࿇ Since I did mention that Jichang carries a lot of trauma from the past, basically demeaning himself from time to time, he’ll need reassurance from you.

࿇ In relationships, partners reassure their lovers that it’s completely okay that they get affected from their traumas—from situations that happened years ago—especially if it gets triggered on a random day, and you are that kind of person towards Jichang, but I feel like he also knows that he has to get better from this.

࿇ That he’s safer now here in Chungcheong surrounded by his loved ones, how he’s with someone as patient as you. How he knows that you love him, and that love will fuel his desire to become better and to heal from that.

࿇ Since the dangers never end, and despite the quietness that the province holds, he would make sure that you’re okay and that he knows where you are. That might seem overbearing, but it’s really just for your safety—and it eases his mind honestly.

࿇ He would be a real romantic though. I mean at first he would probably be a little nonchalant towards you, afraid to show affection or still hide behind his mask, but you’ll eventually break all that down and you’ll realize that there’s a man who loves you purely and softly despite how rough of a background he had.

࿇ I think he’d be a little insecure with handholding considering the state of his hands. It’s particularly messed up with marks from the past, and every time he sees them, he’s reminded that he uses these hands to hurt people and to protect.

࿇ But whenever you hold them without any complaint and in gentleness, he’s amazed. Jichang would probably think how you’re possibly just stomaching to hold his hand because that’s what couples do.

࿇ He’s an overthinker too, and so you will reassure him, calm him down that you’re not just holding it even though it’s mortifying to look at. You tell him that you’re holding it because you want to.

࿇ And he’s probably thinking oh, that’s possible?

࿇ Dating him also means that you get little spies—his brothers. And while Jibeom is the most normal about this, I feel like Jihan would be a little more mischievous. After all, he’s still a kid in his teens. God forbid he was curious about his hyung’s love life!

࿇ Jichang is the type to date to marry, so if he dated you.. sweetheart, you better be ready for a ring in the future.

࿇ Would probably call you darling, sweetheart, love… the likes.

࿇ He would be a good listener and the best person to go to if you need advice from life.

[shoxxcc]

perfect eyes

one’s words—careless and sharp, can carve permanent scars to someone so fragile and beautiful. one’s words can create darkness one does not wish to bask in. one’s words can push one to reside and grow familiar in a space where there is only a distortion of suffering. but one’s words can also give someone the light they needed; the light that will blind many, but will clear one’s gnawing feeling hidden beneath a façade of healing.

pairing: non-idol!park jisung x gn!reader

g: slight angst (if you squint), fluff

wc: 0.9k

warnings: insecurity, bullying/teasing, knife, allusions to threats

“ahh.. they're still puffy...” jisung sadly huffed an air, referring to his eyes which you find adorable but he finds bothersome growing up. something small, yet is a big deal to others and to him as well.

after hours of reading from his new books last night, he couldn’t help but sneak some ramen in the kitchen at 4:00 am. two packs to be exact and some mandu—probably a few, like three.

but waking up with puffy eyes, jisung regrets acting like a mad man who hasn’t been fed for days.

sitting on a stool in the kitchen island, he watches you rummaging through drawers and picking up utensils you used to make the first meal of the day while getting annoyed at how loud the pressure cooker has gotten; blaming the appliance for being so loud for you to not hear him.

“baby, do you know how i can get rid of these?” he calls for you, wanting some attention.

“what?” you questioned, still minding your business. but jisung didn’t like you not paying attention to him. and for the time you waited for his answer, he remained unexpectedly silent instead. until he’s got you turning around to look at him who had a frown in his face, before asking again, “i’m sorry, baby. what do you want to get rid of?”

“does my eyes look puffy?” he questions, almost vulnerably.

you examined his bare face; one that literally looked like he had just awoken, but nothing else was new nor did his eyes look puffy. “they look alright. is that what’s bothering you?”

jisung nodded timidly, “you may or may not get mad, but i felt greedy last night...” he admitted how he sneaked out of the bed and with how much food he had consumed.

“i’m not mad at all. you can eat whatever you like, whenever. just in moderation though.” you turned around to continue what you were initially doing.

“i just,” he hesitated, but decided to say what has been bothering him since he woke up, “….i can’t stop thinking about that one kid back then, saying my eyes look like soggy udon.”

and just as quickly you chopped the scallions and bell peppers, a remarkable 180° swift of your body and the loud piercing of the knife on the chopping board startled jisung. “excuse me? whose kid said that?”

the moment jisung saw the look of annoyance and anger in your eyes and the knife you held close in your hand, he shakes his head in fear. “i-it’s nothing big, baby. it just randomly popped in my mind again…” he looked down with his teeth sinking in his bottom lip, anxiously tapping the marbled surface.

you felt your heart being squeezed at the sight, as well as the grip on the knife that stabbed the wooden board. you think he’s probably regretting opening that topic up in the first place—always so careful and mindful with what he says. and you somehow felt bad knowing he’s not even the one at fault here.

eventually, you put the deadly weapon down, walking towards where he is. your hands instinctively reached to cup his face, like they belonged there.

“it’s something big if it affects you badly.” he only pursed a sad smile as you caressed his plump pillows. “you don't look bad with your bags. they make you cute and make your eyes more pretty.” you assured him and you swore you saw a glint of hope flashing in his eyes. “and you have the prettiest small eyes i’ve ever seen.”

his heart warmed at the compliments.

for years, jisung had carried the insecurity of having small, puffy eyes, with only a big dream of fitting and conforming to the standards mainly thrown by the society. what all began with a little joke gradually became constant teasing by some kids in his childhood.

but he had never really gotten to end the nightmare by escaping these restraints that held him growing up without repeatedly falling into the abyss of doubts and uncertainty.

for years, he lived close with all the familiar point outs of his eyes; far from the foreign compliments that refuged him safe.

and now those same deep pools that drowned your own two years ago looked at you with pure fondness. this time, with brimming tears. wanting another assurance, sweet talks, some praises, another compliment—wanting more coming from you. not that he doesn’t have any ounce of trust in your words, but jisung’s actually starting to think that he’s capable of breaking free from the years of restraints, now that he's genuinely believing he’s lovable enough because you are there to tell him so.

“really..?” he quietly whispered, “you think my eyes are pretty?” and you nodded slowly.

“very.”

and that's on period.

“but they make me look-”

he was taken aback when your body leaned forward, closing his eyes in the process and anticipated a kiss on the lips or on his cheek but was kissed on one of his closed eyes instead.

when he fully opened his eyes, you were already grinning, “you're very, very perfect, love,”

oh, how much he wants to erase that grin of yours with a kiss and replace it with a flustered expression.

he could not imagine a life without the only person with a glorified soul who’s capable of making him feel special and worthy.

jisung settled his big hands above your small ones on his cheeks, while leaning forward and returning a smooth kiss on your lips. when he pulled away, he still couldn’t erase that grin on your face. but at least you were happy, and so was he.

“thank you…” his thumbs rubbed the back of your hands in comfort; wanting to melt under your touch. “what would i actually do without you?” he forced a pout, and you both giggled—yours becoming louder. and as quick as flash, he stole another peck on your lips, shutting you up. “but uh… as much as i'd love to be this close to you…” jisung slowly removed himself away from your hold and shoved your arms to your sides—back to where they belonged. his lips stretched in fear as he looked everywhere in the kitchen but your eyes, “…your hands are spicy, baby.”

credits:

— dividers: @uzmacchiato @strangergraphics @saradika-graphics

— photos: pinterest

the author: i made this probably like two years ago as a drabble, with just like five lines. i’m kinda impressed i was able to work it out and make it longer. and this was initially inspired by that one live of jisung and renjun. to whoever said that one comment about his face, he’s vv perfect !

and by the way, we have some crazy coincidence here! this work was posted on 06.25.2025, and the day after, jisung had a bubble message saying his eyes looked puffy/swollen on their way to smtown london. but i tell you, i cannot make up something as crazy as this actually is. i’m starting to think we’re soulmates.

some works of: shoxxcc

[thatoneloudintrovert]

Summary of my session:

I leave the Wall™ for the first time this session and just a few minutes after I sink into the ground as I'm trying to walk. I wasn't paying enough attention and sank into the powdered snow on the ground. I freeze out of fear for longer than I should have and missed the time where I could have still made it out. I freeze to death there, alone and cold. (Just like I was in the cold desert night, up in that tower.)

I wake up with a start back under the tree I took my little cat nap next to last session and decide that I need to be useful to the team. I haven't done anything to be useful. I don't know how to be a good friends, but I should know how to be useful. I need to be useful. (the mushrooms... a gombák... azt mondták nekem)

I go to the village I heard so much about in search of some villagers but I find there are none left. My body is still cold and shaking from my death earlier and feel angry about how useless I am.

I burn the village to warm my body and take my anger out.

I make my way back to the Wall™ in hopes something that could make me useful would come up and it does, in the worst way possible.

When I get back to the Wall™ I see it covered in lava, out of the corner of my eye I see Manu running back towards her base with the Northlanders.

I run inside to see the fire spread to the trees. This is not what I wanted when I said I'm cold.

I try to at first get rid of the fire with water, but when that doesn't seem to help, not enough anyway, I start chopping a line in the trees to stop the spread of fire.

It stops the spread, but most of the forest is gone, the only thing left untouched is the shrine.

It must be divine intervention! The watchers or the mushrooms must have heard my prayers, they must like us! They are real, they have to be. They made it so I could be back in time to save the shrine!

I kneel in front of the untouched shrine and pray, to the watchers, to the mushrooms while the rest of the forest burns behind me.

As I finish my prayer Elephant gets a kill as the boogeyman. They love us, oh they really do! The mushrooms are on our side! I write him a message congratulating him on the kill.

A new boogeyman is chosen, I am relieved to find it isn't me.

I leave the still burning forest to find a purpose.

While I find no purpose I do find Rae and we make fun of Rachie together. It's fun until Rachie shoots at us. I leave when it happens.

On the way home I see Manu killed Kazan as the boogeyman, I don't like her.

