#but this is what i meant like someone these

[xo100]

A summer to remember - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando, Y/N, and their daughter Isla enjoy a perfect summer vacation filled with love, beach fun, and yacht adventures.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2388

୨ৎ

It was a beautiful summer morning, and the sun was already casting its golden glow over the peaceful coastline. The soft sound of waves lapping against the shore could be heard through the open windows of the cozy villa where Lando Norris, his wife, and their one-year-old daughter, Isla, were spending their vacation. It was a much-needed break from Lando's hectic Formula 1 schedule, and he was determined to make the most of every second with his little family.

Inside the villa, the sweet scent of fresh pastries filled the air as Y/N was busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the three of them. Isla was sitting in her highchair, her big, curious eyes watching her mom move around, while her tiny hands held onto a small stuffed bear that she never seemed to let go of. Lando, fresh from a shower, entered the kitchen with a content smile, his heart swelling at the sight of his two favorite girls.

“Morning, love,” he murmured, stepping up behind Y/N and wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck. “You’re up early. Didn’t think we’d need to be up so soon on holiday.”

Y/N smiled, leaning back into him as she flipped a pancake. “Well, someone woke up hungry,” she said, glancing over at Isla, who was babbling happily to her bear. “Besides, it’s too beautiful outside to waste the day.”

Lando hummed in agreement, his chin resting on Y/N's shoulder as he watched her cook. “You’re right. What’s the plan today, then? What amazing adventure are we going on?”

Y/N turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I thought we could start with a beach day. Just us, some sand, and the ocean. Maybe build a sandcastle with Isla. She’s been dying to get her hands in the sand.”

Lando grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. He loved the thought of spending the day on the beach with his family, especially if it meant seeing Isla’s face light up with excitement. “That sounds perfect,” he said, stealing a quick kiss before letting her go. “But I think we should add something extra later. How about a yacht ride this afternoon? I’ve already got one booked for us.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. “A yacht? Seriously, Lando?”

“Of course,” he replied with a cocky smile, giving her a playful wink. “Figured we’d sail off into the sunset like in the movies. You know, champagne in hand, wind in our hair… or at least, your hair. Isla and I don’t have much of that,” he teased, running a hand through his slightly damp hair for emphasis.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re too much sometimes, Norris.”

Lando winked. “And you love it.”

Isla, hearing her dad’s voice, squealed excitedly, her little arms reaching out towards him. Lando’s expression softened instantly as he scooped her up from the highchair and spun her around, her giggles filling the kitchen. “There’s my girl!” he said, holding her close and pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “Ready for a fun day with Mum and Dad?”

Isla giggled in response, her tiny hand grabbing onto Lando’s shirt, holding on as if she never wanted to let go. Lando’s heart melted, as it did every time he looked at his daughter. She was the perfect mix of both him and Y/N—her sparkling eyes and infectious laughter were all her mother, while the little dimple in her cheek and the mischievous glint in her eye were pure Lando.

-

After breakfast, the three of them headed down to the beach, which was only a short walk from the villa. The sand was warm beneath their feet, and the ocean stretched out in front of them, glittering under the morning sun. It was the kind of picture-perfect day that made it hard to believe anything else existed beyond this little slice of paradise.

Lando carried Isla on his hip, holding her tiny hand as she stared wide-eyed at the ocean for the first time. Her mouth formed a little "o" of wonder as the gentle breeze tousled her soft hair. “Look at that, Isla,” Lando said, pointing towards the waves. “Isn’t it beautiful? Just like your mum.”

Y/N, who had been spreading out a blanket, glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Lando’s words. “Flatterer,” she teased, though her cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. No matter how long they’d been together, Lando always knew how to make her heart skip a beat.

Once everything was set up, Y/N and Lando took turns playing with Isla in the sand, helping her dig little holes and attempting to build a sandcastle that mostly ended up in a pile of mush, thanks to Isla’s enthusiastic hands. Lando pretended to be frustrated as Isla gleefully knocked over the little towers he was trying to make. “Isla, love, I’m trying to build a masterpiece here,” he said in mock seriousness, though his grin gave him away.

Isla just giggled, grabbing another handful of sand and letting it slip through her tiny fingers. Y/N watched them with a smile, her heart swelling with love. There was something so pure and beautiful about the way Lando interacted with their daughter. He was playful, patient, and so incredibly gentle with her, like she was the most precious thing in the world. And to him, she was. Both of them were.

-

After a few hours of playing in the sand and dipping their toes in the water, it was time for Isla’s nap. Y/N and Lando packed up their things and headed back to the villa, where Isla quickly fell asleep in her crib, her little face peaceful and content.

With their daughter sound asleep, Y/N and Lando had a rare moment of quiet together. They sat out on the terrace, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. Lando stretched out on the lounge chair next to her, his hand lazily tracing circles on her leg. “This is nice,” he murmured, his voice low and relaxed. “Just the two of us for a bit.”

Y/N smiled softly, leaning back in her chair as she gazed out at the ocean. “It is,” she agreed. “It’s nice to just… be. No distractions, no schedules. Just us.”

Lando turned his head to look at her, his eyes filled with that familiar mix of love and admiration that always made her stomach flutter. “You know,” he said quietly, his fingers gently brushing her skin, “I don’t think I tell you enough how much I love you. How much I appreciate everything you do for Isla and me.”

Y/N’s breath caught slightly at the sincerity in his voice. She turned her head to meet his gaze, her heart swelling with emotion. “Lando…”

“No, really,” he insisted, sitting up a little. “I don’t say it enough. You’re incredible, Y/N. The way you love our daughter, the way you take care of us… You make everything feel so effortless, and I just—I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away, smiling softly at him. “I love you too, Lando. More than you know.”

He leaned in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss that made her forget about everything else. In that moment, it was just the two of them, wrapped up in each other, the world fading away.

-

Later that afternoon, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, Lando, Y/N, and Isla boarded the yacht that Lando had arranged. It was a sleek, beautiful boat, and as they set off into the open water, the breeze ruffling their hair, it felt like something out of a dream.

Isla was fascinated by the gentle rocking of the boat, her little hands gripping the edge of the railing as she watched the water with wide eyes. Lando stood behind her, his hands on either side of hers, keeping her steady while whispering little words of encouragement. “Look at that, baby girl. Isn’t it amazing? Just like flying, huh?”

Y/N watched them from her seat, her heart swelling with affection for the two of them. There was something so undeniably sweet about seeing Lando with Isla. He was a natural father, always knowing how to make her smile, always there to comfort her when she was upset.

As the yacht sailed further out, Lando eventually scooped Isla up and carried her back to Y/N, sitting down next to her and cuddling Isla between them. The three of them sat together, watching the sun slowly sink into the horizon, casting a golden-orange glow over the water.

“This is perfect,” Y/N whispered, resting her head on Lando’s shoulder as she cradled Isla in her arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

Lando smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Me either,” he murmured. “This… this is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Y/N glanced up at him, her heart swelling at the love in his eyes. “You mean that?”

He looked down at her, his expression serious but filled with so much warmth. “I do. You and Isla… you’re my world, Y/N. Everything I do, it’s for you two. And I’ll never stop loving you, not for a second.”

Her breath caught at his words, and she leaned up to kiss him, slow and sweet.

The kiss lingered, sweet and unhurried, the weight of Lando’s words settling between them like the most beautiful promise. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling as the world seemed to pause for just a moment. Isla, nestled between them, was quietly playing with Lando’s fingers, completely content in the embrace of her parents.

“I love you, too,” Y/N whispered, her voice full of emotion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

Lando smiled, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. “I know, love,” he murmured. “I feel it every single day.”

They sat there for a long while, the boat gently swaying with the rhythm of the sea, as the last rays of sunlight danced on the horizon. Isla eventually dozed off in Y/N’s arms, her tiny body relaxing completely, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sound breaking the peaceful silence.

Lando looked down at his daughter, his heart nearly bursting at the sight. He reached out to lightly stroke her hair, his touch so gentle it was almost reverent. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” he said quietly, his voice filled with awe. “How did we get so lucky?”

Y/N smiled down at Isla, her heart swelling with love for the little girl in her arms. “We did get lucky,” she agreed softly. “She’s everything.”

Lando’s gaze shifted from Isla to Y/N, his expression softening even further. “You’re everything to me, you know that, right?”

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I think you’ve told me that about a hundred times today.”

“Well, I mean it. Every time,” he teased, leaning in to kiss her again. “You’re stuck with me, Norris, so I’m gonna remind you as often as I can.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Y/N whispered against his lips before kissing him back.

As the sun finally disappeared beyond the horizon, the sky fading into a soft twilight, they decided to head back to the villa. Lando took Isla from Y/N’s arms, cradling their sleeping daughter as they made their way back to the dock. The boat ride back was quiet, peaceful, the gentle hum of the engine and the lapping of the water lulling them into a contented silence.

-

When they reached the villa, Lando carefully carried Isla to her room, tucking her into bed with the same care and tenderness he always showed. Y/N stood in the doorway, watching him with a soft smile on her face, her heart full as she took in the sight of Lando, who had once been the carefree, fast-driving boy, now a devoted father and partner.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to Isla’s forehead before pulling the blanket up around her tiny body. He stood for a moment, just watching her sleep, his heart filled with a deep sense of contentment. Finally, he turned to Y/N, slipping his hand into hers as they quietly left the room, closing the door behind them.

Once back in their bedroom, Y/N flopped onto the bed with a happy sigh, stretching her arms above her head. Lando followed, lying down beside her and propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. “So,” he said, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “What’s the verdict? Best day ever?”

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her eyes sparkling with love and amusement. “I’d say it’s definitely up there,” she teased. “But tomorrow might just top it.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what do you have planned for tomorrow?”

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lando leaned down, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, “Whatever it is, as long as I’m with you and Isla, it’s already perfect.”

Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, full of the love and promise they’d built over the years. When they finally pulled apart, Y/N curled into Lando’s side, her head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped around her, holding her close.

“Thank you for today,” Y/N murmured, her eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. “It was perfect.”

Lando kissed the top of her head, his fingers gently running through her hair. “You don’t have to thank me, love. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. For you and Isla, I’d do anything.”

With that, they fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves outside their window lulling them to sleep. As Lando drifted off, his heart full and his arms wrapped around the woman he loved, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

And as the stars twinkled above, casting their soft light over the peaceful villa, one thing was certain: this summer, this moment, would be one they’d cherish forever.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! I’m currently writing part three of baking cookies! I hope to finish it soon and upload it soon!

[darkbluekies]

Cannot take what was never meant to leave

Yandere!king OC x fem!fairy!reader

Summary: Edmund walks out in the forest and finds something he never seen before: a tree fairy. Upon learning that he can't take her as long as her tree is there, he does the only thing he can think of.

Warnings: Edmund is a bit more insane than usual, reader is in a lot of pain, kidnapping, basically killing, use of an ax

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: this is HEAVILY inspired by Erutan's song "The Willow Maid"!! I have absolutely loved that song for ages, and after seeing PurestarMedia's music video of it on YouTube, I had to write something!! Edmund felt like the perfect fit for it!!

Summer is almost over. He can tell by a slight shift in the winds that colder times are approaching, even though barely any of the trees show any signs of autumn. He can't wait until he can bring out his thicker coat. He likes the colors of it much more.

Ten men he brought with him on his hunt for rabbits. They've decided to go into another part of the forest in hopes of finding anything.

Suddenly. A sound.

“Shh!” Edmund hushes and holds up a hand, signaling the others to stop.

He listens closely. It sounds like humming. It's a tune he has never heard before, but one that feels weirdly familiar — as if he has heard it in a dream or past life.

Quietly, they follow the sound until they reach a field full of small, white flowers. In the middle of the white field stands a tree with dark leaves. A scene taken straight out of one of the paintings hanging on the castle walls. Edmund notices someone sitting by the foot of the tree, resting among the roots. A woman?

The group of men creep closer. The woman is lying on the tree roots, leaning her head against the tree trunk, having a root under her knees for support. She's dressed in a long, white gown reminding Edmund of the small flowers. On her head rests a flower crown made of the very flowers. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth hums. 

A fairy.

One of Edmund’s men steps onto a branch on the floor, which snaps in half and pulls the fairy out of her thoughts. Her eyes snap open, revealing them to be deep and dark — and full of fear. She shoots up from her root and stumbles backwards, hiding behind her tree.

“Who are you?” she asks quickly. “What do you want?”

“You are a fairy”, Edmund says, still in disbelief.

“Yes … what do you want?”

“Have you seen any rabbits around here?”

She peeks out from behind the tree.

“What do you want them?” she asks and seems to notice the rifles hanging over their shoulders. “I'm not assisting you in killing harmless creatures.”

Edmund meets her dark eyes. They're hypnotic.

“You humans are despicable sometimes”, she says. “Killing innocent creatures who haven't done anything to you.”

“If I wouldn't, someone else would — man or animal.”

“I want you to leave.”

“Yeah, we should move on. We have rabbits to hunt.”

He can feel her eyes burn through his back as he walks back over the field of white flowers. He hopes that she will watch him until he disappears into the forest.

“Did you have a good hunt, your majesty?” his secretary asks as Edmund and his ten men come back to the castle.

“Caught a few rabbits”, he answers and smiles, thinking of the memory. “We encountered a fairy.”

They start to walk inside. 

“A fairy?” the secretary asks and holds the door into the castle open for the young king.

“What do you know about fairies?” Edmund asks. 

They walk down the large hall.

“I know that, like humans, there are different types of fairies”, the secretary says. “You found her in the woods, you said?”

Edmund nods. 

“She’s probably a tree fairy”, the secretary continues. 

“Yeah, she was sitting by a tree … almost like it was holding her”, Edmund says, furrowing his dark brows as he thinks about it. 

He holds out his arms as if he was carrying a woman, imagining her knees bending over his right arm and her back supported by his left … her head resting on his shoulder — like she had done to the tree bark. 

They walk into Edmund’s office, closing the door behind them. 

“What do you know about tree fairies?” Edmund asks and throws himself in his chair. 

“I know that they live in the woods and that they are connected to a particular tree. They feed off of sap from the tree and flower nectar — and if their tree bears fruit they eat that too.”

“What happens if they eat something else? Like meat? Or potatoes?”

“I don’t know, your majesty.”

“Would it kill them, do you think?”

“Perhaps. What I do know kills a tree fairy is killing their tree.”

Edmund looks up at him. “What?” 

“Their life source is connected to their tree. They live as long as their tree does.”

“So you’re saying that a fairy can become hundreds of years? Thousands even?”

“Could be.”

“Interesting.” He sighs and throws his head back. “You should have seen that thing. Before she noticed us she looked so … peaceful. She was resting and humming a tune. When she realized that we were there she flew up and hid behind her tree. All of that seemed so young and naive. Her tree wasn’t that large either. I think I’ve found myself a young fairy.”

“The fairy seems to interest you.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet a fairy. I didn’t believe that they actually existed. But now, I’ve found one. I think that I’m going to make her my wife.”

The next day, he returns with his ten men and his secretary, dressed in his autumn coat. On the way to the glade, Edmund picks a few flowers with the biggest nectars he can find, hoping that they will be a good enough gift. He is going to ask her to marry him. 

She is walking around the white flowers, picking up a few and putting them in her flower crown. She looks up as they come. This time she doesn’t look as startled, but there’s something wary in her eyes. 

She’s beautiful and delicate, there’s no denying. Edmund needs her. Every fiber of his body needs her. She needs to be his wife, to be the mother to his children. He refuses to leave without her. 

“What brings you back?” she asks as Edmund gets close enough, but doesn’t sound like she wants to know. 

He can tell that she wants to get back to her tree. She gives it quick glimpses and takes small steps back towards it. 

Edmund holds out the flowers towards her. She hesitates before taking them out of his hand. Her fingertips barely graces his skin. Her touch is humanlike, kind and delicate. 

“Thank you”, she says and smells them softly. 

He smiles. He wants nothing more than to hug her, to hold what belongs to him in his arms, but he has to ask the question first.

“I want you to marry me”, Edmund says. 

The fairy drops the flowers in shock. They disappear underneath the small, white ones. Edmund furrows his brows.

“Marry you?” the fairy repeats, shocked. “How could I possibly-? No, no, I shall not.”

Edmund stares at her, eyes darkening, unable to understand how anyone could turn down his proposal. Women would travel far and wide to hear those words come from his mouth, and this fairy — who does she think she is — doesn’t even think twice before rejecting him. It should crush him, but instead it has the opposite effect. He will not leave without his fairy. 

He looks over his shoulder, at his ten men. “Seize her.”

Just as the ten men are about to grab the fleeing girl, his secretary grabs his shoulder. 

“Your majesty, don’t”, he says quickly. “That won’t be possible. She can’t leave the glade.”

“What do you mean?” Edmund scoffs.

“She’s connected to that tree.” He nods towards the tree in the middle of the field. “She can’t leave it.”

Edmund glares at the tree. That damn tree. The woman runs through the flowers towards her tree, hugging it tightly. Edmund finds it humorous how she thinks a simple tree could protect her. He could do it a hundred times better, will do it a hundred times better. 

He sees how she sinks down by the tree, huddled up by the tree bark, crying. Soon, she will search for comfort in him, not a damn tree. 

“We can’t take her”, the secretary says. “I don’t know what would happen if we tried, but as long as that tree is there, we can’t remove her.”

Edmund doesn’t answer as he walks back into the forest. The ten men follow him. His secretary keeps a distance. Edmund feels like he could explode with anger. He had pictured himself leaving the forest with his new fiance hand in hand. But he will not give up. He will get his fairy. 

He returns a third time the next day. This time he’s by himself … and this time, he’s brought an ax. Determined to take her with him. She will be his wife. This time, he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. He will not walk away empty handed. The thought consumes him as he marches through the forest, towards the glade. 

He can see her lying in the same spot he had seen her the first time. This time, she’s not humming. She opens her eyes as he gets nearer and jumps to her feet as her eyes fall on the sharp edge of the ax. 

“No!” she screams in pure panic. “No, what are you doing?! Don’t!”

Edmund lifts his hands and lands a blow on the bark, cutting away a piece. To his right, the fairy screams in agonizing pain and clutches her heart. He continues to hit the tree. The woman continues to scream. She cries in pain. 

It takes longer than he expects. He takes his eyes off the deep cut in the tree and turns them towards her. She’s lying between the roots, curled up with her hands pressed against her heart, crying and screaming. 

“Please stop!” she screams and sobs so that her entire body trembles. “Y-You’ll kill me! Please s-stop, please! I’m begging y-you!”

If he continues to hit the tree, she will die. 

Edmund will have to bring a piece of the tree with him and replant it in his castle’s garden so that it doesn’t die — so that she doesn’t die. He continues to chop. She continues to scream, cry and plead for him to stop. 

A loud creaking echoes through the air. He watches as the tree bends in half and falls. The fairy stumbles upon weak legs and hugs her fallen tree, sobbing. 

With the ax, Edmund manages to dig up root systems of the tree. He holds it in his left hand and grabs the fairy’s wrist tightly with his right. He yanks her up on her feet. 

“You belong to me now”, he says. 

She only sobs for an answer. She tries reaching out for her tree, but Edmund pulls her with him. She stumbles. He drags her into the forest. 

“Please …”, she sobs. “Please …”

He doesn’t know what she begs for. The tree is fallen, he can’t undo what he has done. 

“Please, I’m in so much pain”, she pants. 

He doesn’t listen, doesn’t have time for it. He has to get her to the castle, where he can lock her in, so that she can’t escape out to the forest again. 

He can feel her collapse. Edmund gasps and watches her lie lifeless on the ground. He shoves the tree roots in his pocket and hurries to check her pulse. She’s still living, for now. Edmund stresses to pick her up. Her limp body rests in his arms as he runs out of the forest, towards the castle. 

He runs into the castle yard, into the hallways and out to the garden. He lays the fairy down on the grass and hurried to dig a hole with his hands. Oh, how he hates the feeling of dirt under his nails. He can’t think about that now. 

He places the root in the hole and covers it with the soil. Edmund runs over to the fountain, cups his hands and fills it with water. He runs back and forth until enough water has been poured over it. He feels for a pulse on the fairy’s neck. There’s still a faint pulsation underneath his fingers. He removes his coat and places it on the ground beside the tree root before lifting the fairy onto it. He caresses her face. 

“You actually got her.”

He looks over his shoulder at his secretary. He stands there, looking at them in disbelief and horror. 

“Is she dead?” he asks. 

“No, not yet”, Edmund replies  breathlessly. “I brought a piece of the tree here and I have replanted it. She should survive. But we need flowers — lots of flowers. And anything else a fairy might eat. We need to nurture her back to life.”

“I’ll prepare some honey water, I think that should be drinkable.”

Edmund sits by the fairy, waiting patiently. 

Hours go by. She doesn’t move. Barely breathing. Edmund wonders if he she has fallen into some kind of limbo, where the tree is barely alive, and so is she. If the tree doesn’t survive, neither will she. He has to nurture both. 

He feeds the tree water and nutrient dense soil and tries to pour droplets of honey water into the fairy’s mouth. Sometimes she responds by swallowing softly, and sometimes let it drip out of her mouth. 

Hours turn to days. Days to weeks. As the tree slowly grows roots in Edmund’s soil and become stronger, so does the fairy. Edmund doubts that she will ever become as strong as she was before. The tree will never be in its full glory again, and neither will she. She can’t walk, her body is too weak to move more than a few minutes. He lets her rest by her short stub. When he can’t stay with her, he watches from afar, from one of the windows. She’s always curled up, hugging her stomach as if she’s got cramps. The poor thing never smiles anymore. 

He holds a glass of warm honey water in his hands as he walks out to the petty excuse of a tree. It'll take years to become as big as it originally was, but it will never be the original tree.

“Hi”, Edmund says softly and sits down beside the fairy, holding the cup to her dry lips.

She doesn't seem to care what she gets fed anymore. Maybe she hopes that it will kill her.

In a sense, Edmund has killed the fairy.

She drinks slowly.

“I don't know what to feed you when winter comes”, he says. “I have harvested a lot of nectar and sap, but I don't know how long that will be good for.”

A tear runs down her cheek. Edmund wipes it carefully.

“My fairy, don't worry”, he whispers reassuringly. “I will figure it out.”

He wishes that she could respond, but he hasn't heard her voice since that day she screams in pain — when he killed her.

He stands up, gives her forehead one last kiss before walking back inside. In the beginning, he used to have guards watch over the garden to make sure that she wouldn't run off, but he realized that as long as that tree is there, she isn't going anywhere.

[hermetiqa]

What will your future spouse's friends think of you?

Reminder: it doesn't matter if you saw this reading a day or a week or a month or a year after posting this. My readings are timeless. You'll see this when you're meant to see this and receive your message.

Close your eyes and take a deep breath before picking a pile. If you feel drawn to more than one pile, it's alright, you may take the piles that you're drawn to. What's important is to take it how it resonates and leave what doesn't.

PAID READINGS | TIP JAR | FEEDBACK | MASTERLIST

NOTE: Please feel free to give me a feedback on my asks about the reading! I would highly appreciate it and it'll be a huge help for me to improve as a reader.

PILE 1

Hello, Pile 1! I'm seeing that your future spouse's friends will think of you as someone who's very hardworking and career-oriented. I can see that you have some strong masculine energy here. You could have fire and air signs in your chart, I'm hearing Aries, Leo, and Libra mostly. I can also see that they'll think of you as someone who's very changed your future spouse. It's like your future spouse is someone who likes to play games and never ever became serious in relationships, but that changed because of you. And because of this, your future spouse's friends are scared that you might be the one playing the game now (this is when you're still dating/in a relationship, basically not yet married). They'll think of you as someone who's untrustworthy, it's like they can never trust you with something because you might snitch on them or betray them in some way. Basically, I don't see that they'll like you much at first. Despite their admiration for your great qualities especially when it comes to your independence and goals in life, they're scared that you might hurt your future spouse (when you're still dating) and not hesitate to leave them anytime when it's not working out, and they know that your future spouse will never get over you because again, this will be the first time that they'll get serious in a relationship. But after a while and when you're married, your future spouse's friends will eventually warm up to you and like you, and they'll start to be friends with you and realize that they're wrong about you all along.

PILE 2

Hello, Pile 2! So I'm seeing that your future spouse's friends will think of you as someone who's very has good judgement in almost everything. You know how to see things in different perspectives at the same time, you're almost never biased in anything even in difficult situations. I can see that you have the tendency to make difficult situations often, but you still make the right decision most of the time (if not all). They have a lot of admiration for you and they look up to you. They see you as a great person, even a role model for the younger ones. They'll think you have a lot of good things in the future with your future spouse. You'll have a wonderful future ahead of you together. There might be times that you need some time alone, but you still manage to socialize. Your future spouse's friends will see you as someone who's very friendly and charming. You charm a lot of people. You're also very smart for them and you know a lot of things. You have a wide knowledge when it comes to information, especially social issues and/or anything related to business. I feel like some of your future spouse's friends will even come to you for some advice because they see you as a really matured person who can handle everything. They look up to you and they think you're such a lover person. It's like you care for everyone and you take good care of everyone as much as you can, especially the ones who need it. 01:10 on the clock. Do I need to say more? They'll like you sooo much. I'm happy for you, Pile 2!