I build another wall around the Wall™ for extra protection on the other side of the river. This will make sieges a lot harder for the others. I am usefull. (A gombák megmondták...)

I see in chat while building that Astoria dies to mobs, I send her a message asking thhem if they're okay. He says he's okay, so I believe them, like a good friend should, I think.

As I'm working on one side Ari pours lava on the other side. It doesn't do much with the wall as it's made of stone and there's a river on the side it was poured towards. She runs when she notices me still on the wall.

At the end of session Elephant comes home with news of a destroyed village. I take pleasure in telling him that that's my work.

What a session! My first death this season too, it was great angst potential, so I love it

The mushrooms are now speaking my native language to try and entice me into following them, not like I need enticement.

All hail the watcher wheel and listen to the mushrooms!

Fated Life session 3

Bluishspace aka me (He/Him) - 20:00

@a-sociopath-do-your-research aka Oli (Xe/Void/It) - 20:00

@bendy8me aka Bendy (She/Her) - 19:00

@juno0n aka Juno (She/Her) - 21:00

@raeistrying aka Rae (She/Her) - 21:00

@silverorchideon aka Orchid (He/They) - 21:00

@communistcatboi aka Catboi (He/They) - 21:00

@theblackglitch aka Glitch (She/Her) - 21:00

@kazanfamily aka Kazan (He/They) - 22:00

@twisttea aka Twisttea (She/Her) - 22:00

@cowgirlginger aka Ginger (She/Her) - 20:00

@thatlonelygirl07 aka Manu (She/Her) - 21:00

@lizzlylou aka Liz (They/Them) - 21:00

@thatoneloudintrovert aka Floracica (She/Her) - 21:00

@not-ready-for-gaster aka Bee (She/They) - 20:00

@whats-she-gonna-post-next aka Starfall (She/They) - 20:00

@frostywisp aka Fros (They/Them) - 20:00

@the-local-pineapple aka Tessa (She/Her) - 21:00

@spectresharmony aka Ari (She/Her) - 21:00

@astoriagalaxy aka Astoria (All) - 19:00

@3-pots-of-soup aka Soup (Any) - 19:00

@hayunjin aka Hayunjin (She/Her) -20:00

@craftingelephant aka Elephant (He/Him) - 20:00

@thejade-empress aka Jade (She/Her) - 20:00

@rachiecrown aka Rachie (She/Her/Any) - 21:00

First, the wheel for this session:

Lower chance of attempted monopoly and per aquisition as we are nearing middle of the season and higher chance of meetups, pranks and Adventure.

Session 3 begins:

Despite having lowered the attempted monopoly chance by a lot Kazan still attempts a sand monopoly.

Floracica gets stuck in powdered snow and dies. -1h to Floracica.

Juno finds an abandoned mineshaft.

Starfall breaks Twisttea's crafting table as she is using it.

Ras travels to the Nether to mine netherite.

Hayunjin also travels to the Nether but is killed by a Ghast. -1h to Hayunjin.

Elephant fills Jade's base with mushrooms.

Orchid and Bee meet Astoria near the Wall™ asking them to be a spy. They refuse(?).

Rachie steals from multiple factions.

Soup pranks Catboi using three simple steps: Don't do anything, act sus while near his base, paranoia.

Liz, Blue and Glitch work together as they wait for the boogeyman to be chosen.

Manu and Bendy work together as they wait for the boogeyman to be chosen.

Ari uses a fishing rod to mess with Ginger.

Oli, Fros and Tessa discuss the season thus far.

The boogeyman is chosen, It's ???.

Hayunjin trades diamonds to Rachie in exchange of materials that Rachie secretly stole.

Bendy ventures into the mines.

Kazan and Orchid make a secret alliance.

Floracica travels to the village but finds it empty of villagers and burns it down.

Fros finds a wolf and tames it.

Oli challenges Ari to a water clutch, they both survive.

Tessa, Twisttea and Blue prove their loyalty to eachother by trading their lives to eachother in a circle.

Manu covers the Wall™ with lava, the dark oak forest is set in fire.

Glitch and Rae mock eachother, Astoria is also there in a "live Astoria reaction" style.

Soup travels to the Nether to get blaze rods.

Elephant murders Liz revealing themselves as the boogeyman. -2h to Liz. +1h to Elephant.

I didn't know wether to reroll the boogeyman now so I put a poll in the discord with the options: Yes and No with absolutely no context and yes won so.

The boogeyman is chosen again, It's ???.

Starfall and Jade travel to the Nether and work together to get ender pearls.

Catboi, Juno and Ginger have a fishing competition.

Liz goes to the Nether, Blue and Glitch come with.

Hayunjin attempts a sand monopoly. (Not again not again not again not again-)

Orchid sneaks into the dark oak forest stealing some saplings and some mushroom blocks.

Ginger builds a cobblestone tower to build height.

Fros goes to the village only to find it destroyed.

Bendy asks Starfall to join their team, Starfall agrees.

Ari is killed by a spider. -1h to Ari.

Soup creates a fake treasure hunt across the server, Astoria falls for it.

Kazan and Jade encounter eachother in the forest and get into a discussion.

Oli sneaks in the Northlanders base but is caught by Bee and is forced to try to play it off as a visit.

Floracica and Rae make fun of Rachie, Rachie shoots at them.

Catboi finds a beautiful white horse and takes it home.

Manu, Twisstea and Tessa craft compassess for all members of the Northlanders. (Team specific adventure! Woo!)

Juno and Elephant challenge eachother to a race. Juno wins.

And that's the half way mark, to recap the time changes:

-2h to Liz, +1 to Elephant, -1 to Hayunjin, -1h to Floracica, -1h to Ari.

Back to the session:

Bee and Blue start a cult in the name of the goddess of blooms to fight off the mushrooms.

Hayunjin manages to get a music disk by trapping a creeper in a boat and getting a skeleton to shoot at it.

Juno travels to the Nether and manages to get a wither skull, there are currently three across the server.

Manu kills Kazan revealing herself as the boogeyman. -2h to Kazan. +1h to Manu.

Ginger and Catboi meet up in secret (In a scheming way, NOT a romantic way).

Rae creates a secret creeper farm.

Oli joins discovers the place of worship for the bloom goddess cult and slowly backs away.

Twisttea joins the bloom goddess cult. (Northlanders work together always)

Glitch travels to the Nether but doesn't get anything cool from the trip.

Liz, Starfall and Kazan fish together then Kazan attempts to con them of an hour each and is chased away.

Orchid decides to make a path between bases as no one has done it yet, literally no one he sees trusts the path.

Bendy sets herself on fire while attempting arson, she dies. -1h to Bendy.

Soup and Ari meet up while in the forest, they discuss the Wall™ people.

Floracica builds a wall around her team's base. (But her teams base is a wall. So like another wall around The Wall™) to stop the impure outside from entering.

Fros asks Rachie for an alliance imagining a secret two person alliance outside of the main teams and Rachie agrees interpreting the request as them wanting to be part of Rachie's team. I'm sure this won't cause issues.

Astoria floods Jade's base with water.

Manu, Tessa and Elephant tell stories around the campfire. Elephant weaves tales of spores and mycelium, Manu and Tessa are concerned.

Glitch steals the wither head from Juno and burns it to prevent a wither from being spawned. (Well that didn't last long)

Manu joins the bloom cult. (Wooo!)

Hayunjin messes with Bendy using a fishing rod, Blue joins in too at some point.

Astoria is cornered by mobs and dies, -1h to Astoria.

Ari places lava on Floracica's new wall outside the Wall™.

Tessa tries to fill Starfall's inventory with light gray glass panes but is unsuccesfull.

Liz makes an attempt at a sugarcane monopoly, it doesn't go anywhere but I appreciate that It's not sand.

Rae finds a abandoned mineshaft while mining but it has already been looted.

Soup finds a polar fox trapped in a boat and takes it home.

Elephant, Ginger and Bee all individually travel to the destroyed village. (I Imagine it becomes real akward for Ginger third wheeling to the leaders of the two major weird opposing cults in the server.)

Oli takes some time to make a secret storage room hidden in case someone tries to steal from void.

Rachie stalks Kazan. But like. As a prank.

Jade creates a base on top of Catboi's base, he does not appreciate. Jade runs away laughing.

Fros traps Juno in one of those iron doors with pressure plate in the middle traps.

Orchid and Twisttea spend the last few minutes of the session fishing as Twisstea definitely totally isn't trying to get Orchid to join a cult.

And uh

See you in session 4!

[allastoredeer]

Ya'll want to know the funniest shit?

I'm researching the era when Alastor was alive right now to get a better idea of both his character, the life he lived before Hell, and to hash out a backstory for him.

And so, apparently, Alastor lived through the Prohibition (which was basically the United States government illegalizing the manufacture, transportation, and sale of alcohol because they thought it was the cause of a lot of domestic violence and child abandonment).

Alastor canonically died in 1933.

Do you know how long the Prohibition lasted?

From 1920-1933.

ALASTOR LITERALLY DIED THE SAME YEAR ALCOHOL BECAME LEGAL AGAIN. CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW BITTER HE MUST'VE BEEN?

The Prohibition officially ended on December 5, 1933, and now my headcanon is that Alastor died December 6, 1933. Literally the day after he could legally drink all the booze he wanted.

I am learning a LOT about New Orleans and the era Alastor lived through (including the gay community in the city at the time) which has been a lot of fun, and I just wanted to share that tidbit because it is so fucking funny to me.

[memento-morri-writes]

More dnd writing because it's all I have but I here's a snippet from a vignette I did of Rook's past (from Zara's POV), because Rook and his mentors never fails to make me sick (/pos).

[transcript under the cut]

Taking a coin out of her pocket, she rolled it across her knuckles, back and forth. It gave her hands something to do, and prevented the urge to bite her nails, something she hadn’t done in years. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Zara began to pace as Rook’s breathing grew shakier and the color drained from his skin. Where the hells is Jay? she wondered. The room was so quiet that she could hear every tick of the small clock on her bedside table, and each one echoed in her head. How many ticks does he have left? She didn’t want to think about it.  She’d had crew members die before, of course. You don’t go as many years as a captain as she had and never lose a soul. But all the others who had died had died quickly, in combat. She’d mourned for all of them, even shed tears in private, but there was something different about watching the life drain out of a person right in front of your eyes.

[classyrbf]

you and bf!choso who’ve decided that you can’t fuck each other for a week. It was a stupid challenge both of you made up while drunk and the loser who breaks first has to do all the house chores for a month. You thought it was a huge joke, but you were oh so wrong. He’d push you away at any sort of intimacy, even a hug. You could tell it was making him break. Just a slight south on his shoulder made him jumpy. He wasn’t handling as well as he thought he would. It was funny to see him losing his mind, whining about not being able to touch or kiss you. “You did this to yourself, Cho.” You smiled. “You can still touch and kiss me, we just can’t…have sex.” You shrugged.

Choso plopped his head into the pillow. “That’s the point! If I do any of those things, all I can imagine is fucking you.” His muffled words come through the pillow. And though he has been getting the worst end of the stick, you’ve also been missing your man…a little too much. You sneakily undress yourself, climbing into bed while he’s face down, your hands running up and down his bare back, completely unaware of your malicious intent.

“Come on, baby. As long as you don’t put it in, we’ll win.” You try so hard to break him, but you know how tenacious he is. He shakes his head, covering his ears to rid himself of your sultry voice.

“I will not listen to you devil woman. You cannot persuade me.” He’s completely lying because he’s hard right now and trying so hard to distract his mind, but it always leads back to you.

“No? Not even if I do this?” You grab one of his hands, placing it on your bare chest. His hand freezes when he feels your warm skin, taking a second to recognize what he’s touching. It slightly moves, his thumb running over your hardened nipple. “I’m bored, Cho! I miss you, baby. Please, please—” He quickly pushes you back on the bed, his body hovering you. His eyes hurriedly scan your naked body, taking in every inch of you.

“Baby, no,” he breathes. “You can’t—god, fuck. Why are you like this? You know I can’t resist you.” He says above a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut. But when he feels your hands run down his abs and into his sweats, his eyes spring open to see that wicked smile on your face. “Fine, fine , fine.” He quickly pulls his sweats off, tossing them to the floor, his cock already throbbing. “Fuck, you’re crazy…I love it.”

“I know you do,” you giggle, slowly jerking him off. “If you just do…this,” you rub his cock along your folds, his tip nudging against your clit, “and go slow, we’ll be fine.” You bite down on your bottom lip. He lets out a shaky breath, moving his hips as his cock glides up and down your pussy, gathering slick and smearing it. “There you go, baby. Good job.” You praise.

He gulps, everything in him just wants to be inside you. He can feel your warmth, your wetness, how badly you need him. He needs you just as much. He doesn’t know why he’s so determined to win this challenge, he could forfeit right now just to get a feel of your pussy. He feels like it’s been forever, when it’s only been five days. Is he losing his mind? Why does this feel so good already? Everything about you is tempting him. You little whimpers and moans, your perky nipples that are begging to be sucked, you plump lips ready to be kissed. He can’t do it. He pulls away before he makes a mistake. “I-I can’t do it, baby.” His breaths are heavy, heart pounding against his ribcage. “We cant.” But he wants to so bad, he wants to keep going.

“You’re just gonna leave me all alone like this? Hm?” You blink your lashes up at him, reaching your hand down to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. His eyes follow your hand, fully fixated.

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. He’s so hard it hurts. Without even thinking, his cock is back on your pussy, his tip massaging your clit. “Can’t believe we’re doing this.” He looks up at you and sees just how much you’re enjoying this, that smile on your face and that glint in your eye. “You’re so wet, baby,” he huffs, your pussy squelching with each movement.

He spreads your legs further, slapping his cock against your cunt earning a small gasp from you before grinding against you again. He hates how good this feels, how easily he’s ready to cum. “Feels so good,” you moan, tossing your head into the plush comforter. He continues to rub his cock against your clit, sensitive from the five days of no sex. You pull at your taut nipples, adding another form of stimulation to help drive you to your orgasm. “You’re gonna make me cum just like that.” You suck in a breath, your eyes rolling back when he starts moving faster. “Just don’t put it inside, baby. I know you want to.” You shake your head at him, brows furrowing in pleasure.

He stares back at you, a teary look in his eyes as he fights so hard. You can tell he’s close too, his chest rapidly moving up and down with each whimpering breath, and his flexed abs. “Fuck, I want it so bad. Wanna cum inside you so fucking bad,” he moans softly. “I’m gonna cum—mmmph! Baby, cum with me, please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Ah, ah, shit!” His body shakes as thick ropes of cum coat your pussy, covering every inch. Both of your moans mixed as you both entered your highs, cumming just seconds after him. He continues to rub his cock through your folds, smearing his cum in each crevice but inside.

“Did such a good job holding back, Cho. Mmm, come here.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a heated kiss. His hands ghosted over your skin, gripping at the flesh of your waist. “That felt so good.” You lazily smile at him.

“I was losing my goddamn mind. I still am.” His eyes flutter shut. “And I’m still hard,” he groans in annoyance. “This is your fault.”

“Sorry,” you laugh. “I just wanted to have a bit of fun.” You peck his lips as he falls back onto the bed. “I missed you.” You climb on top of him.

“I missed you too, but we have to behave. Only two days.” You grips your waist, tracing circles on your skin.

“But if we both win, who does the chores?” You questioned.

Choso sat in silence for a moment. “That’s actually a good question. I guess both of us?” He shrugged.

“And if we both lose?” You say in a playful voice, leaning down to press kisses against his neck. “Doesn’t that mean we both do the chores still? So, technically we can have sex…”

[marvelstoriesepic]

In too deep

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After Bucky calls, and you come running, you end up locked in his bathroom, trying to get rid of the evidence that something hasn’t gone well this time.

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: 18+ (mdni) blood; descriptions of sex; feeling pain during sex and not saying anything; friends with benefits; mentions of periods; mutual pining; miscommunication; self-doubt; self-loathing; worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing something more suggestive. It is not outright smut, but there’s lots of talk about sex, so if you are a minor, please stay away. And if you are not, then I hope you enjoy and I'd be happy to know what you think ♡

Part Two

Masterlist

You are bleeding.

The sting between your legs is sharp. Like a wound still weeping after the blade has been pulled away.

The yellow light above the mirror of Bucky’s bathroom hums and flickers slightly, ghostly shapes of shadows draping against the walls.

Your breath is shallow.

The bleeding won’t stop.

With toilet paper in your hands, you press your trembling fingers against the inside of your thigh. It soaks, leaving your skin warm and sticky. The scent of iron is in your nose.

You know your body. You know how it shifts and bends beneath pleasure, how it aches in the aftermath and you know that this is different. It’s wrong.

A breath shudders out of you at the pulsing pain.

Bucky is still in his bedroom.

Probably waiting for you to come out and leave.

That’s how it’s always been.

He calls, you come, you make him feel good, then go.

He never asks you to stay. Not really. He asks you to come over, to press your lips against his, to carve his pleasure into your skin, but he never asks you to stay thereafter.

But you still keep running. Every time.

The sting flares up again and you clench your fists against your thighs, your body curling inward on instinct.

You don’t know how long you usually take to freshen up, but it certainly takes too much time right now.

You don’t want to be a burden. You want to be something simple, something easy.

But fuck, it hurts.

You glance down again, lifting the hem of your shirt you pulled over quickly before retreating to the bathroom. Crimson smears against your skin, staining the inside of your thighs and you curse under your breath.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale slowly.

You need to get up. You need to clean yourself up, put on your clothes, and walk out of his apartment like nothing happened. Like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.

The thought is a sour taste on your tongue.

Bucky had a bad day. That’s why he called. That’s why you came. That’s why you let him take and take, why you let yourself pretend it was more than just relief and release.

And now, you are bleeding in his bathroom, barely able to stand, barely able to breathe without wincing.

Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you haul yourself up. The room tilts for a moment, and you grip it tighter, knuckles whitening.

You look in the mirror. You look ruined - cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips swollen from kisses.

You press your hands to the cool porcelain.

One more breath.

Then another.

Then you reach for the toilet paper again, dabbing at the blood, pretending you don’t see the way it just keeps coming. Pretending it’s not seeping through the white thin fibers. Pretending it doesn’t matter.

Because if you want to keep coming back, it can’t.

It’s not like he hasn’t been nice to you.

Bucky is always nice.

You were friends first, after all.

Before the weight of need, before his hands started lingering a little longer, before the heat and the fleeting contact.

Things had been easy, light, and simple.

You had inside jokes, late-night conversations that bled into mornings, you even cooked together - well, you cooked, while he hovered, occasionally stealing a bite, occasionally setting the table with that soft little smirk. It was comfortable. Safe.

Until he kissed you one day. So many weeks ago.

It was an accident. Or maybe it was inevitable.

You were both drunk. You were both in a good mood. There is not much you remember about that night. All you remember is how close you two were and that all your friends from the party were gone already.

You remember the way his knee had brushed yours, sitting on his couch, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you. And then you remember that he did. He kissed you. And your heart stuttered, his breath caught, he hesitated for a second, giving you a chance to pull away. You didn’t. You should have.

Because there was no stopping from then on.

You left the moment you woke up in his bed to him snoring in your ear and leaving drool in your hair.

But you keep coming back when he calls.

He is careful with you, always. Slow and attentive. He never lets you leave without asking if you are okay, without pressing a bottle of water into your hands, without brushing his fingers against your wrist as if needing something. Maybe a reminder that this is real. Maybe something that’ll hold him back from saying something.

But today was different.

He didn’t ask you how your day was when you walked through his door. Didn’t wait for you to slip off your shoes, to drop your bag onto its usual spot by the couch. Didn’t even give you a chance to breathe before his hands were on you.

He had you pressed up against the wall next to his door and claimed your mouth in a searing kiss that almost tasted desperate.

His fingers curled around your waist and pulled you to him so tightly, you felt every single one of his ragged breaths against your chest, the tension thrumming beneath his skin.