PILE 3

Hello, Pile 3! I feel like your future spouse's friends will think of you as someone who's very competitive and likes to argue about anything. You're quite stubborn in their eyes and they don't want to be in a conflict with you ever. They know they'll never win against you and you'll defend yourself and stand on your stance at all times. You always find your way around things and despite their admiration for this trait of yours, they also get annoyed by it. It's quite too much for them because it reaches to the point that you upset or hurt them without realizing it, whether intentionally or unintentionally, though it's mostly the latter part. You're good at communicating but you reallh have the tendency to be stubborn. If something doesn't make sense to you, you want them to make it make sense. Otherwise, you'll set it aside and forget about it later. You have this trait that you want honesty and the truth all the time. You want justice for everything. If someone does you dirty, you'll make sure that they'll pay. And your future spouse's friends see and know that, which is why they do their best not to upset you in any way. They don't want to be in a conflict with you because you have the tendency to be in a conflict with people and this is something you're not scared of. Your future spouse's friends also see you as someone witty but at the same time, has the tendency to be impulsive most of the time. You tend to let your emotions lead and control you, not the other way around. Your future spouse's friends like you, but not on a deeper level.

It's feels so good to be back! I haven't done any readings for a while because I got reallyyyy busy. But anyway, I hope this reading helps! If you like it, feel free to check my paid readings.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

What does Stan's and Ford's opinion on hickeys or love biting?

A/n: Hehehe i love this

•Stanley Pines•

Absolutely loves it, this man loves to mark you, loves to mark your body. Stan doesn't care if anyone see's the little love bites that litter your skin. His heart races a little bit faster when the marks on your skin peak through the shirt's or anything else that shows off your neck.

Favorite places to mark you?

Neck-Stan is possessive. He likes knowing that you picked him out of everyone.

Wrists-Soft kisses, small bites. Just barely visible but he know's they are there.

Inner thigh- whenever you're intimate, whenever the man is eating you out he loves to leave marks on your inner thigh. Sucking and biting the skin.

Stan is big on love bites and marking you.

•Stanford Pines•

While Ford loves to mark you, he likes to do it in less obvious spots. Don't get him wrong this man is possessive, even more so than Stan but he likes to keep that to himself. He likes knowing that he is the one marking you. He is the one that makes you cry out his name.

Ford wouldn't hesitate to pull you in for a kiss around some assholes but those little marks, those little love bites are meant for him.

Favorite place to mark you?

Inner thigh-this man cannot get enough of it. He loves marking your thighs.

Inner wrist- just for him, only for his eyes but he can't help but get an ego boost if someone see's it.

Breasts- This has to be his favorite part to mark you. God's you look so good, the marks barely peaking out through your clothes.

[hongjoongspoetry]

Baby, Love Me Lights Out | Choi San

❤️ Summary: San comes home after filming content for the Wanteez series. He's drunk and loud, but you can't get mad he woke you up at 2 AM on a work night when his silliness makes up for it.

❤️ Pairing(s): idol!San x GN!Reader

❤️ Genres/Tropes: idol AU, tooth rotting fluff, established relationship

❤️ Warnings/Tags: no use of (Y/N), gender neutral reader, san is drunk, petnames (love, baby, darling, sannie), not beta read

❤️ Wordcount: 1.0 k

❤️ Author's Note: I had to get this one out of my system. My Yunho zombie apocalypse oneshot is like 90% done, but I needed a lil pause from all the angst and BOOM this was created. I present drunk and romantic Sannie!

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form.

AO3 Masterlist Click on me!

San insisted on being dropped off at your door instead of returning to the dorm with Mingi and Seonghwa. Their manager was torn on what to do, but with enough drunken encouragement of Seonghwa slurring about young love and San being love-sick, he swerved right onto your street and helped the idol out of the car. If there was someone San could always rely on, it’d be his Seonghwa-hyung. It was decided, he was going to give him a massive hug when they’d see each other again.

The promise was forgotten the second San succeeded in unlocking your apartment (after many failed attempts) with the spare key you gifted him. It was by some miracle San refrained from shouting out his usual ‘Darling I’m home’ and just quietly exchanged his shoes for the slippers assigned to him specifically. The darkness swallowed him whole, but he had no trouble navigating to your bedroom.

The sight of your sleeping figure tucked beneath the covers set off an explosion of warmth in his chest. His face hurt from cheesing too much, but he couldn’t help himself. You looked so  cute and cuddly, like a kitten passed out from a very exciting day of discovering new things. As much as he wanted to pepper you with kisses, trap you in his arms and not let go until you freed yourself from his death grip (much to his dismay), San knew it would wake you up. San may be a lightweight, but he was a self conscious lightweight. You had work in the morning and he’d hate for you to lose sleep over his selfish need for some cuddles.

He granted himself one light peck to the top of your head and ventured back into the living room. The couch would suffice for the night. The sound of rustling sheets accompanied by your hoarse voice stopped him before he could cross the threshold. 

“Sannie?”

Said man hummed in reply and leaned against the doorway. His eyes adjusted to the dark enough to make out you sitting up with the sheet pooling around your waist, hair slightly messy and sleep adorning your eyes.

“When did you get home, baby?”

“Some minutes ago,” he slurred with the brightest grin you had ever seen.

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Mhm, need to wash up first.”

“Okay,” You yawned. “Do that baby then let’s cuddle. I’ve missed you.” You laid back down in the comfort of your bed and closed your eyes with the intent to just rest them until San was done.

“Missed you too,” San said to himself as he stumbled into the bathroom.

The minutes ticked away and there was still no drunk San in your bed. You knew your boyfriend like the back of your hand. San would never pass up on a cuddle session, whether it be a two second long kiss or being wrapped up in each other’s embrace for hours, he’d be there. It didn’t take a genius for you to figure out something was wrong when the clock on your nightstand showed twenty past two and San was still not beside you. The lack of noise out in the hall added to your suspicion. It was seldom that a drunk man was silent. 

With the quilt wrapped around your shoulders and each foot tucked in your bunny slippers, you went to check on San. You flicked the light switch and lo and behold, your boyfriend laying flat on his back with each limb stretched out akin to a starfish and a pillow slapped on his stomach. He quickly threw an arm over his eyes and hissed from the sudden brightness.

“Sannie? Love? What are you doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“I see that, but don’t you wanna sleep in the bed?”

“I am in bed.”

If it weren’t for the fatigue tugging at your eyelids you’d be hunched over from laughing too hard.  

“Love,” you started, “that’s the living room floor.”

“‘M comfortable,” he insisted and waved his other hand, urging you to let the darkness back out.

“Are you sure? Your back is going to hurt tomorrow and you still have practice for your comeback.”

“I promise, darling. Lights off, please.”

How could you deny him anything when he spoke in that honey smooth voice with his lips jutted out and one arm coming around the pillow he proclaimed as his cuddle buddy?

A few moments later, when the moon was at its highest point in the sky and the streets finally decided to call it a night, a loud noise of something dropping against the floor washed over you like ice cold water. The speed you leaped from the bed would've made long jump athletes fear for their position. The frantic shout of your lover’s name erupted before you could reach the door. Horrid thoughts plagued your mind and it worked over time to create scenarios that could have him nursing an injury. Everything from falling and cracking open his head to dropping something heavy on his feet. 

Ripping open your bedroom door, you relaxed to see him unscathed and in the same condition you left him; alive and breathing. However, the accommodation was entirely different and you understood where that loud thunk came from. San was no longer laying on the floor, no. He had somehow managed to open one of your old suitcases and shuffled inside it with his previously worn t-shirt used as a blanket.

Breathing out in relief you retrieved your phone from your nightstand and snapped a couple photos of his unconscious form folded into the bag.

“Sannie?”

“Lights off!” He whined and pulled the shirt over his face.

“Love, no. Come on. Let’s get to bed.” 

You gently took the fabric from him and slipped your hand into his, weaving your fingers together and giving it a gentle tug.

“Wanna sleep here~”

Despite his complaint, he listened to you and for the third time that night, you were back in bed but with your lovely boyfriend to keep you company. The trail of kisses you pressed on his neck, cheeks and nose were apologies for your future actions. The photos captured in your camera roll would serve their purpose sooner or later, until then you’d remind him of your never ending love and hope it would suffice as a good enough apology (it would, he could never be angry with you).

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2024 - All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: omegaverse, size difference, reader's second gender is omega, so there are mentions of pregnancy, somewhat subjugating omega politics, old-fashioned high-class politics of sorts

♡ prequel to this

♡ GN reader

His eyes are garnet and slim—you can’t make up your mind if they’re judgemental or just assessing. Either would be allowed, of course. The point of the date is for him to decide if you’re sufficient or not.

And yet, you’re the one taking him in. His main is ashen blonde, boyishly spikey and wild—not fine-kempt and slick like you’d pictured. He didn’t have any grey hair either, or stubble, or wrinkles. Though he’s still much bigger and burlier than they are, he can’t be any older than the eldest males back at the institution.

He’s obviously an Alpha, and still, it’s so odd.

“You’re young,” you end up saying.

His nose scrunches. “No younger than you.”

It must have sounded accusatory, even when you only meant to point it out for yourself. You probably ought to have said it silently, inside yourself, and not out loud like you did.

And so you apologize, “I’m sorry, I was—I was just expecting someone older…” You try smiling, but the thought of him actually having been older makes your throat tight, and you swallow thickly instead. “Much older.”

He sighs, looks off to the side instead of at you. His brows tighten—you probably want someone who’s already got a house and a car and a boat on a lake, not to mention a good salary and not the intern pay he’ll be living off of for at least the next year or so. His foot taps beneath the table. You feel it in the floorboards. “You disappointed or somethin’?” he grumbles through grit teeth and a slim frown.

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head, blruting, “No!” You even jump out of your chair, both hands slamming flat on the table, making the napkin-wrapped cutlery clatter within their confines. 

Quickly, but too late, you realize you’re causing a scene. Cheeks burning, you look around before settling down again—you’re not making a very good first impression so far.

You take a breath, confessing, “I mean, I’m happy,” You place your hands in your lap and then start fiddling with them. “This way, we can be together for a long time…” Your voice is breathy as you let out a somewhat apologetic sigh, smiling some. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you don’t dare look up to gauge his expression.

You end up laughing nervously in the silence, feeling the joke arise before you're able to dispel it. “I was afraid I was gonna have to be your nurse soon.”

His foot stops tapping. Then he scoffs.

You perk up again, fumbling over your newest mistake, already apologizing a second time so far, “I’m sorry, that was rude. You’re just not what I was expecting—I’m a little caught off guard, is all.”

He huffs, then grins. “That’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize.”

You both sit in silence after that. You pick your nails more. All the questions you’ve prepared are useless given his age—he doesn’t have an answer to how many kids he wants from you. Probably. It somehow feels strange asking him when he isn’t in his thirties or forties or early fifties.

You look at him in askance. It really is odd.

“You can ask—if you’re curious,” he sanctions.

You really want to, but you’ve made enough mistakes already. Your teachers wouldn’t be proud if they witnessed you acting so childish and not as the proper little lady they’ve trained you to be. 

“No, I shouldn’t.” You shake your head and look down at your lap.

“Come on, you don’t gotta worry about being rude with me,” he insists.

You bite your lip, feeling fidgety in your chair, peering up at him. “You sure?”

“Hit me.” 

The question leaps from your tongue before you have the mind to regret it. “How can you afford this?”

He leans back in his chair. “I can’t—not yet. My folks are paying.”

You hum—that makes more sense. “They must be nice,” you say.

“They try,” he agrees.

There’s a silence again. You don’t have anything appropriate to ask. You were more prepared to talk when spoken to, to answer his questions about your health and hobbies, all silly things that make you cute and likable, but given he’s your age, none of it seems any interesting. It seems he doesn’t have much to ask, either.

“I was unsure about this,” he declares after a while. “To be honest with you, it was all my mom’s idea. I didn’t ask for it…” With a pause, he picks up the menu that had been lying undisturbed in wait for his decision. “But, she tends to be right about most things. So, I think I’ll take the offer this once.”

He lets you decide without ordering for you. Neither of you decide to drink, even though you’re both old enough. The conversation is awkward, but you giggle a couple of times and he smirks in turn. You hadn’t anticipated it—this feeling. You’d anticipated the nerves and the tension—but not this other thing, this sweet fluttering feeling blossoming in your belly, flirty and fizzy. Is this what they call butterflies?

He’s left asking himself the same question.

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[a-b-riddle]

check tags for warnings

In the mood to write angst. Imagine you’re the conscientious observer who accidentally sees how your team talks about you behind your back.

Your morals were… complicated. You didn’t believe in killing anyone. Your faith told you that killing someone is wrong and even if it’s to save your life, handling a gun is something that doesn’t sit well with you. You’ve been to gun ranges. Mandatory for your position in the military that you have basic fire arm knowledge. But having something in your hands that could so easily take a life made you uneasy.

You were pescatarian, but tried to limit meat. Cried anytime you saw chickens in those trucks heading toward their demise. You fed stray cats around your house back home. You tried to be kind and cherished life in all most of its forms. The exception being garlic butter shrimp that was too good to give up and anytime of bug resembling a cock roach. And yes, palmetto bugs were still cock roaches.

And wasps.

Fuck wasps.

At the same time, you were pro-choice. Initially, you were pro-choice for other women, but you didn’t think you would have the strength to get an abortion. It wasn’t until you were holding your friend’s hand as she got her D&C that your views on your own body autonomy changed. It didn’t have to be medical to be necessary.

But you still refused to hold a weapon. Which is why even though you were a very talented medic, you were always judged for not carrying any sort of defense while in the field.

But no one on base would dare say anything to you about it. At least not to your face…

You got stuck instructing a training seminar when your phone continued to buzz in your back pocket. But even with the consistent messages, you didn’t falter by showing the newest members how to give basic first aid until health could arrive.

Nearly two hours later, you finally fish your phone out to see what’s going on.

Dozens of text messages in a group chat between you, Captain Price, Johnny, Kyle and Simon. You had gotten close to them over the last few months. You were halfway through your contract and were already dreading leaving knowing they were staying behind until the job is done.

You open it, your phone taking you to the first unread message.

Cpt.: Hows the arm healing up?

Soap: Fine. Hen did a good job of keeping the sutures nice and even. Should barely scar.

Gaz: Wouldn’t have a scar if she just fucking carried.

Soap: You think she honestly would even know what to do with a gun if you gave her one Garrick 😂

Ghost: Still think she’s a liability. Someone who won’t raise arms against an enemy isn’t meant to be on the team.

Cpt: Already tried. Laswell says we need the numbers. As long as she does her job there’s nothing I can do. We can’t be down a medic and it’s either her or nothing.

You shook as you continued reading the conversation.

Liability. Coward. It went on and on about how weak you were. Why couldn’t you just carry a small pistol instead of expecting everyone else to keep you safe.

It then switched to your personality. No one should be that happy. Annoying. A yapper. Couldn’t get a word in most of the time.

On and on they went until you realized they spoke so freely because they didn’t realize you were in this group chat. What did they say when you weren’t around?

You felt like a fool having extending more than just trying to be a civil coworker, but a friend. Taking on tasks that weren’t your responsibility simply to help them.

Getting a floral arrangement delivered for Johnny’s sister after she had given birth. Talking on the phone to the nursing home where Price’s mother resided trying to sort out her insurance. Taking priority Kyle when he was injured after falling out of a plane (both times) over your other patients. And always having the electric kettled going in the morning so Simon could have his tea without waiting too long.

You were helpful. Just because you had one boundary didn’t mean their words held any merit. But still you couldn’t help the deep feeling of just… betrayal? Rejection? You weren’t sure there was a word fitting enough to sum up how utterly stupid you felt.

Maybe they were right. This wasn’t a civilian setting. This wasn’t just life and death for your patients, but for you. You were out in the field with no form of protection except from others.

You weren’t abandoning your morals. You couldn’t. Not when every fiber of your being told you to remain steadfast. There was only one solution.

You didn’t have much to pack. Uniform was issued to you. Your stethoscope and some other tools came out of your own pocket. Your laptop, phone, charges. You packed all your lounging clothes and miraculously everything fit into a military duffle. Which wasn’t actually anything impressive given how big those things are.

You were confident in your decision even if it made you feel like a failure.

As you stood outside the office door you returned back to the group chat. One by one you proceeded to block all of them. You knew when you left the group they would know that the notification would pop up and they either wouldn’t give a shit that you finally knew what the actually thought of you or they tried messaging you to make amends to cover their asses. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Once you had blocked the last one, you left and knocked on the door that you had been idling in front of. A faint ‘come in’ was granted before you walked through.

“Hey, Kate.” You greeted. “Can we talk?”

[mssalo]

safety - Part: Il

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Breaking and entering, Scent kink, Voyeurism, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of military past, Manipulation, Power dynamics, Male masturbation, Joel, still, needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

9k. enjoy.

Part I Part III

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel found out she was working at the supply store by accident.

He hadn’t planned on seeing her again. After that first encounter, he convinced himself he’d walk away.

She wasn’t his problem.

He couldn’t get wrapped up in someone like her—someone who had no idea how dangerous the world really was.

But then, on one of his routine stops for supplies, he spotted her behind the counter.

She hadn’t seen him

At first, he’d assumed she was just a customer again, passing through, but when she’d ducked behind the register, pulling out receipts, it hit him.

She worked there now.

She hadn’t told him that before, hadn’t mentioned anything about it, and yet here she was, talking to customers, rearranging gear, moving around the store like it was something she’d been doing forever.

And for some reason, that made something inside him tighten.

She was here all the time. Regular hours, regular shifts.

Easy to find.

That should’ve made him feel nothing. But it didn’t.

That’s so fuckin’ dangerous.

From that point on, whenever he stopped by the store, he made sure to keep his distance.

He’d walk in, grab what he needed, and leave before she noticed him.

There was something about seeing her there—watching her smile and chat with customers—that unnerved him in a way he couldn’t explain.

She didn’t fit in with the world he knew.

She was too soft, too bright. She belonged somewhere safe, not in a place like this.

Yet, he found himself coming back.

Over and over.

Each time, he told himself it was the last time.

That he’d stop, that he didn’t need to see her again.

But every time he came back, she was there—talking to someone, laughing at some joke, her voice floating through the air like a song he couldn’t get out of his head.

Joel tried to ignore it.

Tried to ignore her.

But she was like a goddamn magnet, pulling him back in without even realizing it.

And then, one day, she spotted him.

“Joel!” she called, her voice bright and cheerful, as if they were old friends.

He froze, his hand tightening around the bag of supplies he’d grabbed.

He’d been so close to slipping out unnoticed, but now she was looking at him, smiling that same smile that made his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn and meet her gaze.

She was standing behind the counter, hands resting on the edge, her eyes lighting up as she looked at him.

These damn pretty eyes.

“I didn’t know you came here so often,” she said, her tone playful.

“What’s bringing you back this time?”

Joel grunted, trying to come up with a quick excuse. “Needed more supplies. That’s all.”

She didn’t seem to notice the coldness in his voice, just kept smiling at him like he hadn’t been avoiding her for days.

“You always seem so prepared,” she said with a small laugh. “I bet you could survive out there for weeks with all the stuff you buy.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. Survive? 

She had no idea what that meant.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes flicking to the side as if she wasn’t sure what to say next.

But then she turned back to him, her expression softening again.

“You know, I’ve been learning more about the gear here,” she said, leaning forward a bit. “I could help you with recommendations if you ever need it.”

Joel stared at her, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Why was she still talking to him? Why was she being so damn nice?

“I’m good,” he said, his voice gruff.

But she didn’t stop.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes bright with curiosity. “You sure? I’ve been reading up on it a lot. Could probably surprise you with what I know.”

You shouldn’t trust me, Joel thought, his mind racing. 

Why are you still smiling at me?

He grunted again, shifting on his feet, his gaze flicking to the door.

He needed to leave. Now.

“Well,” she said, that same smile tugging at her lips, “if you ever need anything, just let me know. I’m here most days now.”

Too much information. 

Joel’s gut clenched. She shouldn’t be telling him this—telling anyone this. Didn’t she know how dangerous it was to be so open, so trusting?

“You shouldn’t tell people that,” Joel muttered, his voice harsher than he meant. “Not safe.”

Her brows furrowed, her smile slipping for the first time. “What do you mean?”

Joel felt the weight of her confusion settle on him, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Tellin’ strangers where you work. When you work. Ain’t smart.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Oh... I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”

Of course, you didn’t. 

Joel’s mind reeled, his frustration bubbling just below the surface.

You don’t know how to think like that. You don’t know what the world can do to people like you.

But before he could say anything else, she smiled again, though this time it was smaller, a bit softer.

“Thanks for looking out for me,” she said, her voice quieter. “I didn’t mean to—well, I guess I’m just not used to thinking like that.”

Yeah. I can tell.

But instead of saying that, Joel just nodded, his jaw still tight. He needed to leave, needed to stop this before he got in too deep.

Here’s a darker, more intense version of that passage:

“See you around,” she called after him as he turned to leave.

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

His throat was tight, his chest heavy. But as he pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cool air, something made him look back.

She was still watching him. Smiling. Soft. So damn innocent.

That look in her eyes—so full of trust—twisted something deep inside him.

She doesn’t know better.

His boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as he made his way to the truck.

Every step felt heavy, like the weight of his thoughts was dragging him down. His hand found the door handle, but he couldn’t make himself move.

Couldn’t shake the way her scent still clung to him, sweet and soft, like she was still standing right next to him.

Joel gritted his teeth, staring down at the truck door, but all he could see was her face.

Her wide, bright eyes, that shy smile, the way she just… trusted.

Trusted him. She shouldn’t.

His body felt hot, the tension coiling low in his gut, his muscles tight.

Too tight.

And then he felt it again—his cock, straining against his jeans, hard and throbbing, a deep, almost painful ache that made his breath catch in his throat.

Fuck.

It hit him like a freight train, sudden and unwanted. His mind raced, trying to push the thought of her away, but the harder he tried, the worse it got.

His pulse pounded in his ears, the heat in his body rising as the memory of her soft voice echoed in his mind.

That innocent, clumsy laugh. The way she fumbled with the gear. The blush on her cheeks.

Joel’s grip tightened on the door handle, his knuckles turning white.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He hadn’t felt this in years. This need. This raw, primal hunger gnawing at him.

His body betrayed him, his cock throbbing harder, almost painfully, as if it knew something he didn’t.

But it was because of her.

The realization, again, made his chest tighten, his breath coming in rough, uneven bursts.

He slammed the door shut, leaning his forehead against the cool metal, trying to calm the storm raging inside him.

No. Not her.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but her image was burned into his mind—her body, her smell, the softness in her eyes.

His cock twitched again, the pressure building, his jeans too tight, the pulse unbearable.

She was so sweet. So oblivious.

And here he was, standing in the parking lot like a goddamn animal, throbbing with need for something he knew he shouldn’t want.

But the thought of her lingered. The way she looked up at him like he was something to be trusted. Something safe.

Joel forced himself into the truck, gripping the wheel so tight he thought it might break.

His heart pounded in his chest, the tension making every breath feel like fire.

He needed to forget her. Get her out of his head.

But his body told him otherwise.

The throbbing between his legs refused to be ignored. His jaw clenched, muscles tight with frustration as the thoughts swirled, dark and unwanted.

He hadn’t felt like this in years. Not since before everything went to hell.

And now? Now this girl—this soft, sweet girl—had him unraveling.

Joel’s head thudded against the back of the seat, his pulse still racing. This wasn’t going to end well.

Not for him.

And definitely not for her.

· · ────

The following days were a blur of uncomfortable tension.

Joel tried to stay away.

He told himself not to go back to the store, not to linger around her.

He even went out on longer drives, tried to immerse himself in the things that usually kept his mind quiet.

But it didn’t work. Not anymore.

She was lodged in his thoughts, a constant, nagging presence that he couldn’t shake.

No matter how hard he tried to forget her, she always managed to crawl back in.

Her face, her voice, the way she smiled up at him like he wasn’t something to fear.

It gnawed at him, a reminder of everything he’d left behind.

A week passed before Joel saw her again.

This time, it was different. He wasn’t just there for supplies or to catch a glimpse of her. No, this time, he watched her more carefully.

Observing.

He kept his distance at first, lingering near the back of the store, eyes flicking toward her every few minutes as she worked.

She hummed to herself again, that same soft tune he’d heard the first time they met.

It wasn’t loud, barely audible under the sound of the store, but he caught it.

And it made something tighten inside him.

For a man who lived in shadows, always on alert, this brightness—this innocence—felt foreign. Her having no need to be quiet so she won’t be seen.

Wrong.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching her.

She smiled as she spoke to a customer, her eyes lighting up as she handed them their change.

She was so goddamn open, so trusting. And that terrified him.

He told himself it was because she didn’t know better. She didn’t know what kind of world she lived in.

She hadn’t seen the things he’d seen, hadn’t done the things he’d done.

That was why he watched her so closely now.

He was protecting her. Keeping her safe.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

The next day, she found him again, her voice soft but cheerful as she spoke up. “You’re back! Need anything else?”

Joel stared at her for a moment, his chest tightening at how easily she smiled at him. “Just… lookin’.”

She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “Well, if you ever need recommendations, I’m your girl.”

He tried to brush it off, tried to keep his voice steady, his eyes focused anywhere but on her.

But when she started talking about her weekend plans, everything shifted.

“I’m actually heading out for a solo trip this weekend,” she said, her voice filled with excitement.

“Found this beautiful spot just outside of town. Gonna do some camping, get away from everything for a bit.”

Joel’s blood ran cold.

Camping? Alone?

His jaw clenched as he stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said.

A girl like her? Out in the wilderness by herself?

The world wasn’t safe, and she was too naive to see that. She didn’t understand the dangers lurking just beyond the treeline.

“Where?” His voice was rough, demanding.

The softness from earlier was gone, replaced by the cold, hard edge that usually kept people at a distance.

She blinked, caught off guard by his tone. “Uh… it’s just a little spot out past the ridge. Really pretty.”

Joel felt his chest tighten.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” he said, his voice dark, laced with warning. “It’s not safe.”

She blinked, clearly confused by his sudden shift. “I’ll be fine,” she insisted, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her voice now. “I’ve done this before.”

“No, you won’t,” Joel growled, stepping closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “You have no idea what’s out there.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, brows furrowed. “I—”

“You’ll get yourself killed,” he interrupted, his voice dropping lower, more threatening.

His paranoia was slipping through now, his need to protect her—to control the situation—overwhelming him. “You’re not prepared for what’s out there.”

There was a long pause, the tension thick between them. She opened her mouth to speak, but Joel wasn’t done.

“If you’re set on goin’,” he said, his tone calmer now, but still dark, “I know a better place. Secluded. Safe.”

His mind was spinning with the need to protect her, to make sure she was under his watch. “It’s past the ridge. You won’t find it on a map, but it’s perfect for campin’.”

That was his land. His very own property, tucked away from prying eyes, isolated and quiet. His land. Where he could keep an eye on her.

Her eyes brightened again, the tension between them easing just slightly. “Really? That sounds amazing! I’d love to check it out.”

Trusting so easily.

Joel nodded slowly, watching her carefully.

“I’ll give you the coordinates,” he said, his voice rough, his gaze still locked on hers. “Just… be careful.”

She smiled again, oblivious to the darkness brewing behind his eyes. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate it.”

There's that damn blush again.

Joel nodded again, but his mind was already elsewhere.

She didn’t belong out there alone. And now, after hearing her plans, Joel knew what he had to do.

She wouldn’t be alone.

If she wouldn’t protect herself, then he would

· · ────

It happened by accident, really.

Joel had been driving through town, running his usual errands—another routine day where he tried to keep his mind occupied with anything but her.

It was something he’d been forcing himself to do for the past few days, convincing himself that the tension in his chest would ease if he just avoided her, if he didn’t let himself linger in her orbit for too long.

But fate had other plans.

As he turned down a quiet street on the edge of town, his eyes caught movement.

A figure stepped out of a small, unassuming house, barely noticeable in the corner of his eye.

Joel wasn’t even sure why he slowed down at first. He told himself it was out of habit, that old soldier instinct to assess everything in his surroundings. But the moment he saw her, all rational thought slipped away.

It was her.

She stood there, fumbling with her keys and a couple of grocery bags, her hair falling loose around her shoulders in soft waves.

Joel’s foot hovered over the brake for just a second too long as he watched her struggle to balance the bags and unlock the door.

Her face was flushed, lips moving as she muttered something to herself—a frustrated little quirk of her mouth that made his chest tighten.

There was something different about seeing her like this.

Here, in her space.

Not at the store, not somewhere public. But here—outside her home.

He felt a knot of something unfamiliar, something deep and possessive curl in his stomach.

She didn’t notice him at all. She was too busy juggling her things, her focus entirely on the door in front of her.

Joel’s gaze swept over her as he slowly rolled by, his truck moving at a crawl now.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though a part of him knew he should’ve kept driving.

But the pull was too strong.

There was a softness about her here that felt even more pronounced.

Her home, small and tucked away from the busier streets, suited her in a way that he hadn’t expected. It was unassuming, private, but open in a way that made Joel feel… unsettled.

Like she was too exposed, too vulnerable, and too easy to find. Too easy for someone to hurt.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as the thought crossed his mind.

She had no idea how dangerous the world really was. How quickly things could go wrong.

He drove past, the truck moving with painful slowness, his eyes flicking from the road to her again and again.

She didn’t see him. Not once. And for some reason, that bothered him more than it should have.

She hadn’t locked the door when she finally went inside.

Of course, she hadn’t.

Joel’s chest tightened with frustration, his jaw clenching as he drove farther down the road, turning the corner and pulling to a stop just out of sight.

Now that he knew where she lived, something shifted. He couldn’t just drive away and forget about it. No, she was here, alone, with no sense of the dangers that could easily find her.

He shouldn’t care. It wasn’t his problem. She wasn’t his problem.

But that’s not how it felt anymore.

· · ────

It wasn’t until later that night, as he lay in bed, that the dream came.

It wasn’t like the usual ones—flashes of war, the men he’d fought alongside, the sounds of gunfire and the stink of blood.

This one was different and it hit harder than anything he’d experienced in years.

He dreamt of her.

Of her in that house. And something, someone, breaking in.

It was chaos.

She was screaming, fighting to get free, and all he could do was watch, powerless, as she disappeared into the shadows.

He woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest, the adrenaline surging through his veins.

For a moment, Joel couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been real—that she was in danger and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

His hand instinctively reached for the knife he kept near the bed, fingers gripping the handle like it was his lifeline.

His breath came in heavy bursts, his body rigid with the need to protect, to act.

He could still hear her screams, still see her face twisted in fear.

She wasn’t safe.

And it wasn’t just a dream. Joel knew then, in that moment, that he couldn’t let this go.

He couldn’t just stand by and hope for the best.

It was only a matter of time, before something bad would happen to her.

He had to make sure she was okay, had to make sure nothing like that ever happened to her.

And if that meant going out of his way to keep an eye on her, then so be it.

· · ────

The next day, he drove by her house again.

And the day after that.

Each time, he told himself it was just a precaution, just a way to make sure she wasn’t in any real danger.

He didn’t get too close, didn’t let himself be seen.

But every time he saw her, the tension in his chest loosened just a little, knowing she was still there, still safe.

He found out more about her routines—when she left for work, when she came back.

He watched as she went about her day, completely unaware of the eyes that followed her every move.

She wasn’t like the rest of the world—hardened and scarred by violence.

She was soft, untouched by the darkness that clung to everything Joel had known.

And that’s why she needed him.

· · ────

The more he watched her, the more he realized how easy it would be for something to go wrong.

A stranger could approach her on her walks, someone could break into her house, anything could happen.

And if he wasn’t there to stop it… she would be defenseless.

That feeling from the dream—the panic, the helplessness—still clung to him, gnawing at his gut like a festering wound.

He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t convince himself to turn around and go home.

That’s why he had started breaking into her house.

Naturally.

At first, it was just to make sure everything was secure.

He would check the locks, make sure the windows were latched, make sure there were no signs of forced entry.

But the more he let himself in, the more his reasons shifted.

He started checking her camping gear, making sure everything was in place.

Joel crouched down, fingers brushing over the rough material as he unzipped the bag.

His hands moved through her belongings with the same careful touch, checking each item she’d packed.

He frowned when he noticed some of the essentials missing.

No proper emergency gear. Not enough food. Definitely not enough water.

She wasn’t ready.

His chest tightened with a mix of frustration and concern.

She had no idea what she was walking into.

The wild didn’t care how innocent or sweet you were—it tore people apart.

And she was so damn trusting, so clueless about the danger that lurked everywhere.

Joel zipped the bag back up and stood, a plan already forming in his mind.

She couldn’t go out there alone, not without the proper gear. Not without protection.

He’d make sure she had what she needed.

He’d leave it for her—quietly, subtly.

She didn’t need to know he was the one watching over her.

She didn’t need to know just how deep his involvement went.

His feet led him down the hall, toward the room at the end—the door slightly ajar, a soft, warm glow spilling from inside.

Joel’s breath hitched as he stepped further inside, his boots nearly silent on the hardwood floor.

It was small, simple, but unmistakably hers.

A bed with a soft quilted cover, a small nightstand with a book left open, and clothes folded neatly on a chair in the corner.

Joel swallowed hard, his throat dry as his eyes roamed over the space.

He moved slowly, carefully, his eyes scanning the room like he was surveying a battlefield.

Everything was neat, untouched, just as he’d expected.

But as he stood there, something twisted in his chest. He wasn’t just here to check on her safety.

Something else caught his attention.

Her underwear.

At first, it was an accident. He wasn’t looking for it, but when he stumbled upon it—soft, lacy, and used—he couldn’t stop himself.

His hands reached for it before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers brushing against the delicate fabric.

His breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that.

But the scent—her scent—was intoxicating, wrapping around him like a drug. His mind flashed with images of her wearing it, of her undressing, her skin soft and bare beneath his touch.

Joel’s grip tightened on the fabric, his body reacting in ways he hadn’t felt in years. His jeans grew uncomfortably tight, the throbbing between his legs impossible to ignore. He was so hard.

This wasn’t just about keeping her safe anymore. It was about something deeper, something darker.

He brought the fabric to his face, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of her wash over him.

His eyes fluttered shut, his mind filling with thoughts he had no right to think.

He hadn’t let himself feel something like this —this raw, uncontrollable hunger—but now, standing in her bedroom, holding something so private, so close to her, it hit him like a wave.

Joel inhaled deeply, the scent wrapping around him like a haze, flooding his senses. It was overwhelming, intoxicating.

His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing deepened, and the scent clung to him, almost suffocating him in the best way possible.

The sweetness, mixed with something so personal, made his heart pound harder in his chest, heat rising in his body.

She had no idea.

No idea what she did to him.

How that softness, that scent, chipped away at the walls he build.

His fingers tightened around the fabric as he held it closer, the warmth of her scent flooding his senses.

His mind was clouded with images—images of her.

She shouldn’t be this trusting.

He imagined her standing there, blushing, lips parting slightly, her soft voice spilling from them, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his mind.

She was just too easy to picture—too easy to want.

too sweet.

Too soft. Too innocent for someone like him.

Joel’s grip tightened as he let his mind spiral deeper into the images of her—blushing, trembling, staring up at him with those wide, innocent eyes that would soon be filled with something else.

His fingers tightened around the fabric, his body responding in ways he couldn’t deny any longer.

He fought to steady his breathing, to push the dark thoughts from his mind, but they were there, lurking just beneath the surface, no matter how hard he tried.

He shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want her. 

He wasn’t just imagining her anymore—he was feeling her, smelling her, letting her invade his mind and body in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

Joel’s jaw clenched, his breathing rough as he tried to regain control.

But the more he let the fabric linger in his hands, the more he realized—he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to let go.

Joel stayed like that, frozen in the moment, inhaling deeply, the used fabric of her underwear still clutched in his hands as he lost himself in the dark, possessive thoughts swirling in his mind.

He knew it wouldn’t be the last time. He couldn’t stop now.

The pull was too strong, too overwhelming.

Without even thinking, he raised the fabric closer, his lips hovering just above it.

His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, aching rhythm, the temptation crawling under his skin.

He hesitated for just a moment, knowing how wrong this was, how far he was crossing a line.

But it wasn’t enough to stop him.

Nothing could stop him now.

Joel’s breath hitched, and his lips brushed against the soft material, barely making contact at first.

He could feel the warmth, the faint trace of her cunt, lingering on the fabric, and it sent a wave of heat rushing through him.

His grip tightened.

The softness pressed against his mouth, and for a split second, he let his tongue flicker out, tasting her sweet pussy, just barely.

It was subtle, a hint of something forbidden, but it sent a jolt straight through him.

He felt himself tense, his body reacting in ways he could no longer control, the line between protection and obsession blurring even more.

He wanted more.

Before he could let his tongue get another lick, Joel heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.

That did certainly stop him.

His body stiffened, and in a heartbeat, all the dark, twisted satisfaction evaporated, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

His mind raced, his fingers trembling as he fumbled to put everything back exactly where it had been.

Not now. Not like this.

He moved swiftly but silently, making sure every trace of him disappeared. Every drawer closed, every fabric in place. He couldn’t leave any sign that he had been there.

His heart pounded against his ribcage as he slipped out of the bedroom, his movements precise, calculated.

Years of training kept his body moving even when his mind teetered on panic.

The soft sound of her footsteps reached his ears as she moved further into the house.

She was talking to herself again, that light, carefree tune that only made him more desperate to get out unnoticed.

She had no idea.

No idea that he had been so close, no idea of the thoughts that ran through his head while he held her soaked panties in his hands.

Joel paused at the back door, his body pressed against the frame as he caught a glimpse of her through the crack in the doorway.

She was still oblivious, setting her bag down, humming softly to herself. She hadn’t noticed anything. Not the disturbance in the air, not the faint scent of him that still lingered in the room.

So innocent. So trusting.

Must be nice.

He watched her for a moment, his eyes darkening as he observed her, standing there in the home she thought was safe.

He could still smell her on him, the faint scent clinging to his mustache, the lingering effect making his pulse quicken once more.

But he couldn’t stay.

Not now.

With one last glance, Joel slipped out of the house, his movements quick and silent.

He disappeared into the shadows just as she turned toward the hallway, completely unaware of how close he had been—how close he still was.

· · ────

Joel slipped into his truck with the stealth of a man used to evading detection, his heart still hammering in his chest as he turned the key in the ignition.

The engine rumbled to life, but his mind was elsewhere. 

The drive home felt longer than usual, each passing second a blur of adrenaline and frustration.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white, his breathing uneven.

He could still smell her, the faint scent lingering on his clothes, on his skin. It was maddening.

He tried to shake it off, tried to ignore the throbbing ache that had been building since he smelled her sweet little cunt, but it wouldn’t go away.

When he finally pulled up to his house, Joel barely remembered the drive at all.

He parked the truck haphazardly, the door slamming shut behind him as he made his way inside.

His boots hit the wooden floor with heavy thuds, and before he knew it, he was leaning back against the wall in his living room, his breath still coming in shallow bursts.

His breath was ragged, the ache in his body refusing to subside.

The scent of her cunt—still clinging to his beard, his hands—seeped into his skin, a constant reminder of what she had stirred deep inside him.

He hadn’t felt like this in years, hadn’t allowed himself to. But now, there was no going back.

His cock throbbed painfully, straining against his jeans, and for the first time in so long, he couldn’t ignore it.

The need was unbearable, clawing at him, demanding release. He leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, every breath filled with the sweetness of her scent.

It was still there, on him, as if she hadn’t left.

His hand hovered over the bulge in his jeans, fingers twitching, as if fighting the urge to touch.

But the memory of her—the feel of her, the scent of her—was overwhelming.

He couldn’t stop now. He didn’t want to.

With a low growl, he gave in, his hand pressing against his cock, the pressure sending a shiver up his spine.

His jaw clenched as he slowly dragged his palm over the length, the throbbing only growing more intense. The sensation was too much, too sharp after years of nothing.

He hadn’t touched himself like this in so long, and the intensity of it almost knocked the breath out of him.

His cock twitched, hard and aching in his hand, the weight of it heavy as he gripped it tighter.

His breath hitched as he finally pulled it free, the cool air hitting his skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat that was coursing through his veins. fuck.

He stroked himself slowly at first, his rough palm sliding over the swollen, leaking head, the friction making him groan.

He thought he’d never feel this was again.

His mind was a haze of her—her softness, her innocence, the way she had smiled at him, so trusting, so sweet.

She didn’t know what she was doing to him. She couldn’t know.

But he did.

His pace quickened, each stroke more desperate, more insistent. The scent of her was driving him insane.

Sweet like her.

He licked his lips, trying to get some of that sweet, sweet taste back he had earlier.

His cock throbbed in his hand, hard and slick as he pumped it, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

Her face flashed in his mind again—those wide, innocent eyes, the way she had blushed when she looked at him.

She had no idea.

No idea how badly he wanted her, how much he needed her.

Joel’s grip tightened, his strokes rougher now, his hips jerking up into his hand as he chased that release, the pressure building fast.

His cock was pulsing in his hand, slick and hard, aching with the need for something he couldn’t name.

Something only she could give him.

His breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving as he pumped his cock faster, harder.

The tension coiled tight in his gut, every muscle in his body straining as the need for release consumed him.

He could almost taste her, the memory of her scent still filling his lungs, making his head swim.

With a rough, guttural growl, Joel’s body tensed, his vision going white as the tension finally snapped.

His cock jerked in his hand, the release hitting him like a storm, fierce and unforgiving.

He groaned low in his throat, his hips bucking as he spilled over his hand, the warmth spreading through him like fire. He hadn’t cum that much in years.

It wouldn’t stop coming out of him.

…well, this was new.

For a long moment, he stayed there, his breath coming in ragged, heavy gasps, his hand still wrapped around his now-softening cock.

The pleasure ebbed slowly, leaving behind a dark satisfaction that settled deep in his bones.

But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Because her scent was still there.

Her softness still lingered in his mind, wrapped around him like a shroud, and Joel knew—this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

Joel’s mind flickered back to the map, to the spot he’d given her—the spot on his land.

He could see it clear as day, tucked away, isolated, surrounded by woods.

Tomorrow, she’d be out there, alone, completely unaware of what could happen.

His jaw clenched at the thought.

The world was dangerous, filled with things she couldn’t even begin to understand.

But he did.

His pulse quickened, that dark, familiar feeling tightening around his chest.

He’d keep her safe. He’d make sure nothing happened to her—not on his watch.

No one else knew the dangers lurking in the shadows like he did. She had no idea, no clue what she was walking into.

But he’d be there.

Watching.

And if anything—or anyone—tried to hurt her, they’d have to go through him first.

Joel swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. He’d seen too much, lost too much.

But not her. Not this time.

Tomorrow, he’d make sure she was safe… even if she didn’t know it.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

well… somebody needs therapy (me and him both)

I have no tag list for this (I’m old and will probably fail starting one) but if you comment on here I’ll remind you if there’s a new chapter!!

Deal?

xoxo

[notjustjavierpena]

just thinking about taking a late night bath with hubby when the kids are asleep. just intimate moments and quiet chats about nothing in particular. that man has rotted my brain

R&R

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Here you go, nonnie ❤️ Gave you smut too, whops

Summary: You return from an emergency at work to Javier who wants to spoil you.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic bliss, fluff, alcohol consumption, body insecurities, javi loves and worships his wife, kisses, rough passionate sex, dirty talk, light choking, multiple orgasms, siggy wrote doggy (an achievement), creampie, explicit description of come, hint at a breeding kink

Word count: 4.5k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59136853

R&R

You fall back against the door with a huff after entering your house late at night, sighing deeply while dragging your hands down over your face in exasperation. There’s the familiar prickling feeling in your nose as your body threatens to let tears fall from your eyes but you swallow thickly and try to focus on the comfort of being home. You hadn’t wanted to go into the office at this time of day but it had been an emergency meeting that meant you couldn’t be there for Lucas’ bedtime. 

As you undo your jacket, shrugging it off your shoulders, Javier enters the hallway. He is the only person you want to see right now, his mere presence easing your mind and body. 

“Where was the fire?” He asks, taking your jacket from your hands and hanging it up for you. 

“A project had fallen through today without the boss telling us,” you groan, not even thinking - like always, switching to autopilot - when you push yourself off the door to walk into Javier’s arms when he opens them for you. You mumble tiredly into his shoulder, “It’s going to delay my team’s progress for the next three weeks.”

“Your boss is a fucking idiot,” Javier thinks out loud. 

“I actually agree,” you laugh softly into his skin, and he turns his head to peck your cheek. There’s something so satisfying and sweet about coming home to someone who is your unwavering supporter, letting you vent about the messes that you reluctantly get involved in. 

However, it’s not what you want to talk about right now. Instead, there’s only one thing on your mind, “Is Lucas asleep? Was he a challenge without me here?”

Javier pulls back to look at you with an amused expression, “Luke’s fine, mi amor (my love). He’s been sleeping since 7:30.” 

You chew your bottom lip at hearing that he didn’t fuss about you not being there to put him to bed and kiss him goodnight. There’s a pang of frustration at not being needed, and your husband seems to notice it quickly. He continues, “But he did miss his mamá. He asked for you and I told him you’d come upstairs to say goodnight when you got home.”

You smile with slight relief, spurred on to finish taking off your outerwear and therefore going for your shoes so you can head upstairs to kiss your son on the forehead, “Really?”

“Sí, sin duda (yes, no doubt),” Javier tells you, sinking to his knees to help you remove your boots. He pats the leg that he wants you to lift, “And I thought of something.”

“Hm?” You hum, enjoying the warmth of his hand on your calf. 

“How about I open up a good bottle of wine and run you a bath?” He sweetly suggests, looking up at you from the floor in a way that makes your head spin. 

“Will my considerate husband join me?” You purr and run your fingers over his hair as you tower above him. 

He tilts his head back as you push his hair back and there’s almost a submissive glint in his eyes but then he slowly rises to his feet again, his hand skimming up the back of your leg as he does. He purrs right back at you, his lips close to yours and making you realize you haven’t kissed him in greeting, “If that makes my wife happy.”

“Very happy,” you press a lingering kiss to his lips which he gladly returns, making the feeling of the stress of tonight start to fade into the background already. 

“Go say goodnight to our son and I’ll get everything ready,” he whispers as he only pulls back an inch. 

You smile as you feel him hold onto you until his hand is forced to fall to his side, then feel him watching you ascend the stairs to the bedrooms upstairs. He looks at you until you have left his line of view, then heads to the kitchen.

You can hear him take wine glasses out of the kitchen cabinet as you open the door to Lucas’ room gently so it doesn’t creak. You find your son sleeping on his side in the soft glow of his nightlight, facing the door with his blanket still tucked around his torso.

You tiptoe over to his bed, watching the way his mouth hangs open as he snores ever so slightly before crouching down to kiss his forehead. Lucas stirs slightly, his eyes fluttering open just a crack.

“Mamá?” He mumbles in a sleepy whisper.

“I’m here, mijo (my son),” you whisper back, brushing a strand of hair away from his face so you can kiss him there a few times more, “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“I miss you,” his tiny voice melts your heart, his language still not grammatically advanced yet. 

“I missed you too, baby,” you smile softly, “Go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be here tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mamá,” he is already drifting off, eyes blinking slowly as he struggles to stay awake. You run your hand over his hair one last time before leaving the room, closing the door with a quiet click.

You find Javier just outside, him not having wanted to disturb your moment, “He okay?”

“Missed his mommy,” you tell him with a pleased smile as you walk into his arms like earlier.

“Daddy missed Mommy too,” he kisses your cheek. 

“My boys need to learn how to share,” you pull back, grinning at him because of the dirty intention behind Javier’s nickname for himself. You feel his hand rest on your back for a moment only to slide down to pat your ass. You bat it away with a tut.

“We’re already so good at it,” he insists and starts to guide you further down the hallway, the smell of lavender becoming stronger with each step. The hand stays on the small of your back, “Come on.”

When he opens the door to the bathroom, the tub is steaming into the dimly lit room and looks so inviting that your shoulders slump. There’s the baby monitor and an open bottle of wine on the sink counter, which you recognize as one of the more expensive bottles that you’ve had for a while; Javier hadn’t been joking when he said a good bottle. 

He pours you a glass while you slip out of your clothes, and you watch him undress too with a little smile while sipping the red liquid. 

“You did all of this in the few minutes I was in Luke’s room?” You ask as he eventually stands naked in front of you as well. 

“Doesn’t take that long,” he shrugs. He clinks his own glass against yours. “A toast to incompetent bosses.”

“Ugh,” you groan, already stepping over the edge of the bathtub. Javier follows behind, stopping you when you want to sit opposite of him in the water. 

You sigh as Javier guides you to lay down against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around your waist after he has taken a sip of his wine and placed the glass on the widest part of the edge of the tub. He kisses your shoulder tenderly, rubbing off the red stains made by his lips afterward. 

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone tonight,” you say quietly after a few moments of simply enjoying the warm water lapping at your body, the bubbles sitting around your breasts like you’ve seen in many romantic movies. Javier rests his palm on your stomach. 