Then he lifted you, carried you over to his bedroom, and basically tossed you onto his bed, his body following. He pressed you down, caging you in, his weight and scent and whole behavior dizzying you.

There was no hesitation. No slow unraveling. No playful touches and teases meant to draw things out. It was pure and unfiltered need.

His hands gripped your hips so firmly, not enough to leave bruises, but hard enough to tell you that he needed this.

He fucked you like you were the only thing on his mind.

He fucked you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

He fucked you like it’s you he craved.

He fucked you like it was making him blind.

It did.

Because he didn’t see the way you gritted your teeth, the way your nails dug into the sheets beneath you, the way the dull pain at the beginning began to sharpen, spreading with every of his hard thrusts.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, lips tracing the curve of your skin, his breath warm and heavy against your pulse.

He was lost in it, consumed by the feel of you, the way you were wrapped around him, the way your body clenched.

Normally; his weight, his deep groans, the heat of him, his sheer presence pressing you into the mattress would be grounding, would be something good. Something addicting.

But it wasn’t today.

Because the pain only grew.

The stretch felt wrong - too much, too sudden. He gave you time to adjust, asked if you were ready with that husky tone of his, and you only nodded. You lied.

You thought you were able to push through the pain and that it would soon turn to pleasure. But that wasn’t the case, and every snap of his hips only had you fighting to keep from flinching.

Your breath stuttered as he shifted, angling deeper, hitting something that made you gasp. It must have sounded like pleasure to him because he then groaned into your hair, but it was a sound stemming from startled pain.

You felt that deep, bruising pressure that shot up your spine, making you bite down hard on your lip to refuse a cry to slip out that would surely make him stop out of concern.

You only squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will it away. But it didn’t.

It kept spreading, kept tearing, kept building with every thrust.

You know you should have said something.

You know you should have told him to stop, to slow down, to give you a second to breathe.

But then he panted against your neck, breathing into your skin how good you feel, whispering praises and words that sounded a little too affectionate for the kind of arrangement you are having and you felt him let go of whatever was plaguing him.

So when he checked in again, asking if you were alright, you nodded once more. Forcing your lips into a shape that could resemble a yes, and you felt him shudder, felt his grip on your waist tighten as he dived into you again, lost in the feel of your walls.

And you let him.

Because you didn’t want to ruin this.

Because this is what he needed, what he asked for, and if you had told him to stop, what if it changed something? What if it broke that thing between you? What if he would have ended up being disappointed? Unpleased? What if he stopped calling?

So you swallowed the pain. You kept biting your lip and tried to focus on his breathing, the warmth of his skin, anything but the way your body protested, the way the ache morphed into something unmanageable.

You still don’t stop bleeding.

It’s not your period.

You had your period last week. It’s what kept you away from him, what had you say no when he asked you to come over. The thought of bleeding on his sheets, on him, was enough to make heat run along your neck, mortified at the very idea.

But Bucky had just shrugged, voice low and unbothered when he told you he didn’t mind.

But you did, so you declined. And when he asked you, soft and caring, if there was anything he could do for you, you declined as well.

There is a limit to his affections you can take. A limit to the sweetest things he can tell you, the lovelies things he can do for you, and the softest ways he can touch you because you believe none of them mean as much to him as they do to you.

So you stayed home, curled in your bed with a heating pad, ignoring the way you ached for something that had nothing to do with cramps.

And now, here you are, bleeding anyway.

God, you hate this.

Thankfully, the blood started coming when you already sat down on the toilet. When your thighs pressed together and you felt the wetness along the sharp sting that made your breath catch.

But you tell yourself it will stop soon. It has to.

You just need a few minutes - just long enough for your body to calm, for the pain to fade into something tolerable. Long enough to clean yourself up and pretend like everything is fine.

You take another breath, pressing your palm against the cool porcelain of the sink. Your time is running out. You can’t stay here too long or Bucky will notice. You never take this long. And you certainly can’t let him see this. Can’t let him know. Can’t let him ask questions you don’t want to answer.

A knock comes. Soft and firm, rapping against the wood of the bathroom door. Once, twice, before his voice follows, rough but laced with something gentle. Careful.

“Hey, you alright in there?”

Your stomach drops. Shit, you took too long.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling sharply, trying to keep yourself from spiraling. You force your voice to steady, to keep the waver out, to sound normal.

“Yeah,” you call back, trying to make it sound light, breezy, unbothered. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Silence. Just for a second. Then, another knock, a little firmer this time, a little more insistent.

“You sure?” Bucky’s voice carries through the door, and there is something new in it now. A crease in his tone.

You can practically hear the way his brows furrow, the way his jaw ticks, that little frown tugging at his lips and deepening the line between his eyes.

Normally, you would think it’s cute. Normally, you would have to suppress the urge to press your finger to that little divot and smooth it out like your touch could unravel the tension in him.

But right now, thinking about it only makes your pulse halt, makes you feel like there is something thick and choking in your throat.

Bucky shifts on the other side of the door, his voice lower, softer when he speaks again. “Do you need-”

Panic flares in you. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m done,” you blurt out, too fast, too sharp. “Just- just give me a minute.”

There is a beat of silence.

The air in this small bathroom seems to be thinning out. You stare at your own reflection in the mirror, at the wide eyes, the parted lips, the tension in your shoulders that pulls them up.

“You don’t gotta leave, doll.”

It’s quieter. His words are careful, almost hesitant, but there is something insistent in them too. Him trying to piece something together.

“I just-” He exhales, and you hear the way he scrubs a hand down his face, the way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, like he is trying to keep himself still, trying to keep himself from pushing open the door and looking at you. “Is everything alright?”

It’s the way he asks, the way he lingers on the words, like he already suspects the answer but is hoping - praying - you will say or do something to prove him wrong.

And you want to. You want to smooth it over, to push away his worry before it sinks too deep, before it turns to annoyance or impatience. But before you can get a single word out, he keeps going.

His voice turns tighter. Faster. His knuckles still seem to rest on the door.

“Are you hurt?”

Your breath stays caught in your throat.

“Did I-” He stops. Starts again. “Did I hurt you?” The words rush out of him, like he can’t stop them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You open your mouth, but he still continues talking.

“Shit,” he exclaims, as if it hits him square in the chest. His voice dips lower, rawer, tinged with something like guilt, something thick and pressing. “Doll, was I too rough?”

You can hear it all in his voice - the worry, the guilt, the panic, that desperate need to fix something before it even fully breaks. And there is no impatience, no annoyance, none of the things you were afraid of.

You should have known, but somehow you keep lying.

“No, Bucky,” you say, and you hate the way your voice wavers, the way it doesn’t sound that much convincing. “Don’t worry.”

The door handle rattles.

“Doll.” Bucky’s voice is closer, pressed right up against the other side of the door, low and urgent. The knob jerks in his grip, testing it, trying to keep his touch gentle but unable to stop himself. “Can you let me in?”

You swear you can hear your own heartbeat, a dull, thrumming thing pounding in your ears.

“I’m fine, Bucky.” The lie stumbles out too fast, but you don’t know what else to say.

The knob shakes again, this time harder. “C’mon,” he breathes out, and you hear the strain in his voice, the way his words come tighter. “Please, doll. Just open the door.”

You don’t move. Your knees are weak.

“Fuck.” He is frantic. His breath is ragged and sharp. You hear him shift, pressing more of his weight against the door as if he is fighting the urge to force it open. “Y/n, I didn’t mean-” he stops himself, and you can almost picture his hand running through his hair, his jaw clenched tight, his brows pinched together so deeply. “I didn’t mean to be rough with you. Fuck, I- I swear, I-” His voice falters, cracking on something heavy.

You swallow hard, but your throat is closed up and it can’t pass through cleanly. “You weren’t rough, Bucky,” you try to assure him.

But he only lets out a troubled sound. “Yeah?” His voice turns gravelly. His tone turns desperate. “Then why the hell won’t you open the door?”

You can’t answer that. You can barely stand, gripping the sink so hard you feel your fingers might start to cramp. The pain flares up again and you grimace.

“Doll,” he tries again, his voice frenetic. “Please, let me see you.”

The door handle tugs again.

“I need to see you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to keep the frustrated tears from welling up your eyes.

“Bucky-”

“Please.”

That word is laced with a plea so deep, you feel it in your bones.

“Buck, I need a second, okay?”

You force a slow inhale through your nose as you rip off another wad of toilet paper and press it between your legs. The crimson smears against the white. You do it again. Again. Until there is nothing left to wipe away and nothing more is coming. For now.

Your thighs sting where you rub at the dried streaks, the skin tender, hypersensitive. You force yourself to ignore it. You just have to get out. That’s all. If you can get out of his apartment before it starts bleeding again and without crumbling to the floor in pain, there is nothing to worry about.

“You’re scarin’ me here, baby. Please. I need to see you. Need to make sure-” His voice catches.

You toss the balled-up paper into the toilet, reaching blindly for the handle, flushing it down, and cutting Bucky’s desperate words off for a moment.

The pain gets worse, dragging along your nerves and making you lose your balance slightly. You grip the sink again. Your vision goes dark for a short second. The floor is cold beneath your bare feet.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to be rough with you. Y/n! I- I needed you, and I got lost in it, and fuck- I didn’t-” he chokes out, not able to continue. His words sound like a confession.

You grit your teeth, twisting the faucet of the sink too hard, too fast. Water rushes out, scalding against your skin as you scrub your hands, scrubbing at the blood, scrubbing at the proof, as if that will make it disappear.

Your lungs feel too tight, too small to hold enough air. Your heart beats against your ribs like it wants out.

You don’t know if it’s because he went too deep, or too hard, or if something inside you just wasn’t ready for him, but it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you don’t let it show.

On the other side of the door, Bucky exhales vehemently.

His fist knocks twice again before curling around the door handle. “Baby, please let me in.”

“I’m fine,” you call out, but it doesn’t sound right.

Bucky’s breath shudders out.

You try to straighten, try to compose yourself, and open that door to pretend you are fine, but a sharp, searing pain rips through your lower abdomen and you gasp. Your vision swims and the ground beneath your feet feels wobbly, shifting like it might fall out from under your feet.