“Sorry for what?” He questions without judgment and moves his hand across your belly in a soothing gesture, “Are you not home now?”

“You know what I mean,” you place your hand on top of his and take a sip of your own wine, swallowing what feels like a life-saving drink, before setting down the glass next to your husband’s, “I just hate missing out on Lucas’ bedtime. I know you’ve got everything under control, but… I don’t know. I just want to be there for him so he doesn’t forget me.”

“Forget you? You’re being silly now, baby, eres su mamá (you’re his mom). He asked about you. I told him you’d be home soon, and he smiled his big toothy grin,” he reassures and holds you a little tighter against his chest.

“Stop,” you drag out the word, “You’re making me jealous of you getting him all to yourself.” 

“You still get baby-jealous of me?” Javier seems puzzled by this.

“All the time,” you groan and reach for your wine again, knowing it’s irrational, “I want you to hold him too but that’s my baby. I can’t believe how much I miss him when I don’t spend every goddamn second with him.”

“Even when he begs for pancakes ten minutes straight?” You can hear the smirk on his face. 

“Try half an hour,” you reply with a chuckle. 

“Shit,” Javier laughs and you can feel his chest vibrate behind you as he does it. You turn your head to look up at him with your own grin, and he dips down for a lingering kiss that turns into a few tender pecks. God, you love this man so much that it is ridiculous and he does whatever he can to make you feel better. 

“Although,” you continue as you return to your previous position of lying against him, “No more pancakes for me. My thighs have doubled in size since Lucas was born.”

“What are you talking about?” Javier tuts. 

“You’ve got two working eyes,” you tell him while bitterly taking a sip of your drink, “I can barely fit into my jeans anymore with these thighs.”

“God, you should stop saying stuff like that if you don’t want me to imagine your jeans bursting at the seams. I might not be able to handle that,” he teases, both hands going down your belly to lay flat on top of your thighs. He jiggles the flesh slightly, making the water slosh against the edges of the bathtub, “You think I don’t want you every time I see you in those jeans?”

“You’re exaggerating,” you pout and nestle into him. 

“No estoy exagerando. Eres tan sexy (I’m not exaggerating. You’re so sexy), and your body is just proof of how fucking tough it is,” he rubs his hands up and down your thighs, massaging gently, “So what if you allow yourself some pancakes once in a while? You’ve given birth to our son.”

You feel another protest bubble up in your throat but it fades from your mind when Javier kisses your neck gently. Instead, you sigh gently, “Thank you… You know how to make me feel beautiful.”

“You are beautiful, esposa (wife),” he insists and takes your wineglass from you to place it back on the edge of the tub. He wraps both his arms around your torso and arms, trapping you against his chest and holding you tightly, “You shouldn’t allow the stress of today to let you talk about yourself like that.”

“Then let us talk about something else,” you protest his squeezing touch at first but then relax, melting into him and resting your head on his shoulder. His chest rises and falls steadily behind you, and his cheek presses against yours. You close your eyes to enjoy the moment, feeling the warm water gently sway in the tub and hearing the bubbles crackle quietly around your body. 

You talk about little things; about Lucas’ new favorite book, about what you should have for dinner tomorrow, about the funny thing your colleague said at work. The conversation drifts back and forth lazily, like the water around you, and before you know it, wine glasses have been emptied and refilled, and an hour has passed, making the world feel a little bit brighter, a little bit softer.

“Even better,” he says softly as the conversation comes to a natural halt, “How about that for the last few minutes, we just lay here together and don’t talk? Not about stress, not about work, not about what we’re doing tomorrow.”

“You love talking about work,” you argue teasingly. 

“Shh…” He shushes you playfully, pressing his nose into your cheek and blowing a raspberry. You follow orders with a theatrical sigh but finally, relax fully and let your mind drift to comfortable nothingness. You listen to him breathe quietly, hearing him occasionally drinking his wine until he has finished the second glass and is pressing lazy kisses to the parts of your skin that he can reach. 

“See?” He says after what feels like an eternity, “Isn’t this nice?”

“We’re turning into prunes,” you mumble because you’ve been close to drifting off from the soothing warmth of the wine and the water. You cover his hand with your own, yawning towards the ceiling. 

“I don’t want you catching a chill either,” he replies while reluctantly letting go of you so you can rise to your feet and step out of the bathtub. It takes you a moment to pull yourself together to actually do it. 

He follows a moment later and the best part of your night becomes the comfortable silence that occurs when you enjoy the sight of each other as you dry yourselves off, Javier draining the tub and reassuring you that the cleanup can wait until tomorrow. 

There’s electricity in the room as you move around each other, and the way that Javier talked about your body earlier is still lingering in the air. It’s there in the back of your mind with every look, every smile, and every brush of your skin as he passes you while getting ready for bed. In the end, you confront him about it, playing at the subtlety of his actions.

“You’re thinking about something,” you note while moving into the bedroom next door, not in your pajamas yet. You walk to the dresser in the room, opening the right drawer that has your underwear, and feeling the anticipation of his reply. When he follows you into the bedroom, you’re holding your breath. 

“I’m thinking about you,” he murmurs with a small smile. It’s the simplicity of his answer that heats up your thighs, the fact that it is nothing grand and dramatic but enough to tell you that he thinks you are the most desirable woman out there. When you reach for a pair of panties, he lays a hand on top of your wrist, “Don’t.” 

You let him twirl you around to face him, sleepily leaning into him while he moves in for a long, slow kiss that releases some of the tension in the air. You sigh against his mouth and link your arms around his neck, feeling like everything has led up to this since you stepped inside your shared home. 

He has his hands on your waist when he deepens the kiss, taking your breath from your lungs as he kneads the flesh in his hands. You let warmth settle in your belly, let shivers run down your spine.

Suddenly, he pulls back from your mouth. He says nothing as he reaches for your shoulders and gently guides you to turn your back to him. You shiver in anticipation, even more when his hands travel down to rest on your hips and he ushers you towards the bed. 

You kneel on it as you reach the edge, crawling forward until you’re in the center of it. Despite losing his touch for a brief second, it’s worth missing him for just a few moments when you feel the weight of his body making the mattress dip.

He crawls up behind you, still silent as he moves, radiating soothing warmth from your bath together and smelling like the lavender bubbles. You gasp when he gets close, his broad chest grazing your back and his hard cock poking into your ass. 

He rests his hands on your hips. You lean back into him, craning your neck so he can kiss you over your shoulder. He still tastes like wine as he captures your mouth, the hands on your hips tightening their grip slightly. You lay your palms on top of them, kissing him back with increasing impatience. 

“I want you,” you whisper against his mouth and let one hand wander back to squeeze his hip. You can feel him smearing precome on your skin, probably aching as much as you to have it, “Please, Javi.”

“Shh,” he coos, his head descending to kiss your neck in a trail up and down the most sensitive part, “Sé que es difícil, pero tienes que tener paciencia (I know it’s hard but you gotta have patience).” 

You spread your knees a bit more, the hand on Javier’s hip coming back to lay on your thigh to keep your balance, “Fuck me.”

“No, pretty mamá. Fuck me what?” He taunts you but you smile to yourself as one of his hands leaves your body and you hear shuffling behind you. 

“Fuck me please,” you groan a little too loudly anyway. 

“Turn down the volume,” he commands while he nibbles on your neck, nose following side-by-side with the trail of spit that’s already made by him, “You have a 19-months-old who hasn't disturbed us all evening.” 

You suddenly feel his cock between your legs and it makes the snappy retort you want to make die in your throat. The head breaches you and you’re worked up enough to let him come inside if he wants. Your head falls forward as he fills you up, stretching your walls that are soaked despite how he has not played with your cunt tonight. It’s the warm water that has relaxed you, the atmosphere too, and it’s the way he can kiss you wet and ready within a brief minute. 

The both of you pant as he sheaths himself fully inside of you, spearing you on him until his thighs rest against the back of your trembling ones. Just before he moves, you feel brave enough to let go of the top of your thigh to slip your hand down between your legs. 

Javier moans in your ear as you begin by feeling where the two of you are connected, your hole stretched around his generous girth. You know he is struggling not to move because he is breathing hard behind you, letting you indulge in this filthy act as you get used to him being inside of you. 

“Mamácita,” he borders on begging. 

“Move,” you allow him by commanding him. 

He pulls out only a little before he rocks his hips into you again, filling you to the brim once more. You bite down on your lip to stifle your relieved whimper, it taking only a few thrusts for you to settle into a rhythm with him. 

As he fucks you, you keep your balance with the help of him, his arm coming around your body so he can splay a palm on your heaving chest. You lay your free hand on top of his, curling your fingers around his fingers while the bed creaks below you and you nearly manage to keep quiet all the way through. 

“Baby,” you screw your eyes shut as he goes harder and makes you see stars behind your eyelids. Your noises climb in pitch, turning into pathetic whines as you start rubbing your clit to get off. However, Javier slaps the hand you still have between your legs away. 

“I don’t want you doing any work. This pussy is mine to treat,” he growls quietly behind you and presses two fingers down on your clit, hard and aching for attention. He goes in circular motions, gradually speeding up his pace to get you to orgasm. 

“Fuck,” you cry out and throw your head back to rest it on his shoulder, exposing the column of your neck to make it almost too easy for him. The hand on your chest goes upward, a gentle squeeze to your throat making an even louder moan impossible to breathe. 

You take the hint. He doesn’t squeeze anymore, simply keeping his fingers around your neck like a necklace as a lewd warning while he repeatedly sinks deeply into your cunt with his maddening skill that has your pleasure peaking rapidly. 

“Gonna—“

“I know,” he pants but doesn’t slow the powerful pace that makes his cock move inside of you just like he knows you love it, “Shh…”

“Kiss me, I— I can’t keep quiet,” you sob at the continuous onslaught. You’re soaking his cock and balls in your slick, the squelch of your wet walls sounding obscene in the otherwise quiet room. It gets even worse when you come, fast and hard with a sharp intake of air that you lose again the second he kisses your open mouth. 

It is so intense; the continuing stab of your g-spot, the way the pads of his fingers move on your clit just right, and how he doesn’t stop even as your orgasm ebbs out and leaves you a sensitive mess. You hadn’t planned on it being this sinful tonight, had just expected slow and sensual but as he makes your eyes water, you know it had been his plan all along. 

Your thighs tremble when he forces you to come again, squeezing around his dick until you can hear his own breathing switch to something more desperate. You reach behind yourself to grab at his hip, moving your hand even further back to pull him into you by his ass. He gets the point, releases your mouth, and moves the hand between your legs to your shoulder to push you forward. 

When you are resting on your forearm and gripping the sheets, your other hand still rests on his backside. You urge him to fuck you more by pulling him again to which he responds by pounding you greedily into the mattress. 

Your body writhes as he does, twisting and struggling to take him after coming twice in a row but you can’t stop yourself from wanting to feel him finish inside of you. It’s enough to make you bite the bedsheets, keening as he gives you those last few pushes of his cock. 

He comes with a low, guttural groan of your name, body going rigid behind you until you feel the warmth of his seed spread inside of you. It makes you whine in satisfaction, pushing back against him so it goes as far into you as possible before he is soft. 

“Shit,” he hisses at the sensitivity, “Stop.”

Both your hands rest in front of you now. A string of saliva still connects you to the sheets as you let go with your mouth, “Didn’t expect you to lose it enough to finish in me.”

“Mentirosa (Liar),” he gives a breathless chuckle, reaching for the base of his cock to carefully pull out. You earn a smack to your ass and the both of you make a noise in unison, even more when a dribble of come slides down your slick folds and drips from your clit. Javier swears under his breath, “You want another baby, huh, mi amor (my love)?”

“Would it hurt?” You ask, collapsing flat onto your front and looking back over your shoulder in your post-orgasmic bliss. You smile sweetly, spreading your legs a little wider to allow him to see his load stain the sheets. 

“Is this really how we have that conversation? When it might have already happened?” He lets out a theatrical sigh, his gaze resting between your legs even as he kneels to rake his fingers down your spine. He rubs the small of your back. 

“You’re more agreeable after sex,” you say with a twinkle in your eye and wiggle your hips to give him a little show, “I know when to ask for what I want, and I want a sibling for Lucas while he is still little. It’ll be good for him.” 

“I’ll give you as many babies as you like,” Javier bends down to kiss the skin of your back, nose between your shoulder blades. You are salty with sweat, probably have beads of it at the base of your spine, and sigh deeply at the loving touch of his mouth. 

You arch into the kiss that he plants right below your hairline, “I’m not just messing with you, baby. I want a family with you.”

Javier tenses up at that but the air in the room doesn’t change. He loves it when you say things like that, and it makes his hand still on your back which burns slightly from his warm touch. After a second more, he shifts to lay beside you, propping himself up on one elbow so he can see you better. You turn your head to the side, your cheek resting against the cool sheets. 

“I mean it,” you say softly. “Another baby… I think I’m ready. If you are.”

“You’re serious about this,” he says into the room, not quite a question but close enough for you to answer it like one.

“I am,” you scoot closer, trying to push down the distracting urge to go clean up when this starts to turn into a profound conversation.

He studies your face, searching your eyes as if trying to see how deep this desire runs. You hold his gaze, letting him see your sincerity. Finally, he smiles softly and leans down to peck your lips a few times, “You know I can never say no to you.”

You grin, so much for profound, “That’s because you know I’m right.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. He reaches out to give your ass a playful smack, “Yeah yeah. Happy wife, happy life. Now go wash up, I can see you want to.”

“You need to shower too and I’ll change the sheets when you do,” you tell him as you crawl off the bed, halfway to the master bathroom when you continue, “I don’t want your dick in my new sheets.” 

When he doesn’t respond immediately, you peek back at him from the bathroom door. He has turned onto his back, resting on both his elbows and sporting a smile that he didn’t think you would see. He looks at you when he notices you, his chest practically aglow with happiness. 

“¿Otro bebé, eh? (Another baby, huh?)” He watches you rest against the doorframe, gorgeous as ever when he is completely naked and happy. 

“I know you love making them, that’s why I thought you would be onboard,” you joke with the same kind of smile on your lips. 

“Onboard? Mi amor (my love), I’m the captain of this ship,” he winks, “And ready to set sail whenever you want.”

“Good because I don’t want you only at half-mast,” you wave your hand dismissively while Javier laughs in a way that has your heartbeat racing in your chest, feeling high school again, “Too many sea jokes.” 

“I fucking love you,” he still laughs. 

“I love you too,” you say softly and close the door.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[meloyellow236]

The TWST boys write letters to Yuu/The Prefect!

All of them except for Ortho+Checka are meant to be interpreted as romantic, but many can be interpreted as platonic as well. The reader is gender-neutral, but more feminine adjectives will be used when referring to them. Rollo's part is fairly suggestive. Characters will probably be a bit OOC.

Minor spoilers for their respective books in each section, but I try to keep it as spoiler-free as I can, except for who overbloted. If anyone has any questions or comments, please leave an ask or comment :)

NRC:

Heartslabyul:  

Riddle Rosehearts - 

My dearest rose, 

You are the loveliest person I have ever known. It is a miracle that you chose to get to know me, and even more so after I hurt you and your friends so deeply. I have made many mistakes, but you, my rose, look past them. I understand that you may choose to go home one day, but even so... 

Please just give me a moment of your time, a fraction of your thoughts, and I’ll be satisfied. Any inch of you that I can get, I want, even if you still believe me a tyrant. If it pleased you- No, if it only made you look my way, I would gladly break any rule of the queen’s or my mother’s. Understand that, my rose, and I am sure you’ll know what remains unsaid in this letter. 

Yours Truly, 

Riddle Rosehearts 

Trey Clover - 

Prefect, 

Hello. I wanted to thank you, first and foremost, for helping out Heartslabyul so much. You’ve been a very good influence on Ace and Duece, and it’s nice to see Cater open up to someone. Not to mention, Riddle’s been improving every day. I can’t even describe how much you’ve helped me... I just hope you know that I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done. You’re welcome at Heartsabyul at any time. I have some donuts waiting for you if you want. 

From, 

Trey. 

Cater Diamond - 

Prefect, 

Heyyy! Whatcha doing right now? I’m sooooo happy that you came to NRC even if, like, all of the housewarden’s tried to ratio you. I do not subscribe to that, BTW. #NotCool, #Yikes-A-Tron. But,  like... On a more serious note, I am happy that I got to know you. It’s nice to have someone I can just be myself around. No drama, no expectations, just... Yeah. I know that you’re gonna leave at some point, and it’s almost a relief. You’re honest about it, which is something that many can’t say. 

Ugh, that was probs TMI! I’m not trying to trauma dump here, oops. There’s this cute cafe that opened up downtown, totally Magicam-worthy. You wanna meet up there sometime? 

- Cay-cay ♦️  

Ace Trapolla - 

Prefect!! 

I need your help! So, Trein’s got this super hard test coming up on Friday- Like, Riddle-got-a-99-last-year level of hard. Yeah, that’s without the extra credit, but STILL! That’s failure to the tyrant! So, you’ve got to come over to Heartslabyul right now and help me study. Pleaseeeee!!!! I’ll owe you one! 

Oh, and don’t bring Grim. Deuce’s also got plans, there’s no need to ask him. You know, in case that matters to you. 

See ya, 

Ace 

Deuce Spade - 

Dear Prefect, 

Hello, how are you doing? Can you believe that it’s already been so long since we became friends? When we broke that chandelier, I was ready to never talk to you again... But now look at us! I’m on my way to becoming an honor student, and you’re working on finding your way home! I’m happy that you’re going to be able to go soon, I know how bad it feels not to be able to see your family (and probably friends in your case) after so long away, but also sad that you’ll be leaving us. 

I’ve got it! Let’s get your ghost camera, and we’ll take lots of photos of us all over campus! Two of each, so that way no matter what, both of us will always remember what we went through together. That sounds like a good idea, right? 

From, 

Duece 

Savanaclaw: 

Leona Kingscholar - 

Herbivore, 

Hey. You’re an idiot, you know that? You’re stupid and impulsive and don’t know when to quit or give up. That’s why you keep looking for me in the botanical gardens, right? You just don’t know when to stop. I’m sure that you’ll realize I’m not worth your effort soon enough. But until then, you have to come to see me more often. You’re my pillow, I don’t get good enough sleep if you’re not there. 

I’m in the usual place. Get over here as soon as possible. 

- Leona 

Ruggie Bucchi - 

Hiya, Prefect... 

I’ve been thinking, and you should let me come over to Ramshackle and fix the place up for you. No upfront cost, of course, but... I want the right to use the kitchen as I please, whenever I please. 

Why, you’re asking? Shishishi... Not telling. You’ve just got to trust me on this, I’ll make it worth your while. Then again, maybe I’ll just blow the kitchen up and you’ll have to live at Savanclaw again! That’d be fun, huh? 

If you don’t want me to, ya better give up your kitchen for a little while! I’ll get that microwave up and running again in no time.

- Ruggie 

Jack Howl - 

Dear Prefect, 

Hello, have you been feeling alright? I’ve noticed that Crowley isn’t the best provider of food. While on my morning runs, I’ve noticed Grim loudly talking about how he doesn’t have enough tuna. He does it pretty often. So, I’ve thought of a solution; You could try eating breakfast with me. I always get big portions, so you could have some. If you want, I could even try lifting you and carrying you places. I need to get better strength training anyway, and then you’ll have a buddy to get stronger with. It’s always better to have a friend with you. 

From, 

Jack 

Octavinelle: 

Azul Ashengrotto - 

My Pearl, 

Allow me to start this letter by saying that you are truly the crown jewel of my riches and that none can replace your beauty. You are the loveliest, most perfect little pearl, and I adore you with my whole heart. And yet, I cannot seem to convince myself that you feel the same. You say you do, and even if it is a crime to believe your lips hold lies, I cannot believe that to be true. If it was, why? Not just why you would tell me- A scheming man who has hurt you and your friends- that I hold the keys to your heart, but why you would choose what I hold underneath. I’m no good for you in terms of personality or how I look, and yet... You still hold me dear. And for that alone, I want to take you to the Coral Sea where my home lies, but not for a deal this time. Just... Because I want you and my mother in the same place. The two most important people to me meeting... That’s the best thing I can think of, to be honest. 

With Love, 

Azul Ashengrotto 

Jade Leech - 

Dearest Prefect, 

It has come to my attention that you haven’t had a chance to enjoy a proper mushroom dish since arriving in Twisted Wonderland. Now, that will not do for much longer. This letter should contain a box with three containers worth of mushroom dishes. You are to eat them and write back to me with what you thought of each of them. In return, I shall continue to provide you with free food. 

Do be warned, however, that they should all be eaten as fast as possible once you get them in case my brother chooses to throw them out. Also, so that way Grim cannot eat them. I would not recommend it for a cat.

Kind Regards, 

Jade Leech 

Floyd Leech - 

Shrimpy!!!!!! 

You and me. In the courtyard. Now. 

I’m going to squeeze you. 

🐬°˖𓍢✨໋ 🐋✧°.🐟⋆ 

🦐🥢🥢🥢🥢🧨 

I’ll see you later if you want me to or not. 

- Floyd <3333333 

Scarabia: 

Kalim Al-Asim - 

Hello!!!!

I love you!!! I love you, I love you, I love you! You’re the most wonderful person in this school, and you’ve done so much for both me and Jamil! It would be silly for me not to love you. I love how your hair looked in the wind when we went on that carpet ride, I love how you looked in the school’s uniform and how you looked when you tried on my dorms, and I love how you look no matter how you dress because you’re a beautiful person inside and out! I love you, and nothing can change that! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ 

Hugs and kisses, 

Kalim Al-Asim 

P.S. Let’s go on another magic carpet ride soon, okay? I want to show you how pretty the moon looks when it’s full and you’re flying!

Jamil Viper - 

Dear Prefect,

Thank you for saving me when I overblotted. I am aware that what I did was wrong, and I apologize. I hope you can understand where I’m coming from. Either way, I feel as though I must do something more for you to show you that. Please come to Scarabia tonight. I will make you a special dinner if you do. Please, don’t tell Kalim. I want... something special, for the two of us this time. 

See you later, 

Jamil Viper

Pomefiore: 

Vil Schoenheit - 

My Dearest Potato, 

I regret to inform you that you have bewitched me. So much so that I willingly took on a role as a villain in this next movie. The villain falls in love with the hero’s love interest, and then, in a “shocking” turn of events, she chooses the villain to stand by. Of course, they’re both defeated, the hero gets with his childhood friend in some lesson of how love will always be waiting for you, whatever. But I still chose it, even if Neige plays the hero. 

I finally have a love interest, and they remind me of you. You could have stood by his side, you know. You should have. I poisoned him; That action speaks for itself. And yet, you decided to stay with me. Just like how that villain in this story gets the girl the hero originally wanted. 

I’ve won your heart as well, haven’t I? 

Sincerely, 

Vil Schoenheit 

Rook Hunt - 

Trickster, 

Bonjour, mon amour! I could not resist sending you another letter. You see my darling, I long for you like I long for the sunset on a hot day, for an oasis in a desert, for a hint of rain during the dry season, for the sun during the days when it pours. I'd imagine you'd taste like the rain as well, Trickster, and if given the chance, I'd taste again and again, in an attempt to satiate more than just my curiosity. 

Oh, Trickster, have you any idea how you’ve bewitched me? Why, just the sight of you is enough to send me spiraling, wishing for the smallest fraction of a chance that my affections are shared. How cruel is fate, to deny me the right to live and die within your arms? La petite mort would be heaven if it was with you, but death would truly come for me if it wasn’t. 

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur, 

Le Chasseur D'Armour 

Epel Felmeir - 

Prefect, 

I need some help. I found out that milk can make ya grow stronger, and also help you get taller. However, Vil has banned me from drinking it because I drank a carton in two days. Something about it raising my cholesterol or making me break out, I don’t care. So, I need to keep it at Ramshackle. That’s okay with you, right? Well, I sure hope it is, cause it’s getting in there if ya want it to or not! I’ll see ya soon, just make sure it’s in the fridge. I’ll get ya some of my family’s apple juice in return, it’ll be good. I reckon ya liked it last time. 

Epel 

Ignihyde: 

Idia Shroud - 

Prefect, 

Get to my room, and fast. There’s an event taking place, and I need a player two. This one requires another person to be in the same room, so I can’t ask any of my mutuals, and you’re the only one I trust with this. I can’t ask Ortho either, don’t ask why. 

Also I recently got pink lights in my room like those normies. That’s why everything looks kind of pink, it’s not my hair. Just in case you were wondering if I was embarrassed or whatever, you’re wrong. Just get over here ASAP, no time to waste. 

- Gloomurai 

Ortho Shroud - 

Hello, how are you? ( ˵ •̀ ᴗ •́˵) I am very happy to get a chance to talk with you. I have recently learned how to type out these little faces called ‘kaomoji’ that my big brother loves. Here are some of my favorites: 

♡✧( •⌄• ) 

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ 

•ω• 

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ - This one is a cat! 

I would like to share more with you. Please come to Ignihyde so I can teach you how to get them on your phone as well. I can provide free updates while you’re here if needed. (✿˶◕‿◕˶人◕ᴗ◕✿) 

Sent To: PerfectPrefect@email.com 

Date: XX/XX/XXXX 

Return Email: orthoshroud2@email.com 

Diasomnia: 

Malleus Dracona - 

My Dearest Child Of Man, 

If Longing was painful, how much farther would I have to fall to crash and burn at your feet? The only answer I can give is that I already would have. I would build monuments in your name and would offer you the world and more if only you would say you loved me back. 

Could this be considered love? Could these feelings I hold deep within my heart, only to divulge in the darkest hours of the night with none but the stars and you to bear witness to my passion, be a form of love? Or is this simply my yearning, a longing for your heart, and wanting to have someone to call my own? 

The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were the one I wanted next. How I wish I could scream your name from the rooftop, and raise my voice in song only to sing your praises. You have the face of an angel, and I am sure that you must have the mind of one as well, for even if the voices in your head remind you of nothing more than pain and suffering, they have still been able to mold you into the perfection you are today. But maybe you have devils as well, trying to smite you as you sleep, but just as I do all of your angels, I will pick them up and kiss their heads if they are a part of someone I care for so much. You are perfection, Child of Man, and this dragon wishes only to live with the crumbs of affection as my treasures. 

Yours Until The End Of Eternity, 

Prince Malleus Dracona Of Briar Valley Hornton 

Lilia Vanrouge - (Okay so for Lilia I could have SWORN that he calls the prefect ‘Beastie,’ but I can find that nowhere. Literally at all, no one seems to have used it for him, but I know that I’ve seen at least one person do it. I now think that it’s a headcanon thing but I’m not sure, if anyone knows who did this or if it’s canon, please tell me. I’ve been searching for far too long and I am in too deep.)

Beastie, 

Hello, my darling~! I have an easy-peasy little request for you, m’kay? You just need to travel over to Diasomnia, and then... I’ll make you a meal! Malleus has been out trying to find this one gargoyle on campus all day since I brought up wanting to learn a new recipe, and Sebek and Silver both ran off earlier to go help him. I don’t know how to tell them that the gargoyle they’re looking for definitely isn’t at Night Raven College. Raising kids is quite hard, especially when things like this come up... 

But you’ll be there for me, won’t you, Beastie? Pretty please? I’ll see you tonight if you want to, a little date if you feel up to it. Mwah! 

xoxo, 

Lilia 

Silver “Vanrouge” - 

Dear Prefect, 

I had the most wonderful dream. I think I did, at least. I can’t remember it, but I remember how familiar these eyes were, and I knew it was you as soon as I awoke. And I know it's true, that dreams are seldom what they seem... But if I know how you are, then I know what you'll do; You'll look at me the same way you did once upon inside my dreams. And tell me all about the animals that you found with me when I awoke. What I wouldn’t give to hear you tell me about every birdie that comes to me; I’d be willing to fall asleep in the forest every day if only to hear you cooing to the birds when I come to. I wonder if each little bird has someone to sing sweet things to, a little love melody like what I long to play for you one day. Well, either way, I’m growing sleepy now. The effects of my curse will soon be on me once more. I’ll see you either later today or tomorrow, depending on how long I’m asleep. If you need me or simply wish to keep me company, I’m currently resting in the woods. 

Best Wishes, 

Silver 

Sebek Zigvolt - 

HUMAN! 

I have something to show you; A new notebook to be filled, gifted to me by Master Lilia. He said that it is a ‘scrapbook’, which humans fill up with pictures and drawings of themselves and their friends. To fulfill the purpose of this illustrious gift, you must come to Diasomnia at once! You shall be the first of the first years to be added, along with Silver. Prepare enough of those photographs you have to fill half of the book. The other shall be dedicated to Wakasama! 

Sincerely, 

Sebek Zigvolt  

RSA+NBC: 

Che’nya - 

Prefect... 

When are you going to visit RSA, huh? It would be purrr-fect to get a chance to see you again. You’re quite the pretty purr-son, dontcha think? Or maybe I’ll just drop by at the next unbirthday party... Riddle and Trey would like that, but I wonder what you’d think. Hum-hum-hummm... 

Kitty Kisses, 

Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker <3 

Neige Leblanche - (The Reader is called NRC’s ‘princess’ in this one, but not called a woman or anything)

My Dearest, 

Hello! How are you fairing? Have you been doing okay since the VDC? I know that you looked pretty shaken up back then, so I wanted to make sure that you’ve been okay. After all, you’re NRC’s princess! As far as I can tell, anyway. I’m happy that there’s someone around Vil like you, he always looked like he needed a good cheering up. And you’re like a fairytale! Such pretty hair and eyes and skin; Oh, I’d ride away with you on a white horse if I could! 

Ah, that’s odd to say to someone I don’t know very well, isn’t it? I’m sorry, that’s my fault. You still want to be friends, right? If you do, please come visit me at some point. Or, just send me a letter back. I’ll make sure that you get priority over any fan letter. 

Love, 

Neige Leblanche 

Rollo Flamme - (Kinda sugesstive) 

Mon Amour, 

There are times I wish I could tear you down and take you apart only to sew you back together. Rip you to shreds only to tenderly put each piece back where it should be. Drink from you until there's nothing left and then fill you up with all of the love I could offer, make you mine and mine alone. Those greedy thoughts shouldn't even make their way onto this paper, shouldn’t even be in my head, and yet here I am, penning them in a letter never to be sent. 

I truly wish you never see these letters, for I'd hate to be the reason your face turns to disgust, even if for a moment. Of course, I don't regret writing them. You will never read them, after all, but I believe I should get my thoughts out like this rather than bottle them up, lest I do something stupid and let you see them. I pray that you will never have to see me in a state like how I write to you, over my bedside table in the dead of night, eyes barely open and breath still recovering from dreams of a sweeter pleasure than I should sully your name with. 

I mention those dreams I have of you a lot, it seems, although I mean it in the most innocent way possible. Ever since I met you, you've infested my dreams and wormed your way into my heart like a parasite I can't rid myself of. My dreams are all of the sweet moments I have longed for and never gotten. I only have eyes for you, after all, and a saint may never lie with a sinner, lest they become one as well. 

Bonus: 

Checka Kingscholar - 

To Perfect, 

Hello! I am Checka Kingscholar. I am fiv years old. I like my unca. I like my dad and I love my mom. I love you! Goodbye! •ᴗ•

[insert-this-fire]

Overpoweringly Sweet

Logan Howlett aka Wolverine x gn!nonspecified mutant! Reader

Summary: Somehow you contracted Hanahaki for a man you hardly ever spoken to. Cant end well can it?

W/C: ~9k Warnings: a little OOC, angst, graphic description of coughing up flowers with blood.

AO3 Mirror A/N: I never post actual fics on tumblr but I feel that it needs to be done here. So sorry if its kinda formatted weird? it will also be on AO3!. First x-men fic too so sorry if its a bit ooc. Not really based on any specific iteration of Wolverine. Also not edited like, at all. Also I take requests! :3

~~ :3 ~~

You know, having a crush on someone so unattainable is laughable at best. Having a crush on them and apparently somehow contracting Hanahaki is even worse. How does that even happen? You haven’t even spoken to the guy more than a few words. Too embarrassed to open your mouth to introduce yourself and you work together. Yet here you are, petals on the bathroom floor and a constricting feeling in your throat. Your head lying on the back of the stall door. Still heaving from the sudden onslaught of overly sickly floral-scented petals that spilled out.

Gardenias. Pure white and mocking. 

The smell of them made you nauseous. The sight of them even more so. After looking up what they meant. It just made things even worse.

Secret love. How fitting.

It’s a damn crush, and the world decided it was love. Love for a grumpy ass old man with hair that kinda made you think of a cat. Actually, he reminded you of a cat in general. One that you want to rest your face on and fall asleep. Bury your face in those pecs of his. Muscles may look hard, but they do have a bit of squish. By God, does he have muscles. You’ve caught him shirtless a few times. All by accident, of course. You weren’t a pervert. Anytime you think of it, your jaw clenches tight.

Ah, getting off-topic here. Back to the fact that apparently, hanahaki doesn’t care if you’ve ever talked to someone before.

The stall door was cool against your cheek when you turned your head, and it was less gross than hugging the toilet like you wanted to so you could flush the flowers down the drain. It was terrible. The petals surround you, and a single full bloom floats mockingly in the toilet.

You know how to cure it. The moment that the flower petals started to spill from your lips, you desperately looked for what it was. It wasn’t that hard to find, apparently some find it sickeningly romantic. Bet they never had to deal with the ache that was constant around your lungs. You found the cure for it as well. Should be easy to do, right? Tell the person how you feel and they return it, or get it surgically removed. The surgery should be the right choice. It’s the only choice. You’ve hardly spoken to the man who coveted your affection, but the thought of not feeling the tug of your heart when you see him was too much to bear. Which makes no sense! It’s a dumb crush.

God, you’re an idiot.

A deep breath fills your lungs slightly, and the pain wraps around your chest as you try to get a full breath. Your hands find purchase on the rim of the toilet, and you push yourself up. Now, on two shaky legs, you wipe your mouth. You need to clean up the petals before anyone comes in. It was still the middle of the day, and classes were still going. Thank God the coughing fit didn’t hit you till lunch, or you would have to explain to a classroom full of students. That would be embarrassing. Yeah sorry class, your teacher is in love with someone they can’t have, let’s continue with the lesson now! Embarrassing.

Your hands start to pick up the petals. Each one feels as if it was searing into your skin. One, two, five, ten, thirty. Thirty petals and one full bloom. You were screwed. You could go to Hank. See if he knew any other way around it, any way to fix the disgusting flowers that took root in your lungs. Maybe being a mutant changed how to cure the disease? That was just hopeful thinking, though.

After mulling over the choices for a few moments more, you finally unlock the stall door and walk over to the garbage, quickly discarding the petals that did not make it into the toilet.

Your feet then carry you out of the bathroom and, as luck would have it, right into the chest of the one person you did not want to face yet.

Logan.

You were right, though. The muscles on his chest were squishy. God you want to just motorboat him real fast. Would that be weird? Yeah it would be. As quickly as you ran into him, you tried to remove yourself from his personal space. You know the guy wasn’t too fond of touch. You think. You actually… don’t know. Words quickly spill from your mouth as you try to apologize. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Logan just makes some gruff-sounding noise and continues on his way. You could faintly see as he walked away scrunching of his nose. He was probably able to smell the faint floral scent that was clinging to you. It probably wasn’t pleasant. You didn’t like the scent, it probably was a lot stronger on his end.

As you stand in the hallway after the sudden bump into your crush, you place your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart, and you walk in the opposite direction to your classroom. It hurt that he didn’t even say anything back to your apology, but that seemed pretty in character. To you, at least. If you were on friendlier terms, maybe not, but you doubt he even knows your name.

The thought of the surgery resurfaces in your head. Maybe you should get it. Ignore the deep-seated pain in your heart at the thought of losing your feelings for him. However, the repercussions of a botched removal is another reason not to do so. It could remove the feeling of ever being in love again. Would that be so bad though?

You shake your head. You have a class you have to get back to… and a phone call to make.

The day continued on like normal after that. Classes, grading papers, discreetly removing petals from your mouth into the trashcan by your desk as you graded papers. A new norm for you. It did seem that a few students had noticed a slight change in you. In fact, one of them even got you a get well soon card. Sweet, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

If you don’t get better soon, you will probably end up another statistic for the disease. How many people were there that had it and perished as the roots wrapped around the lungs and slowly filled the valves on the heart. Too many, probably. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at that. That’s why you were now sitting in your now empty classroom, making a phone call. You had found a number to a doctor who specializes in the disease. You would get some advice and decide from there what you want to do.

The phone rings, once, twice….

“Hello, this is Dr. Forrest’s office. How may I help you?” How fitting a doctor who knows about Hanahaki has a nature-based last name.

You quickly introduce yourself and ask if you could speak to him or schedule an appointment. Apparently the only way to talk to him is with an appointment. The next one isn’t for a few months. You don’t even know if you’ll last that long. You’ve been keeping track. A full bloom appeared today. A singular full bloom, no steam. The petals were loose so it had to be in the early start of the mid stages. It was taking its time infecting you. It must be due to not seeing Logan all the time.

You do tend to avoid him when you can. The thought of seeing him always makes your cheeks burn. Man was just too hot. It made it seem like you were in love with just his looks! You weren’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be coughing up all these petals. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t just his looks. The flower has a meaning, after all.

Maybe if you avoid Logan, actually stop trying to see if you can see him across the halls. Stop looking for him during dining hours. Just try to ignore him. Though unless he was going to go on one of those sudden long vanishing acts. Well, you doubt that you actually will be able to avoid him enough to live till the next appointment. You really are screwed. Shit.

Running a hand over your face with a groan you lean back in the chair behind your desk. What should you do? The surgery now seemed to be out of the question. So now you either confess and die, or you just die. Which definitely was not the ideal thing to do. You were screwed. Hands down. Your name is on the death warrant the moment the receptionist said months. Maybe you should go to Hank. Dude was a certified genius right? He would know something.

A knock at your door made you jump. Quickly you lift your head and look over to the closed door to your classroom. Could be a student, another faculty member? Whoever it was either needed you or the room.

“Come on in.”

Silence followed and then the door opened up. Your gaze turns to the door, ready to answer whatever questions that are going to follow. Till you hear the tall tale sound of boots, heavy. The sound of jeans rubbing against legs. A jacket rustling slightly from movement. Jeez, why are you suddenly so aware of the sounds?

Your eyes hone in on the man you’ve been thinking about. Logan. Twice. TWICE in one day you’ve seen him up close. See him in your space. He never seeks you out. You never get to see him up close like this more than once or twice a week. It’s like you’re in a fanfiction and someone is pushing the two of you together.

That’s silly though, this was real life.

“Oh, Logan. How can I… help you?” Could you sound any more awkward? You want to bang your head on your desk. Especially with how he was just looking at you. Should you have called him Wolverine? Mr. Howlett?

“You need to let up on that perfume you’re wearing. Can smell it all over the hall.” His face gives away the fact he smells something he doesn’t like. 

Perfume?... Perfume… The flowers. Of course he could smell it. The floral scent has been clinging to you since the first petals slipped from between your lips.

“Oh, heh sorry. I’ll try to use less of it.” You just laugh a bit, still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, the sudden tickle in your throat reminding you that you could not stop the smell from permeating your skin. That it will linger on you till you no longer have these flowers growing inside of your chest. “If I use too much again I’m sorry. Can’t really tell when I use too much or not.”

Blue eyes narrow at you, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he should call you out on it. “Thanks bub, it’s masking everything else.”

With that he left the room as quickly as he came, there was a slight pause and you can tell he glanced at the trash can by your desk. The trash can that had a few petals thrown in haphazardly. Thought to be hidden by the papers that you threw on top. You hope that is all he sees.

That was such an awkward interaction. You slam your head on the desk once more. God why are you such an idiot.

~~ :3c ~~

Time continues on like normal, but recently you catch Logan at the corner of your eye. Which is normal, you usually do seek him out. Yet now it’s like he is everywhere you go. Walking in the gardens, he’s out there smoking one of his cigars leaning on a tree or the wall of the mansion. You’d be eating and you’d see him a table or two away, his eyes on you. You can feel them boring into your skin. You’ll be walking in the hallways and see him turning a corner before you fully spot him. More often than not you find him outside of the bathroom you were just in after coughing up a storm. Just standing by the door like a guard dog. Always scrunching his nose when the door opens and the aroma of flowers follows you out.

He knew. He had to. He had to know something was wrong with you. There is no way he doesn’t. The man has been alive long enough that he probably knows the signs of what you have. The disease that is currently ruining your life. He has probably seen all sorts of people who have had Hanahaki. You won’t be the first, nor the last person he has seen inflicted with it either. It’s probably why he’s keeping an eye on you. He must have found out when he came to ask you to stop using so much perfume and yet you still smell that sickeningly floral smell on you.

Unless you’re just suddenly more aware of him than you were before. Which you shouldn’t be. You were already highly aware of him due to your damn dumb crush that’s killing you. Eyes are always lingering on him.

It’s probably because of the scent that’s following you around. It is probably sticking out more than your usual scent, which was. You don’t know. What do you normally smell like? Apparently, it’s something non-distinct since the new smell is pretty overpowering. If you can smell it, it must be strong.

You wish you knew what was going through the man’s head. You couldn’t really ask him. You aren’t close to him like that. Can’t ask the people he is close to either because you aren’t close to them. You kinda just, are here in the mansion teaching. You’re not a part of x-men, you aren’t too interested in fighting anyways. You earned your keep teaching. You are vaguely close to Hank though. Well, in recent events at least. You could ask him?

Yeah, no, you aren’t. You’re going to suffer through this. You can handle it. You don’t need to know what’s going on in his mind.

Which reminds you, you need to actually go talk to Hank. You’ve been putting it off, but the full blooms are startling. Every other coughing fit brings one full bloom. It has only been a week since the first bloom and with the sudden influx of Logan sightings, it is speeding up. You needed an out and fast. Before it kills you.

Thus here you are walking through the mansion to head down to his lab. Quickly avoiding anyone you see. The scent of flowers following you through the halls like a wraith. Leaving a trail of sweetness to waft into the air. Disgusting.

As you make your way into the lab you spot Hank, or Beast? Shit, you don’t even know which one he prefers to be called. You really should ask, huh. Anyway, you spot him.

When the blue-furred man spots you, he quickly greets you with your name: “It is good to see you this fine evening. What do I owe the pleasure? It is not often I see you down here.”

If you could, you would sigh deeply. The rattling of vines stops the motion before it begins. “Hi yeah uh. I got into a delicate situation and I don’t know who else to go to? The doctor I had called can’t really see me and I don’t know what else to do and you’re like… The smartest person I know so I’m hoping… you could help?” The words spill out quickly.

Hank raises an eyebrow and fixes the glasses perched on his face. The man was upside down for some odd reason, and he quickly flipped to land on the ground. With grace you don’t expect for someone his size. Then again, you’ve seen some weird ass mutations. He motions for you to sit down on one of the beds stationed in the lab. One used when needed for situations like this. Medical, scientific, not something you can throw a punch at and fix.

After sitting down on the bed, you start to explain. Words flowing like a waterfall. He is the first person you have gone into detail about your condition. How the petals slip from your lips like a poison, the tightening of your chest with each breath. The fear of losing yourself to unrequited love and dying because of it. You do not mention who it is directed at nor the fact you thought it was a crush and did not deserve to have evolved into such a disease.

The room fell silent after your reveal, a silence that stretched on longer than you would have liked. God, you hope he has an idea about how to help you out of this mess.

“From my knowledge there are only two cures. I assume you already know.” A pause as you answer with a curt nod. “I do not believe there are any other alternatives other than what has been proven to work. I assume that you are here to find out if there are any or that you require the surgery.”

“I can’t tell them… I really had hoped that you would know. I don’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, messing it up slightly. It was already a mess from earlier, but you know how hands are in hair. “It’s not an option to tell them.”

“I see. It will take some time, but I will see if I can learn the correct procedure so that there will be minimal to no complications.” Hank pats you on the shoulder and motions for you to head out. He had some things to do and research to go over. Escorting you out of his lab so Hank may do what is necessary. He didn’t give a timeline, but you trust that he can do it before your time is up.

You really hope that he can do this.

After leaving the lab, you had to pass some of the other faculty. Or X-men? Yeah, it seems they are setting off on a mission of some sort. You pass Cyclops, Storm, Jean and. Yeah, that is exactly who you don’t want to see right now. Logan. Seems he is going with them. To, wherever they have to go. You give them all a small nod in acknowledgment as you pass them. Each one provides you a small smile or nods back.

Logan though? He pauses when you pass him. His face contorted into something you weren’t too sure of. He probably caught another whiff of the flowers on you. Great. The others give him a look and he just grunts at them. Somehow they understand and continue on their way. Leaving you with Logan.

A hand grabs your bicep, fingers wrapping around the muscle. Your gaze drops to the hand, in another life you were sure it would be rough with use, but it was surprisingly soft. The grip was not, natural strength hidden behind the hold. A promise that you would not be able to pull away without exerting yourself.

“You’re smellin’ worse. Thought I told you to let up.” A gruff voice, oh how you want to roll in that voice. That was a weird thought, you should probably stop thinking of that like a weirdo. God are you a weirdo?

An awkward laugh bubbles up from your chest. You can feel your own muscles tense under his hold and gaze. Damn he’s never looked at you like this before. A slight glare, crinckled nose, and a slight snarl on his lips. You must be really weird because damn was that kind of a hot look. Which somehow in turn makes your chest tighten and the tickle of a cough is trying to break free. You swallow hard to bite it back. Yet you can feel the petals moving through your throat. 

“Sorry sorry, I guess I overdid it?” You pull your eyes away from his. Unable to continue to look at his face. Be it from your weird thoughts, the tickle in your throat or your inability to keep eye contact with someone. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“You’re hiding that you're sick.” The grip on your arm tightens. Not in a painful manner no, but a reminder that you cannot run away from this conversation. Which is odd right? Why does Logan care? You two hardly know each other. Sure you apparently love the man, but you’re still sure he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve seen him care for others in the mansion, a good friend in an odd way. A father figure and mentor to some of the students. Also in a weird way. You’re sure he’d brush off that idea and say he isn’t. He is.

Wait, he just said you’re sick… “I’m not sick?” 

Logan's eyes narrow as he stares at you. Do you look sick? Sure you’ve gotten a little pale and eating has gotten a little hard so you haven’t been eating as much as you usually do. Does being sick have a smell to it? Fuck that is weird. Well, some animals could tell when others are sick before physical symptoms show. Maybe that's how he knew. No, that wouldn’t make sense because you aren’t really sick. You just have a big fat crush that's killing you. 

You can tell Logan doesn’t believe you. “Just fix it. Can’t stand the smell on you.” His hand lets go and he stalks down the hallway to where the others had walked off to. Your eyes linger on his form as he walks away. The ghost of a feeling on your arm where his hand had wrapped around it. The slight warmth seeping into your skin slowly vanishes. God you’re fucked. 

~~ >:3 ~~

And fucked you are. It’s been at least two months since you told Hank about the hanahaki. Hank is taking his sweet ass time researching the procedure, the doctor you called has called back finally and mentioned that his next opening for a consultation was still months away. Which you decide to say fuck that guy, you trust Hank can do it. The doctor probably won’t even work on a mutant. Logan is still always at the corner of your eye. A scowl or sneer on his face anytime he looks at you. Not to mention the flowers! They’re getting worse.

Full blooms, multiple at a time. Their petals no longer loose around the center. Now they are tightly packed, fully bloomed and speckled with blood as they escape through your throat. Occasionally there would be a flower that had not bloomed yet. Still wrapped tightly, not fully formed. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you’re sure it wasn’t good. At least they were not roses. You feel bad for those who dealt with that. Thorns were something you were happy that was not in the mix of your own flower hell.

The flowers aren’t fully developed yet. Stems have not fallen with them. Yet you are unsure if you would survive long enough to see the end stages of hanahaki. Your body is getting weaker and weaker each day. Your own mutation even fighting against you. You can hardly call on it now. Once you had wished to be a normal person, but that has been years ago. Now you feel like you are losing a part of yourself. These damn flowers truly are killing you. Both physically and emotionally. 

You had to leave class more often. The coughs that tore through your chest made it unbearable to speak long enough to teach an entire class to its completion. Students start to worry, other faculty seem to notice the sudden change as you have to start asking for people to cover your class for you as you rush to the restroom to hug the porcelain throne to exude the flowers of love. Each time more and more petals fall from your lips, tears stain your cheeks more often due to the pain and energy it takes to clear them out from your throat. 

It has gotten to the point where you had to ask someone to cover your class in full, or cancel it. You don’t want to cancel your classes, but at the rate you are going it will be the only thing you can do. Today is probably the last full class you can handle, you feel like shit. Your throat itches, your stomach aches from the lack of food. Your head hurts because of the lack of sleep from the coughing. Yeah, you might have to take a break from it all. What surprises you is that Logan is waiting outside of your classroom.

Ok it’s not that surprising. You’ve been catching him outside your classroom since he came back. It is like he is suddenly more aware of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. You would be excited usually, your crush suddenly paying attention to you! How great is that? Yet lately it just makes things feel so much worse. Especially with that sneer on his face. You know he knows something is up, he made it clear two months ago. Though he hasn’t brought it up again. Yet he is always there. Like a shadow. 

Which is honestly a bit uncomfortable. You aren’t used to this amount of attention. 