Bucky’s breath is rough and broken through the crack beneath the door. His palm presses flat against the wood, a low thud that makes your stomach churn.

“Y/n,” he warns, voice low, but so incredibly distressed. So incredibly worried. “If you don’t open this door, I swear to God-”

Your legs give out.

It’s not a full collapse, but it’s enough. Your knee buckles and you stumble, hip knocking hard into the edge of the sink before you pitch sideways, shoulder crashing into the shelf beside you.

The impact rattles the whole thing.

A bottle of cologne topples over, then a razor, then something heavier - a glass jar filled with cotton pads - shattering on the tiled floor with a violent crack.

“Alright, I'm coming in.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for permission.

The door bursts open with a bang, the hinges groaning under the force of his shove. He is on you in an instant, all broad shoulders and frantic energy, filling the small space with his presence before you even have time to react.

Bucky’s hands find you - not grabbing, not pulling, just there, at your back, your arm, holding you together, holding you up before you can fully meet the ground.

His breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, and the sight of him nearly knocks you off your feet once more.

His eyes are wide, pupils blown, that storm of worry you have heard in his voice through the door now a full-blown hurricane.

“What’s goin’ on? Doll, what is it?”

You don’t answer. Instead, your own gaze shifts to the glass jar at your feet, fractured lines spiderwebbing through the surface from the fall.

Your chest tightens. Your throat locks.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

You barely recognize your own voice - thin, trembling, too damn weak. You grip onto him, the shirt he must have pulled over when you disappeared into the bathroom, and you hate it. You hate how bad of a burden you are to him right now, when all he wanted was to let off some stress of the day.

But Bucky doesn’t even seem to hear you.

He doesn’t seem to see anything else than you. Doesn’t look at the glass, doesn’t blink at the mess.

His eyes are on you.

And the way he is looking at you makes something inside you crack even deeper than the broken jar at your feet.

His eyes are sharp and they trace over you, cataloging everything.

He doesn’t just look at you, he dissects you. His gaze maps every inch of your body, searching, calculating, reading between the lines of what you’re not saying.

The way your shoulders are drawn tight. The way your chest stutters on each inhale, as if even breathing is too much right now. The way you clutch at him, your knuckles white, not even trusting your own legs to hold you up.

You swallow hard, shifting your weight in his hold, and the pain flares again, enough to make your body involuntarily tremble. You clamp down on a wince, but he notices.

Bucky’s jaw is tight.

You tug at the hem of your shirt, yanking it lower, bunching the fabric between your fingers as if that will do anything.

Bucky’s gaze snap to your movements. He narrows his eyes, drinking you in with an intensity that makes you want to shrink.

“Doll,” he lets out, voice hoarse and rough, like the single word is punched out of him.

His hands skim over your arms, your waist, searching.

Then he stills.

His fingers twitch against your hip. His shoulders stiffen.

His gaze drops.

The storm behind his eyes turns feral.

You know what he is seeing.

You feel it before you even look down - the slow, unwelcome warmth trailing down your inner thigh.

The blood.

A single, thin ribbon of red against your soft skin.

For a second there is nothing. No sound. No breath. Just his stare.

“Jesus Christ.”

His voice comes in a way you’ve never heard before. It’s rather a harsh croak of sound than his normal voice.

You try to move, do anything to shift his focus, to stop the way his grip on you tightens as if he’s afraid, in pain himself.

But the second you move, another sharp pang shoots up your core, stealing what little breath you have left and you gasp.

Strong arms wind around you tightly, pulling you into his chest firmly.

“Bucky-”

“Hush.”

It’s not an order. It’s not a demand. It’s a plea, soft and urgent and broken, whispered against your hair as he holds you like you might break. No, like he might break.

“You’re hurt.” There is an aching note of guilt hanging between each syllable. It’s so thick and pronounced, you wince. “Fuck- I hurt you.”

You shake your head against him, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat. “No, Bucky, you didn’t-”

“Don’t.” His voice breaks on the word. His grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin. “I hurt you. God, fucking hell, I hurt you.”

His grip on you is firm, but not rough.

His arms cage around you, holding you as if you might slip right through the cracks of his fingers if he lets go.

Large fingers press into your hip, your thigh with a feverish desperation, enough for you to feel the slight tremble in them.

His breathing is so ragged, like he’s been running. Chasing something he’s already lost.

He is shaking.

A whisper of his lips presses to the side of your temple, lingering. A contrast to the way he has been claiming your mouth moments before.

It feels like he is pressing his regret into your skin, hoping you’ll absorb it.

“I'm so sorry,” he breathes. It’s hoarse. Nearly choking.

You hear the fracture in his voice, something splitting open inside him.

Another kiss, this time on your forehead. Another apology, spoken in the warmth of his mouth against your heated skin. Another kiss, soft, like he’s praying to you, trying to breathe the apology into you.

“Shit- I'm so sorry, baby.” The words rasp out of him, broken, spilling into your hair, against your forehead, over your cheek.

His hands won’t stop moving. You feel them everywhere - gliding over your back, skating down your arms, searching. For what, though you are not sure. A sign that you’re okay? Proof that he hasn’t broken you?

But perhaps he has. Just not in the way he fears right now. Not in a way that bruises or cracks like a bone, but in the way that has you swallowing down the shame rising thick in your throat.

You don’t want him to see you like this.

It’s humiliating. It’s too much. The way he is looking at you is making you lose control over your limbs and you really can’t afford that right now.

Heat pools beneath your skin, then it vanishes, leaving you cold, your body not able to decide whether to fight or flee.

He gathers you and lifts you in the air, pulling you to his chest. He does it slow. Careful. Looking at your face for any indication that he hurt you some more.

With that, he walks you out of his bathroom.

You should fight him, tell him you can walk, but you’re not sure you can. Your legs are trembling in his hold, unsteady, and the deep throb of pain is still biting at your insides.

And Bucky is holding you like you are the most important thing he ever carried.

You whimper in pain and his hold tightens instinctively. His hands shake against you.

You hate the way your stomach spins in on itself at the thought of staining him. At leaving blood on his clothes, on his skin, on his belongings.

But Bucky does not seem to care at all. He does not seem to think about that at all.

None of it seems to matter.

Only you.

He sits you down carefully, on the edge of his bed. The very same one he just fucked you raw in. His hands hover even after he lets go, still gripping at your waist, brushing along your arms, your knee.

Then he takes off.

You can hear the frantic rustling - the opening and shutting of drawers, cabinets, his movements fast and panicked.

And when he returns to you, he is kneeling in front of you with a damp cloth.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Just opens your legs slightly, with gentle hands, for better access and begins to swipe. Soft, slow drags over your sensitive skin, barely any pressure at all, afraid even the slightest touch might make this worse for you.

But the thing is, he is already making this worse.

Not in the way he thinks.

Not in the way that physically aches in your body but in a way that fills you with something barely manageable.

Bucky is not annoyed, or exasperated at this turn of events. He is not disgusted. Not even a little.

He is not wincing at the blood smearing on your thighs, isn’t hesitating when it stains the cloth, and also might stain his hand, the sheets on his bed. He just keeps wiping. Keeps caring. Keeps frowning with that expression of utter concern and remorse.

And this hurts so much more.

It would have been easier if he had been an asshole about it. If he had sighed in annoyance, rubbed a frustrated hand over his face, and told you to just go if you were gonna act weird. Maybe you would have been able to handle that.

But Bucky Barnes is anything but an asshole.

He is kneeling before you, hands still cautiously wiping at your skin. Each motion is so slow, painstaking, like an artist restoring a ruined masterpiece, knowing no stroke of his hand can undo the damage.

His touch is soft, but his body is anything but.

His spine is a pillar of strain, each muscle wound so tightly, even the act of breathing seems like an effort to him, like something he must force past the knot in his chest.

His jaw is hard, teeth pressed together in a pressure you can almost hear.

Rigid shoulders don’t really move with his breaths, as if the guilt inside of him has turned to iron and settled deep in his bones.

Every inch of him seems to be screaming with the need to undo something that has already been done.

His blue eyes are flooded with regret. With something heavier than guilt, something closer to self-loathing.

It feels like he is bleeding grief.

And it would have been easier if he didn’t care so much.

Because if he was indifferent, if he brushed it off, if he let you go, then at least you could pretend this didn’t mean anything. At least you could convince yourself that this arrangement was just that - an arrangement. A convenient thing. A way to feel wanted without asking for more.

But this makes it impossible to lie to yourself.

This makes it impossible to stop falling for him over and over again.

And that is what really hurts, what dives deep into your insides to carve out a room and stays there.

His fingers brush over your knee as he cleans.

And then, after a long, silent moment, he speaks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice is rough. Not accusing. Not angry. Just wounded. Pained.

He lets out a sharp breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. He looks away for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut as if blocking out what he did to you.

His gaze flicks back up to yours and the way he looks at you nearly takes you apart.

“Why didn’t you stop me, doll?” His voice breaks, as if it physically pains him to say it. “I- Jesus, I- why didn’t you tell me?”

You shake your head, your throat tight, trying to find the words. Trying to explain. But the shame, the embarrassment make it hard to pull in a full breath, making it impossible to speak.

Bucky waits.

And again, that makes it worse.

Because he is patient with you, even now. Even when he desperately searches you for something, when he looks like he wants to rip himself apart with his bare hands.

He is still waiting for you, waiting for you to think about your answer.

You push past the lump in your throat and force up something. “I didn’t want to ruin it,” you admit quietly.

His brows pull further together, face twisting. His hand stays on your knee. “Ruin what?”

You exhale shakily, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. “For you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you. I just- I wanted you to feel good.”

Bucky might have stopped breathing in front of you. Might have just died and come back in the same second.

A sound leaves him. You can’t make out if it is a word or something else, but it is deep and gravelly and it slams into your chest like a fist.

His head dips forward, his hands flexing into fists on his thighs before he drags them over his face. The stained cloth lay discarded.

He shakes his head, not believing what he is hearing. Not even knowing what to do with himself.

He looks at you again. His eyes are darker now. So full of pain.

“Doll,” he breathes, and the way he says it - like it hurts him, like it breaks him - have you staring at him helplessly. “You think I’d rather you suffer through it? That I’d rather have you- have you just take it? That I’d rather get off than-” He stops. He has to stop. His breath hitches in a gasp. His fists shake. “Fuck.”

You can’t look at him.

You want to. But you can’t.

Because he is too much.

Because he is everything.

Because he is making it impossible to pretend like this isn’t something more than what it is.

There is a deep, pulling sensation in your stomach, a hand reaching inside and twisting and turning everything around.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out. Your bottom lip trembles and you fight against tears welling up in your eyes.

Bucky moves instantly.

He is on you in a heartbeat, as close as he can possibly get, as if he could crawl into your skin if it meant keeping you from hurting.

His head shakes, frantic, desperate. “No, hey- no.”His voice sounds like it has been dragged over broken glass. Fractured.

“Don’t apologize, baby. Please, don’t.” He cups your face, his palms warm against your skin. He forces your eyes to his, refuses to let you look away, refuses to let you hide in your shame.

His brows are pulled together, his jaw is tight. His entire body vibrates with something fierce.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who is. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

His thumb catches a tear.

His hands tighten, like he can physically hold all of you.

“God, I gotta apologize, baby,” he breathes, and the sheer pain in his voice has your heart pounding. “I shouldn’t have- I should’ve never let you think this was all it was.” His fingers flex against your face and he drags in a breath that seems to hurt him.

His forehead almost touches yours.

“I should’ve told you,” he croaks out, words something like a confession. “That first night. That next morning. Should’ve told you then. Should’ve never let you leave thinkin’-” He stops himself, his eyes so blue, so damn intense, burning into yours with something so vulnerable it has your ribs crack open.

He regains a firmness in his voice when he speaks next.

“I should’ve never let you walk out thinkin’ you were just some good time to me.”

You choke on your next breath.

Your mind blanks.

He shakes his head, like he hates himself.

“I thought-” He exhales and rubs a hand over his jaw, his stubble rasping against his palm. “You were gone so fast that first time, baby. So fast. And I- I thought maybe that’s how you wanted it. Maybe that’s all it was for you. It broke my heart, but hell, I thought that’s all I was gonna get. And I didn’t wanna risk it. Risk losin’ that with you.”

You didn’t feel your lips part. You just know that they are gaping.

Words are lost on you.

Bucky’s hands slide down your arms, squeeze at your elbows, needing to ground himself, needing to feel you solid beneath his fingers. His thumb brushes over your pulse point, as if trying to memorize the beat of it.

His voice lowers. Softens.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

His fingers tighten.

“Not- not like this.” He swallows hard. “Not when it’s hurtin’ you. Not when I-” His throat tries to work around the words, his gaze searching. “Not when I’m hurtin’ you, and giving you the impression you’d just have to take it. That you couldn’t tell me to stop when you need me to.”

His voice splinters.

You stare into the glossy sheen of his eyes and only see sincerity and the utter despair he is in.

Something pushes against your ribs, trying to carve out space where none existed before. A deep heat blooms low, not the kind that you knew to ignite in the dark between tangled sheets and intertwined limbs, but something slower, something deeper.

“I left that morning because I thought it’s what you wanted, Bucky.” Your voice wavers, but you hold his gaze, watching the way his entire body tenses, the way his brows draw together.

Your hands move to his shirt, nails pressing into it, eyes moving away from his, but he keeps them on you so firmly.

“I was scared,” you admit quietly. “I was scared you would wake up, look at me, and regret it. That you’d think it was a mistake. And then, you never asked me to stay-” You swallow hard, blinking rapidly to slow the tears. “And I thought that meant I was right. That you didn’t want me to.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

He looks broken.

His body jerks forward as if you hit him. His mouth is parted and his lips are trembling. His throat works words up.

You watch as something dark and agonizing moves through him. He blinks fast, breathes in sharp, and exhales even sharper.

Then he shakes his head, over and over again, lips moving to a curse he doesn’t speak out loudly. His hands adjust themselves on your skin.

“You thought I wanted you to leave?”

The sheer disbelief, the sheer devastation in his voice makes your chest cave in on itself.

“I-” You try to answer, try to explain, but he continues.

“No. No, sweetheart, no.” His hands slide down, gripping your arms, your hands, begging you to listen. “I never- Fuck. I never wanted you to leave.”

His eyes are wild, urgent, stormy.

“I wanted you to stay. Every damn time. But I thought it’s what you wanted.” His voice hitches, his shoulders rigid with tension. “You were gone so fast, doll, you didn’t even-” He swallows, his expression shattering. “I figured you didn’t wanna wake up next to me.”

You feel everything crack open inside you.

Your pulse hammers in your throat, in your wrists, in your ears, in the very tips of your fingers, both in a wild and certain way.

“You never told me to stay,” you whisper.

Bucky’s face contorts in pain.

“I was terrified,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “Terrified that if I asked, you’d tell me no. And I- I couldn’t-” He exhales a profound breath, shaking his head. “I couldn’t stand hearin’ that, doll. I couldn’t stand losing even the little of you I had.”

Something harsh tugs at your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You had it all wrong.

And so did he.

You want to laugh, maybe, or cry, or press your hands to his face just to make sure this moment is real, to make sure he won’t take back what he just told you.

You let out a shaky breath. A finger lifts gradually and brushes against his jaw. He leans into your touch like he is starving for it.

“I always wanted to stay,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Bucky’s breath stutters, his fingers twitching against you. His lips are parted.

With a long and drawn-out breath he moves to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, holding you to him.

His lips press against your forehead, once, twice, a third time, his breath warm and unsteady against your skin.

“I fucked up,” he mutters, voice thick with regret.

You shake your head, but he won’t have it.

“No, baby. I shoulda told you from the start. I should’ve never let you walk out that door.” Another kiss. Another released breath. “But you ain’t walkin’ out now. Not this time. Not ever. M’ not gonna let you.”

His voice is low and rough, filled with something sore.

“You’re stayin’ right here.”

You pull him in, needing him closer, needing his arms around you and his warmth against you.

And Bucky melts.

Completely, he folds into you. His arms wrap around your body, pressing against the small of your back, fingers digging in like he needs to feel you.

He buries his face into your hair, leaving kisses there, his breath strained against your scalp. He smells like soap, like something faintly sweet, like safety.

His hand smoothes over your back, tracing slow and grounding patterns, memorizing every inch of you, needing you to be okay.

“How do you feel, baby? You still hurtin’?” he whispers against your temple.

Your stomach flips at the care in his voice. How much he wants to know. How much he needs to know.

You hesitate for a second, words sticking to your tongue.

Bucky pulls back slightly, enough to look at you. His eyes sweep over your face, over every tiny micro-expression, over every little glimmer of pain you can’t quite hide.

His gaze drops lower, assessing you, thoroughly. The bleeding seems to have stopped and relief washes over his features. But it’s fleeting.

“I’m okay,” you assure, even though the soreness still lingers, the ache still exists beneath your skin.

Bucky gives you a warning look.

“It only hurts a little.”

Bucky closes his eyes for a beat, and when he looks at you again, you get uneasy. It seems he wasn’t quite done with confessing things.

“Please don’t do that again, baby. Don’t ever put me before you like that. Don’t ever let me hurt you just ‘cause you think it’s what I want. I could never feel good at the cost of your hurtin’.”

His face is twisted with pain, the idea of you suffering in silence unbearable to him.

He is looking at you like you are everything.

“I promise, Buck,” you tell him reverently. Softly. “But I really am okay.”

“Doll.” His voice is low, firm. “We need to get you checked out. We ain’t just sittin’ on this and hopin’ it’s fine. We’re going to the ER.”

You sigh.

“Bucky-”

“Not up for discussion,” he retorts, shaking his head. There is tension around his mouth, pulling it taut. “We’ll let a doc check you over, and gonna let ‘em tell us you’re okay. And if you’re not, we’re gonna figure out what to do. But we won’t ignore this, sweetheart. Not when it’s you. Not when you’re in pain and bleedin’.”

Your chest is filling with something warm, something fond, something that hurts and heals all at once.

Still, you try. “It’s better now, Buck-”

He doesn’t even let you finish.

He is already moving, already reaching for clothes. He grabs a new pair of his boxers for you to pull on, seemingly not caring about the remnants of blood that will stain them, along with sweats and one of his hoodies.

And before you can argue, or can even fully process what he is doing, he dresses you in those clothes and immediately lifts you into his arms when he is done.

His hands are strong, gentle, so cautious, one cradling your back, the other under your knees. He holds you like you weigh nothing, but also like you are the most precious thing in the world.

You let out a startled noise, but Bucky shushes you tenderly, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

“I got you, baby,” he soothes, voice so warm and full of something so achingly deep you don’t know how to hold it.

But you try to.

Because you want to.

“Real love doesn’t meet you at your best. It meets you in your mess.”

- J.S. Park

Part Two

[rapplesart]

Jason : Dick, I need your help.

Dick : Oh my god it's finally happening my little brother needs help!

Jason : Dick listen-

Dick : Alright so you know how to bury a body and make it disappear. You're good at cooking and stuff so no household help. You definetly don't need a pickup after drinking...... So what kind of emotional mess are We in?

Jason : First of all, rude!

Dick : You'd hang up on me after said "I need", I am nothing but polite here!

Jason : Well you're not wrong.

Dick : See?!? So, emotional mess?

Jason : Yeah OK listen, I did a Bruce.

Dick : You did a what now?

Jason : A Bruce. There's a kid sleeping on my couch and -

Dick: Oh my god. Are they an orphan?

Jason : Yes? No? I don't know.

Dick : Black hair, blue eyes?

Jason :..... Yes

Dick:..... Well,.... Are you gonna let them fight crime after they discovered your secret identity and/or force their way into your nightlife by being a sidekick you never asked for but can't get rid off any more?

Jason : OK Listen, he came like that!