“You don’t have to stand out here you know?” Papers you needed to grade were in your arms. You may need to take a break, but you should at least grade these papers before someone takes the class over. Your last bit of work. 

Logan just stares at you. The slight glare, the wrinkled nose, the arms crossing making those muscles bulge out of his shirt. You had to quickly drag your eyes away from his arms so you aren’t caught staring. You don’t meet his eyes though. It was too intense. 

“You’re getting worse.” Way to point out the obvious Logan.

“Good observation.” A short pause follows after. Silence falls for a few moments. “I uh, it’s why I’m takin a break. Sick leave? Uh… Yeah…” You really don’t know how to talk to him. The tickle in your throat is back again. Too soon, you just hacked up half your lung just moments before. You really don’t want to cough in front of him. You thought he might already know what it is, but he still thinks the smell on you is perfume. So no way do you want him to know the truth. 

Logan stares at you a few moments longer, a slight grunt. His head motioned for you to follow him. That’s how you read it at least as he starts to walk down the corridor and only pauses to look at you. Looks like you’re following him. This can’t end well can it? 

The two of you walk silently through the corridors. Your arms are still full of papers, but it seems the two of you are heading out into the garden. Probably for the best, the crisp air outside will dull the floral scent. Hopefully at least. Even if it lingers on your skin and it has gotten to the point others have even started to point it out. The halls were mostly empty though at this time. Most students are already off doing their own thing, you can vaguely hear a laughter from down the hall as the two of you finally make your way outside.

Into the garden, the cool air bites at your exposed arms. You should have worn a jacket. Too late for that now it seems. The trees are already turning orange, autumn making its way across the land. Oranges, reds and browns. If you weren’t full of anxiety you would be enjoying the sights. Especially as Logan brings you over to a small bench by the man-made pond. A bit away from everyone, but still close enough to the mansion you can dash inside if needed. 

You take a seat first. The papers sit beside you. Logan stands in front of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He isn’t sitting. Why isn’t he sitting?

“So uh…” Your voice comes out first, awkward and a bit unsure. The tickle in your throat grows again as you fight it back.

“It’s not perfume on you is it?” Logan’s gaze never leaves yours, but you can’t help but look away. Too uncomfortable with the eyes boring into you. You never once used perfume, though you did use that as an excuse didn’t you?

Silence followed after. Your eyes looking at the ground as you kick your legs back and forth. Unable to voice the truth. Logan is still looking at you, jaw clenching most likely. You don’t have to look at him to know.

His voice finally cuts through the silence. Apparently he was sick of you beating around the bush and not answering him. Your name on his lips startling you slightly. You honestly thought he didn’t know your name, but it seems you were wrong. “What's makin you so sick that it’s leaving you to look like that and smell like that.”

You should tell him. Tell him. TELL HIM. 

… 

You’ll tell him without actually telling him. You don’t think you’d survive telling him the full truth. You’re a pretty good liar most of the time. He might be able to pick through the lie but he’s not that perceptive right? 

“I uh… It’s.” You feel like you’re stumbling over your words, your throat constricting. “I have.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Your muscles tensing as a cough tears through you. Violently. Your body lurching forward as your hand shoots up to cover your lips as the cough pulls out petals and blossoms alike. Your hand can’t catch all the petals as they spill to the ground. Your eyes clenching shut as tears prickle the corners due to how painful it was. The other hand not covering your mouth grabs at your chest. As if you could claw the roots out through your skin. It burns. 

It burns, it burns, it burns. 

It won’t stop. You can’t stop hacking up the petals. Each cough brings out a sob with it as well. It has never been this bad. The scent of gardenias explodes. It burns your nose. You hate the smell of it. If you survive you’ll never be able to handle this scent again. Your body retching forward as you double over. Body crumpling in on itself as you try desperately to get some air into your already filled lungs. You would think having plants living in your lungs would give you more oxygen. If only it didn’t wrap tightly around your lungs and neighboring organs. Leaving little space for what you truly needed.

You almost forget Logan is there with you. An unexpected presence sits beside you. Warmth seeping into your side. He doesn’t set a comforting hand on your back. Doesn’t say any words. But him sitting beside you is enough comfort. You don’t think you could handle physical touch anyways. Your body would probably jerk harder at it. Hanahaki really was a killing disease wasn’t it. It was going to kill you before even getting to the final stage. You can’t do this.

Slowly the coughing fit lessens. The petals and blooms spilling from your mouth as if it was all you breathed came to a stop. Your body still hunched over, tears filling your eyes as you finally, finally stopped coughing up the damned flowers. You were still shaking, trying to catch the lost breath.

“You’re ok sweetheart. Just try and breathe.” Something large, heavy, warm rests on your upper back. Small soothing circles. He called you sweetheart, that was strange. You don’t expect comfort. You don’t think Logan expected to comfort you like this either. It was an awkward movement, but comforting. You wanted to lean into it, lean into him. You weren’t going to though. Pain was radiating through your chest and you weren’t sure you would be able to sit up straight without coughing again. Fear that any movement will bring on another coughing fit settled inside of you like a vice. You can still feel the slight tickle in your raw throat. 

You taste blood.

It takes a few tries, gasping tries, before air finally was able to fill your lungs enough that you could breathe properly. Or well, as well as you can with roots wrapping around your insides. You pull out a few petals that were still stuck in your mouth and let them fall to the ground as you slowly sit up. Still slightly hunched over but no longer practically hugging your legs. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, blood from your lips smearing across your skin. Eyes on the ground where the mess you made mocks you. There's so much, white and red. White flowers that you would have thought beautiful covered in splotches of your own blood. Tainting the gardenias, tainting the meaning of secret love. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. 

Your eyes linger on the ground as you finally speak. Voice raspy and strained. “Sorry.” 

“Nothin to be sorry about, nasty thing you got. Seen it a few times.” Logan’s voice is gruff, yet there is a touch of something tender in there. Unexpected. You don’t like it. He shouldn’t be treating you like this. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know that you’re like this because of him, because of your dumb crush on him that the world decided was good enough to practically kill you.  

Ok that’s not true. You know under his rough and tough demeanor and the huge, insensitive ass he could be. He’s caring and trustworthy. Loyal as fuck and self-sacrificing. It’s what had drawn you in in the first place. The soft look he’d give to people he cared about when no one was looking. The way he treats the younger mutants. It was heartwarming. Your admiration for him turned from simply looking up to him to wanting him to look at you that way.

Silence falls between the two of you again as you continue to try to take in oxygen. The taste of iron and earth is still on your tongue. The sound of fellow mutants distantly chatting and the occasional bird cuts through the silence. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to tell him who your affliction derives from. You doubt he would ask, but he might. You’ll need to think of an excuse. A lie. Anything to keep him from finding out it is him. He’d reject you. You know this already. You’ve seen him look at others. He doesn’t look at you like that. You just learned he knew your name too! The two of you hardly spoke before. This is the most attention you have ever gotten from him. He doesn’t love you the way the disease needs him to. 

“Who's the asshole?” His words cut through the silence again. Surprising you once more. This definitely is the most words he has ever spoken to you.

“Doesn’t matter… He doesn’t feel the same.” Your throat continued to feel raw. It hurt to speak, but you needed to answer. You couldn’t stay quiet when he asked. Your gaze moves from the ground to glance at him from the side. You try not to meet his eyes but you can see a look on his face that had never been directed towards you. In any other situation you would be happy, ecstatic. Right now though, it makes your stomach tie up in uncomfortable knots. 

A slight hint of anger crosses Logan’s face and his hand just rests on your back, no longer rubbing those soothing circles. You know he wants to know. The look he has on him makes you think he sees you as someone under his protection, it’s nice. Even if it is not really what you want at the moment.

“So you’re willing to die for him.” There was a short pause between his words. His tone is soft, you don’t like it. “Seen most with it die that way. Shouldn’t have to die like that.”

You decide not to reply to the fact that you were willing to die for these feelings. Why? Because you still don’t want to believe it is true. Even with the flowers clearly showing signs the crush was love. Infatuation. You hate this. “Dr. Mccoy is going to perform the surgery for me. Should be any day now.”

You at least hope it will be any day now. You spoke to him a couple days ago and he seemed a bit all over the place so you couldn’t ask him if he was ready yet. You know he hadn’t forgotten, you saw the books laying on one of the tables next to some tools, but time was ticking and it was ticking fast. You know it and now… Now Logan knows it too. You’re on limited time. 

“I… can’t tell him. He doesn’t feel the same, he can’t. I’ll die if I tell him. I have to do the surgery. I’d rather chance not feeling love again than to confess and die. I…” Your hands curl into themselves as you look back down at the flowers. The tightening in your chest squeezes harder. You don’t need to explain yourself, but you feel like you have to. This way you can come to terms with it. Speaking it out loud makes it all too real. “I trust Dr.Mccoy. He won’t fail. He… he can’t.”

“Lotta trust in the guy.” Logan leans back on the bench, his hand lingering on your back removes itself as he crosses his arms. You feel the itch in your throat again, it’s too soon for more petals. You at least hope so. Logan then continues, “Remember watching someone choke on their own blood cause of that shit. Don’t want to see you on that end sweetheart.”

Logan called you sweetheart, again. It made butterflies fly around your stomach, churning with the anxiety already there. It was not the most comfortable of feelings. You weren’t expecting it this time either. It was nice. Would be nicer in better circumstances though. “Thanks Logan, but I’ll survive this. I have to…”

“Still think you should tell me who this asshole is. Could talk to him.” You hear the familiar snikt sound, a clear sign he extended his claws. A glance over was all you needed to confirm he did, the light gleaming off the metal. 

“God no! Sure actions speak louder than words for him, but it wont help.” Because he’d be threatening himself. You couldn’t help but let a pathetic laugh bubble up. Pain radiating through your chest and throat as you do so. At least you can still find some humor in this. Logan’s claws go right back under his skin and between his knuckles at your words. Though you can tell he still seemed interested in using violence against who is causing this for you. God, you wish you could tell him.

The two of you fall into another silence. Your own thoughts are swirling through your head and you’re sure Logan is also dealing with his own thoughts. Your disease is now out there. What truly ales you has been revealed without you actually saying the words. You wished you could have said the words, said what it was, told him your feelings. Though things never work out that way do they. 

You aren’t sure how this was going to end.

Logan looks at you the same time you gaze at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones. You would wax poetic about his eyes, but that seems pretty cliche. Everyone always does when talking about blue eyes, how they look like the ocean, or the sky. Logan’s reminds you of steel, the silvery blue that almost matches the adamantium claws you see on occasion. There is something in those eyes though, something you can’t read. Something behind that wall everyone knows he puts up. You want to dig deeper, fall into those eyes to avoid all your problems. Be free of the pain you can’t escape. The two of you seem to just stare at each other far longer than it felt. 

“Tell me when you get the surgery. I want to be there.” 

“...Okay.”

And just like that, the two of you break eye contact and fall into a silence. A silence only broken by the occasional cough from you and the sounds of nature and other mutants about. You wish you could have experienced this sooner. Before your world decided to crash down on you. You’ll just have to enjoy the time with him like this while you can. Before the feelings you have for him are forever torn away. Leaving only a hollow space in your chest for the fellow mutant. 

You’re not ready. 

~~ :3 !! ~~

Hank Mccoy finally let you know he was ready to do the surgery a few days after your chat with Logan. You weren’t ready for it. You didn’t want to lose these feelings, you didn’t want the complications that may follow, but fuck you don’t want to die either. You will die if you don’t do this surgery. You can’t… You have to do this. 

Which is why you are outside of the room Logan usually occupies when he is in the mansion. You've been standing outside of his room for what felt like hours now. You knew he probably could hear your heartbeat, but he isn’t coming out. He asked to be there when you got the surgery. He wanted to support you for some reason. You could just go, leave and get the surgery without telling him. Your anxiety welling up along with the urge to throw up. Your hand is already raised before you could stop yourself and you knock three times.

Silence follows after. The sound of shuffling and the door opens. Logan standing there in one of those slutty little white tank tops and jeans. A classic look that was all too hot in your opinion. Your mouth feels dry as he looks at you.

“I’m getting it now.” You rub your arm, unable to look him in the eyes. You do look at his face though. Just long enough to see shock cross his face for a few seconds, which quickly vanished back behind his usual look. Logan steps out of his room and shuts the door, head tilting to the side a bit as he waits for you to start walking to Hank’s lab. 

The two of you walk silently through the halls. It was late in the afternoon. You could have gotten it earlier in the day but your body was so exhausted from the coughing fit you had that night that you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. In fact you’re still in your pajamas mostly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfy. You’re going into surgery, you deserve not to dress up for it. Logan doesn’t comment on it either so it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything is fine.

The two of you enter the lab quietly. No one else seems to be here but Hank. After all, one else knew. People knew you were sick of course, but you kept a tight lip on what exactly was inflicting you.

Hank greets you with your name. A look of surprise as his eyes drop onto Logan. Quickly he glanced back at you and you just shrugged your shoulders slightly. Letting Hank know the situation. How Logan knew what was wrong with you and wanted to be here with you. Moral support from the emotionally constipated x-men. Well, mostly constipated. 

After going over the procedures and what needed to be done you step behind the curtains, changing into one of those flimsy hospital gowns. The cool air nipping at your skin as you bite your bottom lip. You were scared. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t do this. You can’t do this! You don’t want to lose your feelings for Logan. He just now is starting to show you attention. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to deal with this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

“Are you okay?” Hank's voice cuts through your spiral. Eyes watering and your chest heaving. Ohm you were crying. No, you were sobbing again. Your hands are shaking at your side. You glance at the curtain that hid you from the other two. You know they heard you crying, heard you falling apart. How embarrassing. Your hand grips at the gown, bunching it up at your chest as you take a shaky breath. Lungs barely able to hold a full inhale. 

“Yeah… Yeah sorry. I’m ok. I’m ready.” You step out from behind the curtain. Clear concern was on the blue mutant's face. You can’t read the others. You don’t like this. You silently pad over to the table, bed, whatever it is, that is set up for you. Another strained breathe and you sit on the surface. A glance at the two of them and you lay back. You’re surprised the professor wasn’t here to help out. Maybe he wasn’t needed. Hank could handle this on his own. You can handle this. Logan was here, you didn’t want him here, but it was a strange comfort knowing the man you loved was here to support you. Even if said surgery would remove all feelings for him. How poetic. 

You stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to do as Hank moves around you. Logan who had been leaning on the wall walks over and takes your hand in his. Holding it as if you would shatter at the softest of touches. You hate it. 

“Offer still stands darlin’. Can make the guy love you back.” Although the words would work well in a teasing tone. There was a hint of seriousness behind it. Like he didn’t want you to go under. To have the gardenias removed from your chest. Your hand squeezes his weakly. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You had to do this or confess. Only one of those was an actual option.

Hank returns and holds up the mask. You lift your head up as he slides it over your mouth and nose. It’s too late. You can feel the tears threatening to fall again. You’re scared. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightens as Hank moves around you, making sure you’re hooked up correctly. Your vision starts to blur slightly. You try to inhale the gas as deeply as you could, it hurt. Your lungs didn’t want to fill, you think you can feel the roots wiggling deeper through your lungs and closer to your heart. Your eyes are on Logan, fear clearly radiating off of you. Your own eyes showing the anxiety inside of you. Logan just stands strong next to you. Like a silent guard. 

As the world starts to blacken around you, the corners of the room vanishing slowly. You couldn’t help yourself. You were getting the surgery. You can say the words now. It won’t matter. Your head was already floating and consciousness was fading. Eyes focusing on Logan, like a tunnel. All you could see was him as the world around you slowly vanished into nothingness.   Three words slipped out of you without much thought.

“I love you.” 

The world shifts and the world goes dark. 

The quiet beeping echos. A steady rhythm that matches the slight pounding in your head. Your eyes slowly open, only to quickly shut again. The lights were a bit too bright and everything was… Numb. Your mouth feels dry and you physically can’t feel anything. Did the surgery go wrong? Why can’t you feel anything? A groan bubbles up from your throat as you force your eyes to open. That’s when you feel it.

You can feel every muscle, every fiber of the blanket covering you. The heaviness in your chest is gone. You take a breath. You can… You can take a breath. Your lungs are fully filled with oxygen. Chest rising higher than it has in months. You can breathe. Your eyes open again, the bright fluorescent lights above you illuminate the room. You tilt your head away from looking up at the ceiling. Eyes moving around the room. Gaze falling on the little monitor you’re hooked up to. The beeping was your heartbeat. Ok. That looked good. 

Your head turns the other direction as you take in another sweet deep breath. Eyes landing on Logan. He was still here, sitting beside your bed, head lolled to the side clearly asleep. Your chest tightens in the familiar feeling you have been dealing with for months. That can’t be right. You shouldn’t still be feeling this longing. You shouldn’t still be feeling the warmth that spreads through you over the fact that he had stayed. You shouldn’t be feeling the soft tug on your heart as you look at him or the soft smile pulling on your lips.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. You raise the arm that wasn’t hooked up to all the devices and set it on your chest. There was pain there, raw and uncomfortable, but there was no bump on your chest to show there was a bandage, no pain pulling at your skin. The pain you felt was all under your skin. This isn’t right, something is wrong. Your chest felt clear but you have no evidence that you underwent the surgery. You force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots down your spine. You groaned in pain and a hand was suddenly pressing down on your shoulder. Forcing you back onto the bed. Logan had gotten up.

“Logan?” Your voice was scratchy. It felt just like the times you coughed up all those flowers when he found out. “What… What’s going on? Why do I…” 

“Yeah it’s me. Lay back down. Can’t have you moving around too much yet.” Logan’s hand was still on your shoulder, a gentle pressure making you lay back down onto the bed. Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the look he is giving you. You can’t read him. “Don’t talk too much either. Hank said you got to heal.”

Yet you’re pretty sure you didn’t get the surgery though! You should be dead. You… You told Logan how you felt. How you still feel. Yet the urge to cough is gone. Your chest feeling lighter than it has since before the disease took its hold on your life. That has to mean something. Something happened when you went under. What happened? Why won’t he tell you? Why is he looking at you like that? 

Logan’s hand finally pulled away from your shoulder. He just stares down at you as you stare at him. Silence falls between you two. His hand then slowly moves again. Your eyes darting down to the hand. Slowly his hand goes to push some hair out of your face. The same look he has been giving you for the past few months crosses his face. You still don’t know what it means, but it is making your stomach flip. 

“Glad you didn’t die for a guy like me. World be a lot darker without you in it.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. His hand was soft and warm. The touch a bit too tender for someone like him.

Wait. Wait wait wait. He heard you. He heard what you said before going under. You didn’t go through the surgery yet your chest feels lighter than it should. That could only mean one thing. Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips part as you go to speak. Pain still itching at your throat.

“You heard me…” Of course he heard you! He was right next to you holding your hand. He has enhanced senses. He heard you confess. He heard you say you loved him. You’re still alive, you still feel for him and you confessed! That has to mean. Your face suddenly lights up. Heat pooling both on your cheeks and in your stomach. There is only one explanation. There is only one way you were able to live and still feel this way. Logan loved you back. That doesn’t make sense though! Before you started smelling like flowers the two of you never spoke to one another. Yet he…

He loved you back.

“Yeah, I did. Could have told me sooner to save you the pain. Told ya I’d make sure the guy felt the same.” His hand leaves your face. He turns to grab the chair he had been sitting in before and pulls it over. The chair legs screeching across the floor making you flinch at the noise. Once the chair was next to you he sat down and took your hand in his again. Once more treating you like glass. Though you appreciate it, you feel like glass right now. 

Logan lifts your hand up to his face, blue eyes staring straight into your own as his lips find your knuckles. Leaving a soft kiss. You were already blushing before, but you swear you feel like you’re on fire. His lips brushing against your knuckles as he speaks once more. You really aren’t used to hearing him speak so much. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about sweetheart.”

You just silently nod, unable to break your gaze from his. Your hand is lowered, your heart beating out of your chest. You are sure he can hear it. You lick your lips, unable to speak a word out of fear you’ll embarrass yourself further. Logan just chuckles slightly, a deep reverberating one. 

“Guess I should say it, not really good with the emotions shit, but I love you too.���

A few blinks and then a small laugh comes out of you. A wince follows after, but the biggest grin spreads on your face. All it took was you almost dying to finally hear those three little words. You’ll never look at gardenias the same again, nor will you be able to stand the sickly sweet smell of a strong floral scent. That doesn’t matter to you though. You obtained something you thought was unattainable. The love of the man you were in love with. The secret love no longer hidden. 

You can now understand the look Logan was giving you. It was the same you had been giving him. You both were in love with each other but were unsure how to go about it. All it took was the flowers that no longer were growing inside of you. 

You finally say the words, more confident than when you went under. “I love you.” 

“Love you too sweetheart.” 

[brunchable]

Captivate Me | Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader. [R 18+]

Word count: 23.6K (oops) Pairings: Obsessed Bucky Barnes x Movie Star Reader. Summary: You've been seeing Bucky for a while. You thought meeting him was pure fate but little did you know every single detail was premeditated. Trying to end things with him would be the greatest mistake of your life. Themes/Warning: SMUT OVER 18s ONLY. Dark Romance, slow-burn STALKING, KIDNAPPING, A LOT OF MANHANDLING *DUBCON?* BDSM (Blindfolded, Bed Restraints), Daddy Kink, Masturbation (M), Filming during sex, domineering acts, degradation, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral (M+F), overstimulation, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampied. A/N: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE. It is giving Joe Goldberg. Also Bucky speaks Romanian here, I used google translate. Please don't come at me.

A/N: AGAIN IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE, MOVE ON.

I’ve seen you in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different roles, but none of them—none of them—compared to the real thing. You, walking out of that boutique gym, wiping sweat from your forehead like it wasn’t some holy ritual. You didn’t know I was watching. You never do. That’s the thing about being the most famous actress in Hollywood, isn’t it? People only see the surface, the glitter. The carefully curated perfection. But not me. I see the real you. The one behind all that.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t planned. Not exactly. I mean, I knew I’d see you eventually. I made sure of it. The gym, the coffee shop, your early morning run route that you think is private. I don’t leave things to chance. I orchestrate them. And you—oh, you walked right into my world, didn’t you?

You smiled that smile, the one that makes directors fall to their knees for a chance to cast you. But when you smiled at me, it felt different. Real. Like we were speaking a language only we understood.

It wasn’t hard to make you like me. It never is. I’ve done my homework. I know what you need, what you crave. Stability. Someone who gets it, gets you, in a way that all the shallow, empty faces in your world never will. I became that someone for you, carefully crafting each word, each look, until you were hooked.

It’s funny, the little things you let slip. You think you’re so careful, but I see it. The way your shoulders relax when I talk about my “well-paying job,” when I drop hints about my “family's” holiday home. You like that, don’t you? You like that I’m different from the men who chase you for clout or connections. No, I’m something else. 

You didn’t realize I’d planned our first date down to the minute, did you? Or the second, and the third. You thought it was all so natural. You thought it was just happening. Like we were meant to meet, to be together, to be something special. That’s the thing about fate, though—it’s just another tool. And I wield it perfectly.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for me, just like I knew you would. After all, I’m everything you need. Smart, kind, successful—or at least, that’s what you think. I’m whatever you need me to be. So when I suggested a weekend away at my “holiday” home, you said yes. Hesitant, but yes. You must’ve thought it would be a nice escape. Just us, away from the world that always wants something from you.

Except, you didn’t know it wasn’t an escape at all. It was a step closer to where we were always meant to end up.

That’s what I kept telling myself as we stood in the kitchen of that house, the rain drumming softly against the windows. I poured you a glass of wine, said something about how perfect it all felt, about how right we were together. And you—you just stood there, silent, your eyes distant. Something had shifted.

Then you spoke.

“Bucky,” you said, and my heart stopped because I already knew what was coming. “This is going too fast.”

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt my pulse in my throat, the warmth of the kitchen suddenly stifling.

“I don’t think I see a future with us,” you continued, and each word was a dagger. You tried to soften the blow with that sweet voice of yours, telling me I’m a “great guy,” that it’s “nothing personal.” Nothing personal? How could it not be personal? 

You know, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. That’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? How I’m always so calm, so collected. You don’t want the chaos, the mess of Hollywood drama in your real life. No, you want stability, something solid, someone who can be your anchor in the storm of flashing lights and fake smiles.

And I gave you that. I am that. I’ve been perfect for you—perfect in every way.

So why—why are you standing here, telling me that it’s going “too fast”?

The words echoed in my head, making it hard to focus. You kept talking, kept explaining, but it was like I couldn’t hear you anymore. My mind was racing, my chest tightening with something dark, something unfamiliar. 

No, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say it’s too fast when I’ve been so patient, so careful.

You have no idea how long I’ve waited, how meticulously I’ve crafted every single moment between us. Every word, every smile, every touch. This is what we’re supposed to be. You can’t just walk away from that. You can’t just throw it away.