Dick, whispering: Oh my god, you did a Bruce.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Can I see your d*ck? (drabble)

pairing: lee felix x afab!reader

synopsis: you're lounging on your bed with your best friend peacefully until an intrusive thought wins over.

wc: 1.0k

warnings: lots of dirty talk, making out, fingering

a/n: idk what this is, i feel unhinged and not inspired to write today so this might suck but thanks @jazz-the-writer 😏💜 (side not: y'all his hands might be small by some standard that i'm not aware of but to me they're big cause i am small and that is hot, mkay)

Your best friend is leaning on your pillow looking all pretty and alluring and you can't help your thoughts.

Or your mouth.

"Can I see your dick?" it rolls off your tongue kind of accidentally. Felix coughs, choking on air as he looks up from his phone.

"Excuse me?" he looks at you in disbelief and your cheeks warm up.

"Your dick. I want to see it."

You can't really back out now.

"Um... you can't just ask stuff like that?" his eyebrow is raised, but his cheeks become rosy too.

"Why not? Do I need to get you drunk first?" you smirk.

"N-no, just... Why would you ask that?" he chuckles nervously.

"Well, I've never seen one. Not in real life, at least." you say and he smirks suddenly.

"Where else have you seen a dick?" he sits up and so do you.

"Porn, duh." you roll your eyes.

"What kind of porn?" he leans in closer and you whine, rolling your eyes again.

"Don't change the subject! Will you let me see it?"

"No, I will not show you my dick, y/n. Be for real." he laughs, shoving you playfully.

"You're totally not fun." you pout, crossing your arms over your chest.

Felix smirks to himself as he looks away from you. His heart hammers against his ribs as he bites on his lip and considers teasing you.

"How about this?" he turns around to look at you again. "I wanna see yours too."

"Hate to disappoint you Lixie but I don't have a dick." you joke and his face becomes as red as a tomato.

"I meant your... you know." he looks away.

"My what? Say it." you lean in closer and he visibly shivers.

"Y-your... pussy?" he whispers and you laugh.

"Okay." you shrug and he gasps, thinking you'd surely back out after that request.

"You're for real?" he gulps.

"Mhm." you nod, your heart skipping a beat in excitement but Felix struggles.

"I mean... it's not... it's not hard yet, you know."

"Can I help with that?" you inch closer to your best friend. And god, he is so beautiful.

"We could make out?" he suggests and you agree immediately because who wouldn't want to kiss those lips?

The world stops as you lean in, the sounds of your breathing seem so loud in the tiny gap between you and Felix. The gap is soon closed as your lips press together in a sweet, awkward kiss.

The kiss slowly escalates into something more desperate and raw, as your hands start wandering on each other's bodies. Somehow, you end up under him as he keeps kissing your face and neck.

"Your hands are so pretty." you say breathlessly as you play with Felix's hand.

"They are?" he asks, a little surprised at your compliment.

"Mhm. And your fingers are perfect." you bring his hand closer to your face, his fingertips on your lips. Felix gasps when your tongue darts out to lick at his fingertips.

"Y/n..." his voice breaks as you take his middle finger in and start sucking on it.

"Fuck." Felix curses, his eyes darkening as he observes you. You can feel his dick twitching against your thigh and you clench around nothing.

"Please, touch me Lixie." you whine when you take his finger out of your mouth.

"Where, sweetheart?" he smirks at your eagerness and you nearly combust at the nickname.

Instead of answering, you start pulling your pants down and he quickly stops you.

"Are you sure?" he asks in the last moment of clarity.

"Yes." you say and he nods, helping you get rid of your pants and underwear.

"Oh." he licks his lips at the sight of you all wet and desperate for him.

"Please." you whine and a deep chuckle escapes his lips.

"I got you, baby." he soothes you as his hands run up your thighs a few times, coming up to spread your pussy so he can take a good look at it.

You whimper, shutting your eyes tight. Felix chuckles again, his thumb pressing against your sensitive clit in circles.

You gasp, eyes snapping open as they meet his darkened ones.

"If you've never seen a dick, that must mean you're a virgin?" Felix asks quietly.

"N-no... Well, yes. I mean I did this before but never went further." you confess and he smirks.

His fingers dip between your folds, gathering your arousal before paying attention to your clit again as he speeds up, making you whimper.

"W-why are you smirking like that?" you moan out as he flicks your clit, driving you absolutely insane already.

"I know you wanna see my dick. But I wanna make sure this little pussy can take my fingers first."

"Felix!" you whine at the dirty talk, the effect of his words amplified by his deep voice and the movement on your clit.

If you weren't at his mercy you'd probably laugh at your best friend for talking like that.

"Yeah baby? You want that?"

"P-please!" you're falling apart, your pussy clenching around nothing again.

"As you wish." Felix whispers and slowly starts pushing his middle finger in.

"L-Lixie." you moan, grabbing at his wrist as he fills you up.

"You're so tight, sweetheart. I don't think you'll be seeing my dick so soon."

"N-no, please, I wanna see it!" you cry out as he pushes in completely, slowly fucking you with his finger.

"If you manage to take three of my fingers, maybe I'll let you." he leans down to whisper in your ear, making you whine.

"You're mean." you pout, knowing damn well you're nowhere near ready to take him.

"I'm just looking out for you." he keeps smirking as he starts pumping his finger faster, making you more wet with every thrust.

You want to smack him for being so sly but his thumb starts working on your clit and you completely fall apart, moaning his name and gripping at the sheets as Felix brings you to ecstasy easily.

"Only one finger got you falling apart like this, hm?" he mocks as he fucks you through your high.

"You wanna see what two get me like?" you smirk at him and he laughs a little.

"I hope you know what you got yourself into, sweetheart."

~ part 2

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @eastjonowhere @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts

[lay-z]

sugar plum promises | 1

SYNOPSIS: SIMON RILEY, WHO DISCOVERS (AND ACCEPTS) THAT HE HAS A RAGING MOMMY KINK, MUCH THANKS TO YOU.

PAIRING: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x CURVY!FEM!READER

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ | Mommy kink; VIRGIN!SIMON; some physical descriptions of Reader; dom/sub dynamics; cussing; strangers to lovers; hurt/comfort; eventual smut [Please mind the warnings for each part!]

➥ BASED ON THIS BLURB × | [ SPP MASTERLIST ]

It’s Saturday, his first day off base since returning from a three month long deployment just the day before yesterday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly like no one ever has before while he’s minding his business and checking out the new flavours of instant Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you suddenly address him directly.

“Big lad like you needs a proper meal,” you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. “In my humble opinion.” You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, immediately checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a “Have a good day, love,” and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling in this moment as his body decides to act on autopilot, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, perhaps this time, Simon’s going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping that maybe, you’ll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

He follows you discreetly through the supermarket like a man on a never-ending mission, silently stalking like a cat in a mouse chase down the aisles. His eyes are locked on you like a heat-seeking missile, noting every move you make, watching how every step sways your curves in the right fashion, nearly causing him to run into a display rack at his momentary distraction.

He nearly growls when some random bloke blocks his path to you and to ask you a question on top of that. He doesn’t quite manage to pick up the words, but it’s enough for him to clench his jaw and tighten his grip on the abused instant noodles cup. A deep huff escapes from behind his balaclava, and he resumes his discreet surveillance as soon as the man saunters his merry way.

Simon watches as you throw a pack of biscuits into the cart, your body turned away from him, your back facing him while you lean over. His eyes land on your round, firm rear like a magnet drawn to the iron. He can almost see the way your muscles move under the jeans fabric—

His thoughts are rudely interrupted when an elderly woman approaches the same shelf, and he has to step into the next aisle and pretend to browse, stomach twisting as he loses visuals on you.

As the woman moves her squeaky cart on wheels down the lane, his eyes flicker nervously before he catches sight of you again, chest heaving with a sigh of relief as he sees you browsing the frozen goods section, and his fingers twitch around the plastic cup, itching to touch you, to grab your hips and grind himself against—he shakes his head with a low grunt, trying to rid himself of that thought. He's already painfully hard enough.

It’s wrong, Simon knows that. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t use his skills to basically stalk you for making a nice, yet throwaway remark in his direction, but he somehow can’t keep his eyes off your body, his gaze glued to your every move—until you obviously pick up on the surveillance.

You do notice him. He’s like a looming shadow sneaking after your own, and for a moment, you wonder if you should’ve just kept your mouth shut for once when you’d spotted him initially.

He’s built like a bloody tank, wearing a balaclava and matching gloves with a skeleton pattern. What the bloody hell were you thinking?

All bark, no bite. That’s what you were thinking, and Wonder if he’s as tough as he looks or if he crumbles like a fresh scone with a few buttery words—like many other “scary dog privilege” men before him.

Slowing your steps, you eventually come to a stop, heart thudding as you glance over your shoulder, only to see him a few feet away, staring right back at you in a way that’s as adorable as it is eerie.

Simon’s feet freeze on the spot, his gaze locking with yours across the freezer cabinets, eyes wide. He didn’t expect to be discovered so easily, and he stands there like a deer caught in the headlights of a Humvee with an RPG attached to it—that he hopes will shoot him on sight.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly under the fabric of the balaclava, his mind racing for an excuse, a reason, though he comes up with nothing. The seconds feel like hours as the two of you stare at each other, before he finally blurts out:

“I...” His voice is hoarse, a low grumble that betrays his own surprise.

Oh. You almost laugh out loud at the sight before you, though you manage to suppress it, lips pursing in amusement instead.

No bark, no bite, actually.

He looks like an awkward little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the secret candy drawer in the living room.

“Yes, you?” you ask teasingly, wanting him to continue, to stammer and try to come up with a proper yet easily punishable lie. Raising an eyebrow, you turn towards him fully, keeping one hand on the shopping cart while your other rests on the curve of your hip casually.

“Well?”

Simon’s brain short-circuits as he desperately tries to come up with a plausible excuse, but all his mind supplies is a loop of caught, caught, caught like a broken record while he merely stands there like a fish washed out on the shore. He clears his throat awkwardly and straightens up, attempting to look innocent.

“I... I was just... uh...” he stammers, his voice wavering as the words refuse to come out. He mentally curses his lack of social skills, the years of isolation making him stumble like some twonk.

“Just doing some shopping,” he eventually mutters gruffly, his eyes flitting away from your gaze for a moment before darting back, unable to resist another look. There’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment.

You nod slowly. “Doing some shopping,” you repeat, amusement glinting in your eyes as you glance down at the single cup of instant Ramen he’s still clutching in his hands like a lifebuoy. “Right.”

You notice how utterly still he is; no shuffling, no fidgeting, broad chest barely moving as he breathes, dark eyes flickering the slightest bit whenever your gaze catches his.

He’s a different breed of man, that one, you muse.

Clicking your tongue, you shift on your feet. “You call that shopping?” You nod your chin at his hands. “Like I said, you need to be fed a proper meal, love. Is your wife out of town or something?”

Simon bristles at your comment, his shoulders tensing as your words hit a nerve, a bit too close to home. He glances down at the cup of Ramen in his hands, feeling a mixture of shame and stubbornness.

The truth is that he’s so bloody touch–and attention-starved that your simple words, your simple presence, make him feel flustered, his frayed nerves now on edge.

“I don't have a wife,” he mutters, words edged with a hint of bitterness. He knows he’s being judged, but there’s a baser, hidden part of him that simply revels in the attention, in the fact that someone as classy and obviously put-together as you, has noticed him at all.

“And I can feed myself just fine.” He adds dryly, raising the cup defiantly as if to prove a point.

You swallow another pleased smile as he confirms what you've expected while the word brat burns on the tip of your tongue at this display of attitude.

Glancing back at your full shopping cart, you lick your lips briefly in thought, pondering and weighing the risks before looking back at him. He hasn’t moved an inch, simply keeps observing like you’re the odd ball here.

Pulling on the shopping cart, you slowly start walking backwards towards him, approaching like someone would a strange street dog.

“Tell you what,” you say as soon as you’re an appropriate distance away from him, and it’s then that you notice how tall and broad he truly this is up close. “If you help me carry these groceries to my car, I’ll cook you a proper dinner tonight.”

His mouth drops open, eyes wide and bewildered by your audacity. He simply stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, grappling with the unexpected situation. You’re trying to coax him with a treat like one would do with an animal to gain its trust, and Simon is furious about the tiny part inside his brain that’s thrashing to jump on this opportunity.

“You... You’re serious,” he finally manages to sputter, his brain struggling to process that you, that a woman like you, a stranger, is actually proposing this to someone like him.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes narrow in suspicion, though beneath the hardness of his expression, there’s a hint of curiosity, a hint of longing for a chance at this offered piece of normalcy.

Sensing his—understandable—apprehension, you give a small shrug in return, finally offering him a tentative yet genuine smile.

“Because you look like you could use it, love.”

You let your eyes roam once more, looking him up and down from boot to mask, heart giving a curious flutter as your gaze locks with his; tawny eyes so dark, you know you could get lost in them if he lets you in.

Then you reach into your purse slung over your shoulder and you notice how his broad shoulders tense and how his fingers flex as if he’s bracing himself for an attack.

As your hand disappears into your purse, Simon’s defensive instincts kick in automatically, his muscles coiling tightly in anticipation. His sharp senses on high alert, he blinks, slightly taken aback but not surprised by his own reaction, though he can’t help it; years of experience and survival training already hard-wired into his responses.

But he relaxes incrementally, when he sees you withdrawing your hand—now holding a purple ball pen and small note pad, and the sudden burst of adrenaline fades to a steady thrum in his veins as fast as it came.

“I...” he begins, but the words feel caught in his throat, his mind suddenly blank.

Covering his little slip-up with your own feigned nonchalance, you start scribbling away on the first blank page of your notepad before ripping it out and holding it out for him to take, thus offering a different treat—secretly hoping he’ll like this one.

“My name,” you explain, deciding that it might not be as self-explanatory as it would be for any other man you’ve previously met, “and my phone number.”

When he eventually takes the slip of paper with due care, his eyes keep flickering between your hand and face as if still expecting you to pull a gun on him, until you take a polite step backwards.

“Call or text me for that meal if you change your mind,” you add confidently.

Simon’s gaze follows your hand warily, taking the note from you with a slow, measured movement, his gloved fingers feeling uncharacteristically clumsy and uncoordinated as he grabs it. He stares at the slip of paper in his hand for a moment, brows furrowing behind his balaclava as he takes in the sight of your phone number and name written in neat, cursive handwriting, reading the words slowly in an almost mechanical manner, committing them to memory as a precaution.

His fingers twitch involuntarily, and for a wild, fleeting moment, he wants to raise the paper to his nose and inhale the faint scent of your perfume that clings onto the paper. And then you take a step backward, giving him space, and he takes an unconscious step forward, like a puppet on a string, not wanting to put that space between you again while his eyes stay glued to yours with a touch of desperation.

You’re leaving the ball in his corner and he doesn’t know how what to think, how to act.

As you adjust the straps of your purse on your shoulder, you drink in his subtle reaction with a mixture of sympathy and glee.

“Alright then?”

Simon watches in awe as you readjust your purse like it’s the most interesting action he’s ever seen, and when he opens his mouth to respond, his thoughts tumble over each other like leaves in a breeze. A simple yeah or a sure would’ve been the logical answers, but none of this is logical to him right now.

“You’re not worried,” he observes, the words nearly sounding accusatory, “about having a stranger over for dinner?”

He almost wants to call you daft, reckless; giving a man like him your number and name, offering your kindness up so easily. Can’t you tell what kind of man he is? Don’t you know what he can do with the intel you’ve already provided him with so willingly?

Simon wants to reach out and shake you, but his fingers are trembling and his cock is still throbbing, still semi-hard in his pants—and he can’t quite tell which is worse.

There’s a long pause between you as you regard his question with a light crease between your eyebrows, and you catch yourself wondering again what this poor man could’ve possibly been through for him to be this bloody suspicious.

From your experience, almost every other man would’ve jumped on this opportunity already, presented on a silver plate. You’ve been flirting with him since you spotted him entering the supermarket. However, you can only admit to yourself that his cautious reactions are merely heightening your curiosity and the urge to unravel this beast of a man completely.

“Most people start out as strangers,” you answer eventually, gauging his next reaction carefully, “and usually one takes the initiative to get to know the other if they’re interested, you know?” You flash him a disarming smile. “This is me taking that initiative here, mister.”

He takes a step forward, invading your personal space, and the height difference between you two becomes more painfully (arousingly) clear. Simon towers over you, his body vibrating with suppressed tension while he looks down at you with a stare that usually has his rookies quiver in their boots—not you, though.

“And what if I’m not interested?” he responds too bluntly and not as playful as he intended to, his voice lowered, nearly growling at you. He’s picked up on how other men talk to women at pubs, has eavesdropped and heard how Soap and Gaz talk to the birds they end up taking back to the barracks, and yet he can’t quite get his own tone right.

He certainly doesn’t like the fact that you’re making his heart race, that you’ve piqued his curiosity without even trying. It feels unfamiliar, dangerous, and somehow, he finds himself craving more of it in the same heartbeat.

Tilting your head owlishly, you regard him with a half-puzzled, half-amused look.

“Then I'll go on my merry way, love,” you reply with a breathy chuckle that obviously leaves him feeling even more lost judging how his eyes widen. “And then we move on after having a basic human interaction at a supermarket. Life’s beautiful, innit?”

Something about the way you talk, with the casual pet name, ‘love’, thrown in every second sentence, or the way your laugh makes his skin prickle in some foreign, exciting way, drives him mad with primal want and the unfamiliar urge to keep you here with him, keep you talking.

But he also feels like a damn fool in this moment, and on top of that, his face feels so hot under his balaclava, too. You’re not reacting the way he expects you to, not at all, and it’s throwing him off-guard.

He clears his throat again. “You’ll just... move on,” he repeats incredulously, like it pains him to say the words. “Just like that.”

You shrug, flashing another smile. “I mean... yes. What else is there to do? I’m not running after a man who’s not interested in me. I’m too old for games like that.”

Simon’s eyes narrow again. The thought of you giving up so easily, leaving, not even giving him a second thought—it pisses him off, for some reason, because it’s making him desperate. How the bloody hell does Garrick make it sound so easy and suave every time?

“How old are you?” The words burst out without him meaning to, his tone still gruff and defensive.

You snort softly. He’s so bratty, so rude, it’s almost endearing for a man looking like him, and it pokes your curiosity, causing the urge to take care of him to blossom even more hotly behind your ribcage as you drink up the tension in his body and fatigue clinging behind his wary, bottomless gaze.

“Old enough to know what I want, love.” It’s a curt response that has the desired effect judging by the way his jaw ticks under his odd mask. You smile again as you put the pen and notepad back into your purse, turning halfway around to your shopping cart to signal your departure.

“Anyway... my ice cream is melting, so I’ll be heading to the cashier. Thanks for the chat. You have a good day now.”

Just like that.

Simon is reeling internally as you prepare to leave, and he can’t help but admire the subtle power you wield with the way you carry yourself and the nonchalance you display so bloody effortlessly. Suddenly, he is torn between letting you go and the fierce need for you to not walk away. His chest tightens and his fingers twitch, and he suddenly feels like a child lost in this bloody supermarket, scared of being abandoned again.

However, he swallows the plea festering on the tip of his tongue, the words asking you to wait, stay, and talk more. No, Simon falls back, clutching the bloody Ramen cup in one hand as he stares after you while you simply move on like you said you would, as if you didn’t just throw him off balance completely with this whole interaction.

When his other hand balls into a tight fist, he hears the crumpling of paper, and when he glances down at his open palm, his heart nearly drops with relief.

You’ve given him your number. He’s never gotten a girl’s number in his life.

It was real. It is real. Everything that just happened is real, and he wasn’t simply daydreaming it up this time.

His fingers close around that scrap of paper like a life line, his mind racing once more with possibilities, the scenarios, the what-ifs.