I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the rage, the frustration. It started small, like a flicker of heat behind my eyes, but it was growing, spreading, filling me with something raw and dangerous. I tried to keep it in check, tried to swallow it down. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s not what this was about. This was supposed to be perfect.

But you kept talking, kept saying things that made it worse. Words like “future,” like “great guy,” like “nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? Again.

How dare you? How dare you make it sound like I’m just another guy, like I didn’t plan every single moment of our time together? You think this isn’t personal? You think I’m just going to let you go like all the others? No.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in, trying not to let you see what you were doing to me. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t shut up. And then you said it—that one final thing that broke me.

“I just don’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth, out in the open, sharp and jagged like broken glass. And something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breathing shallow and ragged. You didn’t get it. You didn’t see how much I’d done for us, how much I’d sacrificed. You didn’t understand how perfect we could be if you just—just—

I slammed my hand down on the counter next to you, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. You jumped, startled, your eyes wide with fear as you flinched, taking a step back from me.

And that—oh, that—was new.

Fear. Real, genuine fear appeared in your eyes like you were finally seeing me for the first time. I should’ve hated it. I should’ve backed off, apologised, done something to make it go away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because part of me—some dark, twisted part of me—liked it. I liked that you were finally seeing me. The real me. Not the carefully crafted version I’d shown you before, but the one who needed you, the one who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

I blinked, the words cutting through the fog of anger, but they didn’t have the effect you wanted. Scaring you? No. No, you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of losing control, scared of what it means to be with someone like me, someone who actually cares enough to make sure you stay.

But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I watched you take another step back, your hands trembling slightly, your eyes darting to the door like you were planning to run.

I watched the fear ripple through you, your breathing quickening, your eyes scanning the room like you were calculating the distance to the door. Like you thought you could just run. Like you actually thought you could escape me.

But you can’t.

No, we’ve come too far for that.

I took a step toward you, slow and measured, watching the way you flinched, the way your body tensed like a deer ready to bolt. I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t. But you were leaving me no choice. You were making this hard, when it didn’t have to be. I didn’t want it to be this way.

“Bucky…” Your voice was small, fragile. You were trying to reason with me, but it was too late for that. Too late for words. The world outside, the life we had before stepping into this house, it was all fading away. It was just us now, just the truth between us, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice low, my hand still pressed firmly against the counter. I could feel the cool granite beneath my palm, grounding me, barely holding back the storm inside. “This is right. We are right for each other. You just… you just don’t see it yet.”

Your eyes darted toward the door again, that brief flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get away. I could see it in the way your muscles tensed, in the way your feet shifted like you were getting ready to run. And I hated it—hated that you still didn’t understand.

I moved faster than you expected, my hand reaching out to grab your arm before you could make a break for it. You gasped, your eyes wide with terror as I pulled you back, your body colliding with mine. You struggled, kicking, twisting, trying to break free, but I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, your voice shrill, panicked. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

You don’t get it. You can’t leave. 

“Stop fighting,” I growled, pulling you closer, your back pressed against my chest. I could feel your heart hammering beneath your skin, the rapid rise and fall of your breath. You were terrified, and part of me—some dark, primal part of me—thrived on that fear. But another part of me hated it. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I wanted you to see that I was doing this for us.

“Please, Bucky… you’re hurting me.”

Those words. They cut through the fog of anger, piercing something deep inside me. My grip loosened for just a second, just long enough for you to break free, to twist out of my hold and make a desperate run for the door.

And you did it.

You yanked the door open, sprinting out into the rain like your life depended on it. You were fast, I’ll give you that.

Desperation makes people faster. 

Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as you made your way to the car. You thought you were getting away. You thought you were winning.

I followed, just a few paces behind. I let you think you had a chance. Let you scramble to the driver’s side door, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the handle. You were soaked, the rain plastering your hair to your face, but you didn’t stop. You threw open the door, slipping into the car, your fingers trembling as you searched for the keys.

But I was there. Right behind you. And you didn’t have the keys, did you?

“Bucky, please!” you screamed, your voice high and panicked, but it didn’t matter. I yanked the door open before you could lock it, my hand reaching in and grabbing your arm with a force that made you cry out.

You kicked. You screamed. Your nails clawed at my hand, your legs thrashing as I dragged you out of the car, but you weren’t strong enough. You were never going to be strong enough.

“No!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as I hauled you back toward the house, the rain pouring down around us. You fought me every step of the way, your feet slipping in the mud, your body twisting, trying to break free.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving,” I growled, my voice barely audible over the storm, my grip tightening as I dragged you back inside. Your body was limp now, weak from the struggle, but your eyes—oh, your eyes were still filled with that same fear.

We’re not done. We’re never going to be done.

Not until you see it.

Not until you see me.

× × × ×

Your POV

You wake slowly, your head throbbing, the world around you blurry and disorienting. The sound of the storm outside reaches you first, the rumble of thunder vibrating through the walls, the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows. You blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sheets beneath you are soft—too soft—and they smell like detergent, unfamiliar.

That’s when you feel it. The cold metal around your wrists.

Panic surges through your veins as you jerk upright, or at least, you try to. Your hands are cuffed to the bed, the harsh clink of metal echoing in the dimly lit room as you struggle against them. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear hitting you like a wave, choking you as you realize—this isn’t a nightmare.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you take in the room. It’s dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a bedside lamp, the corners of the room swallowed by shadows. You’re not in the same clothes you remember. You’re dressed in something clean now, something soft, but it’s not your own. Someone…he changed you.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

He’s sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching you. His silhouette is dark, unmoving, and it sends a chill down your spine. The storm outside feels like a reflection of the chaos inside your head, the way everything is spinning, nothing making sense.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and when you finally manage to choke out his name, it sounds small, pitiful. 

“Bucky?”

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps watching, like a predator studying its prey. Like he’s waiting for you to say or do something, but you don’t know what. Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. The fear grips you tighter with every second that passes, the realization of your situation crashing down on you like the thunder outside.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice is trembling, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you tug helplessly at the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin. “Why are you doing this? Let me go, please.”

Still, he says nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive, suffocating. You can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the darkness, and it makes your skin crawl. 

You don’t recognize this man, not anymore. The Bucky you thought you knew, the one who smiled at you over dinner, the one who laughed at your jokes, who held your hand… that Bucky is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I just want to leave.”

His figure shifts slightly in the chair, the movement so subtle you almost miss it, but it feels like a thunderclap in the tense stillness of the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, dark, carrying with it an edge of something you don’t want to name.

“You need to stop thinking of escape,” he says, his words measured. “I’m not your enemy, I’m the one saving you. And one day, you’ll understand that.”

Your stomach drops. There’s something final in the way he says it, something that makes you realize there’s no reasoning with him. No escape.

You’re trapped.

A sob escapes your lips, your body shaking as you pull at the cuffs again, but it’s no use. The storm outside rages on, the wind howling like some terrible omen, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone—anyone at all—can hear you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as Bucky stands up from the chair, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His movements are slow, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he steps out of the shadows. Something glints in his hand, and when he comes closer, you see it.

Your phone.

He’s holding your phone.

Bucky twirls it in his hand like it’s some casual toy, but the sight of it makes your stomach churn. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—not the warm, charming smile you once knew, but something colder, calculated.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s standing right next to the bed. His presence looms over you, the phone still in his hand as he looks down at you, handcuffed and helpless.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, unsettlingly calm. “What should you post tonight? Hm?”

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the words. Post? He can't be serious. He wouldn’t—

Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the screen, and with a swipe of his thumb, the display lights up. “You wouldn’t want people to think you’ve gone missing, would you? That might cause a… panic.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Your throat tightens, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. You shake your head, more in disbelief than as an answer. He’s playing with you, toying with the very thing that connects you to the world outside this nightmare. And the way he’s handling your phone, so casually, makes it clear—he’s already thought this through.

“Maybe a picture of your feet by the fire?” he muses, tilting his head as if he’s considering the best angle. “Or better yet, one of those ‘cozy night in’ captions. That’ll sell it. Everyone will think you’re just relaxing after a long day. Just another night for Hollywood’s sweetheart.”

His words send ice through your veins. He’s already planned it all out, how to keep up the illusion that you’re fine, that nothing’s wrong. No one will even suspect you’re missing. No one will come looking for you.

You try to speak, to find words, but your voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Please, Bucky, don’t—”

But he ignores your plea, his eyes focused on your phone as he pulls up your social media app. “Smile,” he says mockingly, as though you’re some doll he can dress up for show. “Or don’t. I can manage this on my own. I’ve been watching you for long enough to know exactly what your fans want.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks, helplessness gripping you as he takes control of your life in the most terrifying way possible. The world outside keeps spinning, oblivious to the fact that you’re trapped in this nightmare, and he’s holding the one lifeline that could save you, dangling it just out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice a twisted mockery of comfort. “I’ll keep everyone updated. No one will know anything’s wrong. Not until you’ve had time to understand why you’re really here.”

And as he taps away at your phone, the storm rages on outside, but inside this room, it’s the calm before the real storm—the one you know is coming but can’t escape.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV 

The thing about phones—your phone, to be specific—is that they’re intimate. More intimate than a diary, more personal than any conversation you’ve ever had. Every swipe, every message, every like, is a little breadcrumb leading back to the real you. The parts you don’t share with the world. And here I am, with your phone in my hand, holding every piece of you in the palm of mine.

I can feel your eyes on me as I scroll through it, your fear practically radiating off you in waves. But I ignore it. I’ve already moved past that phase, the part where I worry about what you’re thinking. You’ll come around eventually, once you see that I’m doing this for us.

For you.

The soft glow of your screen illuminates my face as I unlock it easily—your passcode was one of the first things I learned about you. A four-digit combination, barely a barrier, really. I swipe through your photos first, and there’s a strange comfort in seeing the world through your eyes. Pictures of sunsets, candid moments with co-stars, perfectly posed selfies for your millions of followers. Each photo carefully curated for the world. But I keep scrolling because I know that’s not all there is.

And then I see it. A photo you took of me.

It’s not staged, not some posed couple’s picture for social media. It’s real. I’m asleep—my head turned slightly to the side, my face peaceful, unaware. You took this when you thought I wasn’t watching. The corner of my mouth twitches up, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. You couldn’t resist, could you? Even when you didn’t know it, you were drawn to me.

This proves it. We’re connected. Whether you want to admit it or not, you feel it, too. I wasn’t wrong.

I glance up from the phone, just for a moment, to see you watching me, your eyes wide, terrified. You have no idea how much I know, how deep inside your world I already am. I almost want to say something, to tell you how this photo means something. How it confirms that we’re meant to be. But I stay silent, letting the moment stretch between us, savouring it.

I keep scrolling. And that’s when I find them.

The unsolicited photos.

You thought you were careful, that you’d buried them in your messages. But nothing stays hidden from me. A flood of messages from random men—pathetic, desperate attempts to get your attention. Men sending you things you never asked for. 

Filth. 

Unworthy of even a glance from you. The sheer arrogance of it, the entitlement, makes my blood simmer. How many of these men thought they had a chance with you? That they could own a piece of you like I do?

One particular message stands out. A man whose name I don’t recognize, someone you’ve never mentioned. He’s sent you photos of himself, explicit, disgusting. And you—you didn’t block him. You didn’t stop it.

I stare at the messages longer than I should, the jealousy curling tight inside my chest, sharp and poisonous. These men, they think they can have you, that they can come into your life with their disgusting offers and expect something in return. You might not have invited them in, but the fact that they’re here at all makes me sick.

You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to take care of this for you.

I glance back at you, still handcuffed to the bed, tears slipping down your cheeks, and I wonder if you even understand what’s happening here. These men, they aren’t a part of your life anymore. I won’t allow it. You’re mine now. Completely. There won’t be anyone else.

I keep scrolling through your messages, and that’s when I find something else.

A text thread with your friends. The casual banter, the kind of stuff you think I don’t care about. But buried in there, a series of photos you sent them. I pause, my heart speeding up as I open them. 

It’s me, of course. 

One picture in particular stands out—a shot of me shirtless in the kitchen, cooking you breakfast. The light catches my body just right, every muscle defined. And your caption underneath?

“Okay, so you can’t see his face but look at this man. Just look at him.”

You wanted them to see me. To know what you had. You wanted them to be jealous. And they probably were. I smile to myself, imagining the envy your friends must have felt, knowing that you had me, knowing they couldn’t. It’s perfect. You knew I was perfect for you.

I scroll further down the thread, and that’s when I see the message that makes me pause, my breath catching in my throat.

“You guys, I swear to god… he’s so good in bed, I think I’m addicted. Like, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m wrecked in the best ways.”

Addicted. Addicted to me. And you thought I wouldn’t know. You thought you could hide that, that you could pretend to push me away when deep down, you crave me. You need me.

I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across my face as I look back at you. You’re trembling, still terrified, but you don’t understand that this—this fear, this desire—it’s all part of the same thing. You don’t have to run from it anymore. From me.

I scroll just a little further and see the final blow. Another photo. This time, it’s intimate. Private. A photo you snapped of me sleeping on top of you, my body nestled against yours, my head buried in the crook of your neck. The angle is careful, my face mostly obscured by my dark hair, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in that moment. I can feel the warmth of it through the screen.

And then the message beneath it.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but… when Bucky speaks Romanian when we do it... it’s so hot. Like, I can’t even handle it. I don’t even want a kid but I'll carry his kids. Fuck. He’s so hot.”

I feel something inside me snap—not with anger, no, but with something far deeper. You want this. You want me. You’ve been telling your friends, letting them know how much you crave me, need me, even if you didn’t say it out loud to my face. But now? Now I know. And there’s no denying it anymore.

I set the phone down on the edge of the bed and lean closer, my voice low, calm, almost affectionate. “You know,” I murmur, “I never realized how much you needed me. But now I see it. Now, it all makes sense.”

You flinch, pulling back as far as you can, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.

“What should you post tonight, hm?” I ask, my tone conversational, like this is any normal evening between us. 

The horror in your eyes is enough to confirm it—you finally understand. You’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re mine. And no one—no one—is going to take you away from me.

× × × × 

I bring the dinner to you, carefully plated, as always. Presentation matters. Even now, when you’re too stubborn to appreciate it, too blinded by your own misplaced anger to see that this—this—is still me taking care of you. 

I set the tray on the bed beside you, the smell of the meal filling the room. You’ve always liked the way I cook, haven’t you? I remember how you used to smile, used to praise the smallest details, like I was doing something so special.

But now, you sit there with your jaw clenched, body stiff, refusing to look at me, refusing to even acknowledge that I’m here, still trying to make sure you’re okay.

“You’re going to eat,” I say softly, but there’s a firmness beneath the words. It’s not a request, not a suggestion. I’ve been patient with you—so patient. But you’re pushing me now, testing the limits of my control, and we both know that can only last so long.

You scoff, turning your head away from the food like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’m not your prisoner, Bucky. You can’t force me to do anything.”

The defiance. That familiar fire burning behind your eyes. I should be frustrated, I should be angry, but honestly? I find it... cute. You’re still trying to fight me, still clinging to the idea that you have some say in this. I lean closer, my hand resting gently on the bed beside you, my voice dropping just enough to let you know I’m not here to argue.

“You are going to eat,” I repeat, my tone calm but unyielding. “Because I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”

You snap your head back to me, your eyes flashing with rage, and for a second, I see the storm building in you. 

“You can’t make me,” you growl, and it’s almost laughable—the way you think you still have control, still have some semblance of power in this situation.

Then, without warning, you spit at me.

The action is so quick, so fueled by your desperation, that for a moment, I’m surprised. The spit lands on my cheek, sliding down slowly, almost in slow motion. And there it is. The fight. The fire. The part of you that still hasn’t fully surrendered.

You tense, your body going rigid, your breath caught in your throat as you wait for me to explode, for the rage to consume me and lash out. This is the part where you expect me to lose it. To become the monster you’ve built up in your head.

But I don’t.

I freeze for just a second, letting the anger stir inside me, feeling it twist and coil. But then, instead of reacting the way you expect, I chuckle. A low, quiet laugh, the sound barely audible over the storm outside. I don’t wipe the spit away. I just sit there, letting it cool on my cheek, my lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“I like this,” I murmur, my voice calm, disturbingly calm. “This fight in you. It’s… adorable.”

You flinch, recoiling slightly as you realize I’m not going to snap. I’m not going to lose control, because unlike you, I’m not driven by desperation. I don’t need to. No, I have all the control I need, right here, in this room, with you handcuffed to that bed. I can see it in your eyes—the confusion. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect me to remain calm.

I lean in just a bit closer, my face only inches from yours now, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think you can push me, don’t you? That if you fight hard enough, I’ll lose control. But that’s not going to happen. You’re not going to break me. You can’t.”

You’re trembling now, the tears welling up in your eyes, but I don’t feel pity. No, this is something else entirely. This is... satisfaction. You want to fight, but you’re scared, too. And that mix? That’s what makes this so interesting.

I straighten up, slowly wiping the spit from my cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Keep fighting. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in control. You’ll still eat. You’ll still do what I say.”

Your lip quivers, but you remain silent, glaring at me with all the defiance you can muster. But I can see the cracks forming. I know that deep down, you understand.

“Now,” I say, standing up and moving back toward the corner of the room, watching you carefully. “When you’re ready to eat, the food will be here. And I’ll be right here, too. Always.”

I sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, my eyes never leaving you. You still think you can win this. But you can’t. You never could.

And the fact that you haven’t realized that yet? Well, that’s just adorable.

× × × × 

Your POV

The next day.

You wake up to the steady drum of rain against the window, still unrelenting, like the world is stuck in an endless loop of storm and shadow. The room is dim, gray light filtering in through the heavy clouds outside, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. Something’s different, though. You blink slowly, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

Your wrists. They’re free.

No cuffs. No cold metal biting into your skin. You sit up cautiously, the blankets tucked around you. . . comfortably. Like some twisted lullaby, as if you’d been tucked in after drifting to sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

And the first thing you notice? Bucky isn’t here.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your body still stiff with the memory of yesterday, the taste of panic still lingering like bile in your throat. 

You scan the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements as if you might wake the predator lurking nearby.

The chair he always sits in—the one where he watches you—is empty. No sign of him. No footsteps, no steady breathing that you’ve come to expect as the constant reminder of his presence.

Where is he?

The food tray from last night is gone. Cleared away. The bed you’re sitting in feels too normal, too cozy, like some trap waiting to spring. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything. Your eyes move to the door. It’s slightly ajar, just a crack, and there’s an unnerving stillness in the air. The house is too quiet.

You slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the carpet. Your muscles are tense, ready, every nerve on edge. 

You step closer to the door, careful, listening for anything—footsteps, breathing, a creak of the floorboards. Nothing. Just the sound of the rain.

Your hand touches the doorknob, ready to push it open, when you hear it—a soft thud from down the hall.

Your body freezes, every muscle tensing as you strain to hear. The sound is subtle, distant, but unmistakable. A shuffling, like something—or someone—moving just out of sight.

He’s close.

You open the door cautiously, peeking out into the hallway. It’s dark, barely lit by the gray daylight seeping in from the windows. The house feels alive, as if the walls themselves are watching, breathing. The unease settles in your stomach, cold and heavy. You swallow, your throat tight, and take a step forward.

Another noise. A door creaking open further down the hall.

Your breath catches. Your feet hesitate. But you move forward, each step more careful than the last. Your heart races, every instinct screaming for you to turn around, to hide. But you can’t. You need to know where he is.

And then, you stop.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there—just inside—you see him.

Bucky.

He’s standing in front of the sink, his back to you. His hands are braced against the counter, his head slightly lowered, as if he’s… thinking. You freeze in place, watching him, your body paralyzed by the tension hanging thick in the air. He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. He hasn’t heard you.

You could run. You could turn around right now, slip back into the bedroom, and pretend you never saw this. But something about the way he’s standing there—so still—keeps you rooted to the spot.

He moves.

Slowly, he straightens, his shoulders rising as he takes in a deep breath. He turns his head slightly, just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. And then, he speaks.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

“I was waiting for you,” he continues, his voice smooth, calm, like he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess you were planning on coming to find me instead.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding in your ears as he turns to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a calmness in his expression that unnerves you more than anything else. He isn’t angry. He isn’t surprised.

He knew.

He knew the whole time.

× × × ×

The moment his eyes meet yours, you don’t think—you bolt.

Your feet barely hit the ground as you turn and bolt down the hallway, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, the sound of your breath ragged in your ears. Every muscle in your body screams to run, to get as far away from him as possible. You know he’s behind you. You can feel it, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

The stairs are ahead, a sharp descent into the unknown, but they’re your only option. Your hand grips the bannister as you take the steps two at a time, your mind racing just as fast. You can hear him moving behind you, not in a rush, not in a panic. No, his footsteps are casual by the way they echo in the hallway above.

You hit the ground floor, your bare feet slipping on the cold tiles, but you manage to catch yourself. You have to hide. You have to be smart. If you don’t, he’ll catch you, and you know exactly what happens if he does.

You dart around the corner, your eyes scanning the room desperately. The house feels like a maze, twisting, unfamiliar. You’ve been here before, but in the haze of fear, everything feels different, distorted. You spot a door—a small one, leading to what looks like a pantry—and no hesitation you dash inside, pulling the door shut behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole, your back pressed against the wall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your shaky breath. 

The air feels thick in the tiny space, every sound amplified. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you try to force yourself to stay calm. Think, think, think.

The silence stretches out, so thick you can almost hear it. And then—

You hear him.

His voice, soft, almost melodic, drifting through the house like a twisted lullaby.

“Y/N…”

Your body goes rigid. He’s calling for you, like this is some kind of game. A cat and mouse game. He’s playing with you, drawing it out, savoring every second of your panic.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes through the house, sickeningly sweet, and you can hear the smile in it, the amusement. Like this is a joke. Like you, running is nothing but entertainment for him.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to think of what you can do next, but every plan, every thought dissolves into pure terror as his footsteps get closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is slow. He’s not in a rush. He knows you’re here. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He sings your name again, drawing it out, each syllable rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, your hands trembling as you clutch the inside of the door. You can’t breathe, can’t move. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest.

You hear him moving through the house, his voice drifting through every corner, getting closer, then further away. 

“You know I’ll find you…” His words are light, teasing, but beneath them lies something dark, something terrifyingly final. “I always do.”

His voice drifts through the hall, teasing, playful, as if this is all just fun for him. The sound of it makes your blood run cold, but you don’t move. You can’t. You tell yourself to stay calm, to think, to be smart. He wants you to panic. He wants you to break. Don’t.

The footsteps draw closer. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just outside the door, and your body goes rigid. You can feel him on the other side, waiting, listening. You brace yourself, every nerve in your body on edge, ready for him to rip the door open and drag you out.

But he doesn’t.

There’s a long, agonizing pause. You hear him exhale softly, almost as if he’s amused. His presence lingers there, so close you can feel it through the door. The seconds stretch on, unbearable.

And then, he moves. The footsteps retreat, growing fainter, until you hear them no more.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You wait, your body coiled tight, every muscle aching with the tension. 

He’s gone, you tell yourself. He walked away. 

You listen carefully, straining your ears for any sound—nothing. Just the rain. He’s somewhere else in the house, looking for you.

The silence presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You tell yourself you have to move, that this is your chance. You wait a minute longer, then two, your hand still covering your mouth as you count the seconds. 

He’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

Finally, you exhale slowly and shift your weight, your legs cramped and trembling from holding still for so long. You push the door open an inch, peeking out into the hallway.

Empty.

The hallway is bathed in pale, gray light from the rain-soaked windows. No sign of him. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but you push the door open fully now, stepping out as silently as you can manage. The house feels too big, too quiet.

Maybe I can make it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

You take a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the empty corridor. Another step, careful, quiet. The air feels cold against your skin, the house eerily still, like the eye of a storm.

You glance in both directions. The hall is empty.

He’s gone.

You make it halfway down the hallway, moving toward the back of the house, your breath coming in shallow huffs. You take a step, then another, your movements calculated and soundless, trying to map out your escape. Each second feels like a victory, a step closer to being free of him. You are smarter than him. You can outthink him.

As you move, you walk backward for a moment, keeping your eyes on the hallway behind you. You don’t trust it—why would you?—so you check, making sure he isn’t sneaking up on you. Your back presses against the wall for stability as you inch toward the exit, ready to make your move.

And then—you feel something.

Something warm. Something solid. Your entire body goes rigid as you feel it—him.

You freeze, terror gripping you before you even have a chance to process the situation. Slowly, painfully slowly, you turn your head, knowing exactly what you’ll see.

Bucky.

He’s standing right behind you, closer than you ever imagined he could be, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady. How did he move so silently? How did he manage to be right here, right on top of you, without a single sound?

Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to pull away, but his hand is already on your arm, gentle but firm, holding you in place. The smile on his face is unsettling, a mixture of amusement and something far darker. He knew. He always knew.

“You were trying to sneak away, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, too soft, like this is all just a lighthearted conversation between two people who aren’t trapped in a nightmare. “I could feel it.”

His fingers tighten around your arm, not painfully, but just enough to remind you that he’s not letting go. That he sees you, even in your cleverness, even in your silence.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I like that. But quiet doesn’t mean I won’t find you.”

“I was just…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but it catches in your throat. You can feel him watching you, his eyes scanning your face, reading every thought before you’ve even formed it.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone almost playful, like he’s toying with you, like this is nothing more than a game. His fingers brush your skin, tracing lazy circles, and it sends a wave of nausea through you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mind is racing, but the words won’t come.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against the side of your neck, and you can’t stop the way your body tenses, every nerve screaming with terror.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the rain. “I’ll always know where you are.”

Your breath catches, and you feel his hand shift, sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, suffocating.

You want to scream, to pull away, but you know it won’t do any good. You’ve been clever, careful—but not enough. You underestimated him.

You force yourself to breathe, to think through the thick fog of panic that clouds your mind. Every instinct screams at you to do something, anything to get away, but Bucky’s grip is firm, his presence all-consuming. His hand is still around your wrist, holding you in place, as if you belong here. As if there was never a question of where you should be.

“I see that look,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the sound of the rain. “You’re thinking. Calculating.”

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. Of course, you’re thinking. You’re always thinking. You’re looking for the smallest crack in the situation, the tiniest escape route. But he knows. He sees it in you.

“You always think you can figure me out, don’t you?” His breath tickles the side of your face, and you flinch, trying to pull away even though you know it’s futile.

Your mind races, but his presence is like a cage, keeping you trapped, making every idea seem impossible. You can feel the tension tightening, every second a countdown to whatever he’s planning next. His thumb moves in circles over your wrist, a gesture that might seem comforting if it weren’t so... controlling.

Then he releases you.

The sudden absence of his grip is jarring. You stumble backward a step, your body instinctively retreating, but you catch yourself before you fall. You stare at him, shocked that he’s let go, that he’s giving you space.

Bucky just smiles, watching you. He's toying with you, letting you think you have a chance when deep down, you know he’s still in control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice soft and measured. “But you have to stop running. You’re making this harder on yourself.”

Your skin prickles with dread as you try to process his words. He’s letting you go, but it’s not real freedom. It’s a leash—an invisible one, stretched just enough to let you feel like you’re in control. But he’s still holding the end of it, ready to pull you back the moment you step too far.

You stand there, frozen, every muscle in your body screaming to run, but your mind knows better. He’s faster than you. Stronger. More dangerous.

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make a move, to see what you’ll do next. And you know, whatever you do, he’ll be ready.

“I can wait all day,” he says, tilting his head slightly, as if he’s genuinely curious about what you’ll choose. “But you won’t make it far.”

Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath, your eyes darting to the door, the only possible exit. The rain is still hammering down outside, loud and relentless, but it’s the only thing between you and whatever comes next.

But you know if you run now, it’ll be exactly what he wants.

So, you make a decision.

Instead of bolting, instead of giving in to the panic rising in your chest, you take step forward. Toward him.

His eyes flicker with something—surprise? Amusement? You can’t tell—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not playing the game the way he wants you to anymore. You’re taking control, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Then stop pretending this is some game,” you say, your voice steady, even though you feel anything but. “What do you want?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance you just created, and you can feel the tension coil between you again, tighter than before.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t dare break it, waiting for him to speak, to reveal the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows between you both since the moment you met. The way he’s looking at you now, with that dark, unreadable intensity, makes your skin crawl. Your question hangs in the air, and you can’t tell if he’s stalling, or if he’s just savouring the moment—savouring you.

Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to that chilling, intimate whisper that makes every nerve in your body scream for you to run.

“What I want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is simple. I want you to stop fighting it. To stop pretending this isn’t what you need. What you want.”

You stiffen, your pulse skyrocketing, because it’s not the answer you were expecting. There’s a raw edge to his words, a dangerous undertone that tells you he’s been thinking about this for a long time—planning it.

“I want you to see that this, us—” he gestures vaguely between you, his eyes never leaving yours—“is inevitable. You can run, hide, resist, but you’ll always end up right. back. here.”

You feel a chill run through your veins as his words sink in. He doesn’t just want to keep you here, doesn’t just want your compliance. He wants your submission. He wants you to accept this twisted reality he’s created, to fall in line with whatever fantasy he’s been building in his head.

Your breath hitches, but you manage to hold his gaze, even as your mind reels with panic. 

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. “This isn’t love, Bucky.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says softly, his smile returning, more dangerous than ever. “But I know you, Y/N. I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. And you can’t hide from the truth forever.”

“I know what you need,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost... tender. “And when you finally stop running, when you stop fighting it, you’ll see it too.”

Your chest tightens, your mind racing to find something—anything—to say that might break this twisted spell he’s trying to weave. But you know, deep down, that no matter what you say, he’s already convinced himself that this is real. That you are his.

And that’s when it hits you.

What he wants isn’t just to keep you here, to cage you like some prize. He wants you to choose it. To accept him, this situation, this twisted version of love he’s built in his mind. He wants you to believe it, to fall into his arms willingly.

But you won’t. You can’t.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” you repeat, your voice defiant, even though the fear tightens in your chest. “I’ll never see this the way you do.”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens. You think maybe he’ll finally snap, maybe this will be the moment he loses control. But instead, his smile deepens, and the amusement in his eyes takes on a sharper, more sinister edge.

“Is that right?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Because, according to your texts... that’s not what you’ve been telling your friends.”

Before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling out your phone again, holding it between you like a trophy. His thumb glided over the screen, his eyes flickering with the satisfaction of someone who’s about to wield power in the most insidious way.

“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he murmurs, not even looking at you as he pulls up your messages. “Ah, here’s a good one.”

He clears his throat theatrically before reading aloud, his voice dripping with false amusement. “He’s got this look when he’s on top of me. Like, I swear, it could melt your soul. I think I’m done for.”

Your stomach turns as the words leave his lips, each syllable twisting into something vile as he quotes your own words back to you. You remember sending that, of course. You’d been giddy, drunk on lust and naivety, texting your friends in a moment of bliss that feels a lifetime away now.

Bucky’s eyes flick to you, watching your reaction with that same unsettling calm. “Done for, huh?” he teases. “That’s not exactly the defiance you’re showing me right now.”

You clench your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breath, but he’s already scrolling again. His thumb pauses, and he smirks as if he’s found something even better.

“Oh, this one’s great,” he says, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Is he big?” he reads with a dramatic pause, glancing at you. “Girl, you have no idea. Let's just say I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.”

Heat floods your face, not with the memory, but with the sheer horror of hearing him say it out loud. Your body goes rigid as the humiliation washes over you, but Bucky—he just chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he says, the smugness in his voice unbearable. “It’s good to know I’ve been leaving an impression.”

He swipes again, his smirk growing. “Let’s see... oh, what’s this?” His voice takes on an almost sing-song quality as he reads the next one. “He’s so attentive, it’s like he knows what I want before I do. Honestly, I think he’s perfect. He’s in my head, like... all the time.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to look at him, your heart thundering in your chest. He’s savouring every moment of this, twisting your words into a weapon, using them to deepen his control over you.

He steps closer, eyes glinting, before reading the next one. “There’s something about him... something that makes me feel like I could lose myself. In a good way. Like, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers, “You just want me, huh? It seems like the girl who wrote this was much more open to the idea of us.”

You jerk your head away, disgusted by how easily he’s taken everything private, every vulnerability, and turned it into another chain to bind you with. You grit your teeth, but he’s still scrolling.

“One more,” he says with false sweetness, pausing for effect as he reads the final message. “I think I’m falling for him. For real. He’s just... I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, like no one else ever has.”

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile fading just a little as he watches your reaction.

“And that,” he says softly, “is the part I like the most.”

His voice lowers, his face inches from yours now. “You felt safe with me. And you know why? Because deep down, you want to. You want to believe I’m the one who can protect you, give you everything you need. And I will. You just have to stop fighting it.”

Your stomach twists as his words sink in, as he lays bare the twisted reality he’s built around you. He wants you to choose this, to let him be the one who controls everything. And he’s using your own desires, your own words, to manipulate you.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, his infuriating chuckle echoing through your bones, and you can’t stand it anymore. The phone—the embodiment of everything he’s stolen from you—dangles just out of reach, held by his towering frame like it’s a toy, a prize he knows you can’t win.

Your teeth grit, hands curling into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air too thick to breathe. He’s mocking you. Smiling. Enjoying this.

“Give it to me!” you spit, your voice sharp and desperate, the words cutting through the tense air like glass.

His smile widens, the amusement in his eyes deepening, like your demand only adds fuel to his fire. He raises the phone higher, just enough to make you reach again, to make the gap between you and your freedom feel all the more impossible.

“What was that?” he teases, voice calm, soft—almost too soft. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

You take a step forward, pushing against his chest with all the force you can muster. “I said give it to me!” You try to leap, your fingers brushing against the edge of the phone, but he pulls it back effortlessly, his hand now resting on your waist as if steadying you—as if you need his help.

His chuckle rumbles low, and it makes your skin crawl. “Y/N…” he says, dragging out your name, the amusement thick in his voice. “You really think you can just take it? Like it’s that simple?”

You shove harder against him, your breath coming in short, angry bursts, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but his hand stays firm on your waist, not letting you get any real distance. “It’s mine! You don’t get to—”

Before you can finish, you jump again, practically climbing him in your attempt to grab the phone. You’re fully pressing against his chest now, using every bit of strength you have, your body coiled with frustration and fury as you reach for the device. But it’s no use. His arm is longer, his height an insurmountable barrier.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that insufferable grin, his free hand catching your waist to stop you from going any higher.

“Keep trying, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin as you struggle. “But you’re not going to get it.”

His voice is patronizing, soaked with amusement, and it only makes you more desperate, more furious. You plant your feet harder, pushing up with all your strength, but he doesn’t even move. You’re climbing a wall that won’t budge, and the realization stings.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Your voice is tight, angry, each word spat out through gritted teeth as you dig your nails into his arm, still trying to claw your way up, but the phone remains out of reach.

He’s barely even trying to stop you, just lifting the phone higher, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he holds you in place. His chuckle deepens, a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Why are you fighting so hard for something that’s already mine?” he asks, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “These words... you gave them to me. You already handed me your trust.”

You try to twist out of his grasp, your breath catching in your throat, but his hand stays firm, his body unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” you snap, your voice shaking with both rage and humiliation. “You don’t get to decide—”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back down to the ground, your feet slipping on the floor as you stumble back, breathless and furious. He pockets the phone slowly, as if to remind you that it’s not going anywhere.

His eyes meet yours, dark and amused, his voice low and taunting. “Oh, I’m not deciding anything,” he murmurs, his smile twisting. “You already did.”

Bucky stands over you, tall and unyielding, his shadow looming, making the space around you feel smaller, tighter. His lips curl into that same infuriating smirk, the one that makes your blood boil and sends a thrill of something you don’t want to acknowledge coursing through your veins.

“Asshole,” you mutter again, glaring up at him, refusing to let him see the fear—or worse, the heat—burning inside you.

His eyes gleam with amusement. He kneels slowly, bringing himself to your level, but still towering over you in that way that makes you feel completely trapped, even as you’re free to move.

“What was that?” he asks softly, his voice barely a murmur, though you know he heard you the first time.

You hate how your body betrays you, hate that he knows it too. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, to not let him see how much he’s rattling you. But he’s watching you, every small movement, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. 

You try to push yourself away from him, to put some distance between you, but his hand tightens on your waist, just enough to keep you in place. 

“Say it again,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear now, sending a jolt of something electric through your body that you wish wasn’t there.

“I said you’re an asshole,” you snap, louder this time, your voice sharp and angry. 

He chuckles, low and dark, and the sound makes your skin prickle with a mix of fury and something you don’t want to acknowledge. 

“I like it when you fight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s cute.”

The heat of his breath on your skin makes you shudder involuntarily, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the way your body reacts to him. You want to shove him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your body feels frozen, caught between the urge to push him back and something else entirely. Something you refuse to admit is there.

“Let me go.” you manage, but your voice falters, quieter than you intended, betraying you.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his hand slides up your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His fingers brush against your ribs, the touch light but possessive, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, his lips now barely an inch from your neck. His words send a shiver racing through your body, and you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s affecting you.

“Bucky...” you start, trying to sound firm, trying to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through your fingers, but your voice falters as you realise how close he is, how the heat between you is suffocating.

He smirks again, his thumb brushing over your waist in a way that sends an involuntary tremor through you. “You can say my name all you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes your stomach twist. “But we both know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Your body tenses at his words, both from the insult and the way his hand moves, as if he’s unravelling you, piece by piece. You try to pull back again, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” you snap, trying to regain some ground, some sense of control.

He chuckles again, that same low, maddening sound that sets your nerves on edge. 

“I know more than you think,” he says, his hand moving higher, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs now, his touch sending sparks through your skin. “You’ve been trying to fight this from the beginning, but we both know where this is going.”

The space between you is shrinking, the heat between your bodies unbearable, and you can feel the tension pulling you in, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. You bite your lip, trying to focus, to remember why you hate him, why you should be pushing him away. 

But he’s so close now, his lips barely a breath away from your skin, and you can feel his words more than hear them as he leans in, his voice a whisper that sends a tremor through your entire body.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe, as the world narrows to just the two of you.

You should push him away. You want to push him away. But instead, you’re sitting there, heart racing, torn between the anger burning inside you and the heat building between you. And Bucky knows it. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your breath catches, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to react, to give him the satisfaction. But the tension between you is unbearable now, suffocating, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep fighting it.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark and hooded, slowly drifting down to your lips. His lips are so close to yours now, hovering millimetres away, teasing you, taunting you with the possibility of something more. 

But he doesn’t close the gap. He just hovers there, waiting, watching your reaction, drawing it out. His smirk deepens, satisfied, as if he’s savoring the way you’re teetering on the edge, caught between your instinct to pull away and the pull of something undeniable between you.

Your mind races, the rational part of you screaming to shove him away, to stop this before it goes any further. But your body—your traitorous body—responds to the heat between you, every nerve alight, betraying the internal conflict waging within you. 

"You're holding back," he whispers, his voice low, taunting, the words vibrating in the air between you. His breath brushes your skin, so close you can almost feel his lips move against yours, but still, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of closing the distance.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression defiant. “You think I’m just going to give in?” you uttered firmly.

Bucky’s smirk grows. He’s not just playing with your emotions; he’s studying you, every breath, every reaction.

“I think you like this,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, the words wrapping around you, making it harder to breathe. “This tension between us, this fight. You crave it.”

His lips are so close you can almost taste the heat of him, but he continues to hold back, leaving you on the brink, trapped in the space between resistance and temptation.

“You’re wrong,” you manage, though your voice falters slightly, betraying you. You hate that he’s gotten this far, that he’s managed to chip away at your defenses, but you refuse to let him see just how much he’s affecting you.

“Am I?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours you can barely stand it. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, but still, he keeps you waiting, holding you in this unbearable tension.

He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a soft murmur. "I can feel it, Y/N. You're on the edge. Just let go."

Your heart pounds in your chest, every 

Bucky watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if he’s weighing your silence, calculating your resistance. Then his smirk returns, a little darker this time, as though he’s decided something in that moment.

"You’re going to see it my way," he murmurs, his voice low, full of certainty. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

His arm wraps around your waist firmly, and before you can react, you’re lifted off the floor. Your breath catches as he throws you over his shoulder with ease, like you weigh nothing. You let out an involuntary gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at his back, trying to steady yourself as your body hangs over him.

“Bucky!” you protest, your voice sharper now, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his footsteps as he starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Shh,” he says softly, his tone almost playful, but there’s an edge to it, a finality that makes your stomach twist. “You’ll thank me later.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you’re carried back toward the bedroom. You push against his back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and the casual strength he holds you with only makes your pulse race faster.

You struggle against him, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his voice calm, unbothered. “Fighting me only makes it harder for you, Y/N.”

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he carries you up the stairs, the panic and tension growing with each step. You know where he’s taking you, and the thought of being trapped in that bedroom again sends a chill through your body.

“Put me down!” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, but Bucky only chuckles softly.

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. 

You feel your body shift slightly as Bucky pushes open the door to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and your heart pounds in your ears as you realise there’s no escaping him now.

"Put me down!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though every fiber of your being is on high alert.

Bucky throws you onto the bed with effortless strength. The world spins for a split second, and you land with a bounce, the mattress swallowing your weight. You gasp, disoriented, struggling to regain your composure as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating confidence, his smirk widening as he watches your reaction.

"You—" you start, the anger rising in your chest, but before you can finish, he interrupts you, his voice filled with mock innocence.

“What? You told me to put you down,” he says, shrugging casually, as if tossing you onto the bed was the most natural thing in the world. His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a dark undercurrent that makes it clear he’s still fully in control.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, caught between the absurdity of his reply and the tension hanging thick in the air. His casual playfulness only heightens the unnerving sense of power he holds over you, as if even your resistance is something he finds amusing.

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see just how rattled you are. “You know exactly what I meant,” you snap, keeping your voice firm, even as your pulse quickens under his unrelenting gaze.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence again, that infuriating smirk never leaving his lips. “I just follow instructions, doll,” he says, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes tell a different story—dark, dangerous, and full of intent.

You sit up straighter, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that creeps over you, and meet his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You’re not as clever as you think," you say, keeping your tone sharp.

His smirk widens, and he steps closer to the bed, his movements slow, he’s savoring the tension between you. "Oh, I think we both know how clever I am," he replies, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur. 

You sit up slightly, propped on your elbows, your pulse quickening as he approaches. Bucky moves swiftly, his hands coming down on either side of you, caging you in. His body looms over yours, and the mattress dips under the weight of him, pinning you in place. 

The sudden proximity steals the breath from your lungs, and your eyes dart up to meet his. The intensity of his gaze hits you like a physical force, his pupils are blown wide, dilated. His face is so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You’re hyper aware of everything—his hands gripping the mattress on either side of you, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him invading your senses. 

You try to look anywhere else, anywhere but where his gaze is leading you. But it’s impossible. His stare pulls at you, like a gravitational force, dragging you into his orbit. And all you can think about is how close he is. Too close. Your heart thuds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in the silence between you.

Your eyes flicker—just for a second—down to his lips.

You curse yourself instantly for it, but it’s too late. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk deepens, barely perceptible, but you feel it like a jolt of electricity. That knowing look, that arrogant satisfaction that he’s in control, and you’re fighting a battle you can’t win.

You force your eyes back up, meeting his once more, desperate to regain some sense of control, some measure of defiance. But the tension between you is unbearable now, thick like a vice tightening around your chest. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the charged space between your lips, the millimeters separating you from him.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, bracing for something you’re not even sure you want to resist.

Bucky leans in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that the distance is almost unbearable. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears.

You try—desperately—not to look at his lips again, but it’s like trying to ignore gravity.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any words he could say. You know what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for you to break, to give in to the pull you’ve both been fighting for what feels like forever.

Your hands clench at your sides, every muscle in your body tight with the effort of holding back, of not giving in to the dangerous allure of his proximity. But it’s so hard to breathe, so hard to think when he’s this close, when his eyes are this intense, when his lips are right there, almost touching yours.

And just when you think you can’t hold out any longer, that you’ll snap under the pressure of the moment, Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, low and husky, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips, sending another shiver down your spine. “Don’t look away.”

You think about defying him, about turning your head and breaking free from the suffocating tension. He was on top of you, all that hard muscle pinning you down to where you couldn’t move. You could feel him everywhere, especially his cock, which was thick against your belly. Fighting him only turned him on, and now you were thinking about sex.

And you hate that he’s right.

Just when the air feels too thick to breathe, he pulls away.

The shift is sudden, leaving you lying there on the bed, breathless and confused. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you can’t quite make sense of what just happened. One second, he was so close—too close—and the next, he’s stepping back, putting space between you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath, your mind scrambling to process the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that have left you dizzy and disoriented. The heat from his body lingers on your skin, but his absence feels colder than you expected.

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, his face now unreadable. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cool, detached expression that makes your stomach churn. It’s as if the moment you shared—the one that left you teetering on the edge—never happened. His eyes, once dark and intense, are now distant, cold.

“Be a good girl and stay there,” he says, his voice flat, authoritative. There's no teasing in his tone now, just a command.

The words hang in the air, and you find yourself frozen, unable to move, unsure whether it's from the weight of his command or the confusion swirling in your chest. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of something you didn’t quite understand—and maybe weren’t ready for.

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't check to see if you’ll obey. He simply turns, walking away, leaving you lying there on the bed, torn between the need to push back and the sinking realisation that he’s still in control, no matter how much space he puts between you.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

There’s a moment when power shifts—when control is no longer just something you hold, but something you feel, deep in your bones. I see it in your eyes, the flicker of confusion, of vulnerability, as I step away from the bed. You think you understand what’s happening, that you have a handle on your own defiance, but the truth is, you’re already exactly where I want you. And isn’t that the beauty of it?

The tension between us was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The way you looked at me, fighting the pull, the temptation, the inevitable. I gave you space to breathe, to think. But now, it’s time to decide what comes next.

I step out of the bedroom, the door closing behind me with the softest click. You probably think this is your moment to regroup, maybe catch your breath, wonder where I’ve gone. But, let’s be honest, I’m never really gone, am I? I’m in your thoughts right now, circling your every breath, every heartbeat, while you lie there and try to pretend you can fight this.

I move down the hallway, not in a hurry. I savor this, the anticipation hanging in the air between us. When I reach the room, it’s quiet. Still. Organized. Everything in this space has been meticulously laid out, prepared for this moment. Choices, all of them deliberate. I don’t rush this, because why would I? I like to take my time. And you? You’ll feel that patience in every step I take.

I look over the table, where everything is waiting. The blindfold catches my eye first. Simple, soft. It’s always the smallest things that strip away the most control, isn’t it? You rely on your sight, that sense of security you have when you can gauge what’s coming, what I’m doing. The blindfold removes that. You’ll be left with nothing but the sound of my voice and the weight of your own breath. Your heart will race faster the moment it goes dark. You’ll feel it—your world narrowing, closing in.

But there’s more. My fingers brush against the bed restraints. These are designed to remind you of something fundamental: the boundaries I set are not negotiable. No matter how hard you might try, these restraints are proof that you’re not getting away. You’ll strain against them, at first, testing your limits, feeling that surge of defiance before you realize just how futile it is. That moment, when your body gives in to the restraint—that’s when you’ll understand that the control was never yours to begin with.

I pick them both up—the blindfold in one hand, the restraints in the other. But before heading back to you, I stop, glancing at myself in the mirror in this room. The tension in the air, the power of what’s coming next, calls for something more. Something raw. I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building inside. This isn’t just about control anymore; it’s about presence. Dominance.

× × × × 

YOUR POV

The door creaks open slowly, and you’re already on your feet. You don’t know what your plan is—if you even have one—but lying there, waiting like some docile thing, that’s not you. You can feel the tension in your legs, every muscle taut as you stand by the bed, trying to control your breathing, trying to look like you’ve made a conscious decision, even though the truth is, you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

And then he appears.

Bucky steps back into the room, shirtless. His bare chest catches your eye, the light cutting sharp angles across his skin, emphasizing every line of muscle. For a moment, it steals your breath. Not because of how he looks—but because it’s another calculated move. He’s always thinking, always pushing, and now this is about more than just words or actions—it’s about his very presence. It fills the room, like he’s claiming the space itself.

Your eyes instinctively flick down to his hands. He’s holding something—dark fabric and... yes, restraints. The blindfold dangles from his fingers, the soft black material barely catching the light. The restraints, sleek and unyielding, swing lightly from his other hand.

And then he notices you.

He stops, just inside the doorway, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. His eyes darken, and you catch the subtle frown that pulls at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the fact that you’re no longer on the bed. The smallest hint of irritation flickers across his face, quickly replaced by that cool, composed exterior. But it was there. You saw it.

Good.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considers you, and for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a silent standoff, and you can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing against you. 

But then, a slow, exhale leaves his lips, and his expression shifts. He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His frown is gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“You’re out of bed,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s an edge to it, as though he’s daring you to explain. “Lie down.”

You don’t. You stand your ground, refusing to retreat, even though your pulse is hammering in your chest. You know this won’t change the inevitable, but you’re not going to make it easy for him. 

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth. “It will be easier for you if you don’t make trouble.” 

“But I like trouble,” You said without thinking.

You hadn’t thought about how this would come across, though. Your vpice thick with defiance, you realize what you’ve done. You’ve just challenged him. Again.

His expression went hard, a little scary. “I will give you the count of three. If you’re not in bed before then, there will be consequences.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. He isn’t bluffing.

Your gaze flickers down to his hands, and you see them—the blindfold, the restraints. He’s holding them loosely, his fingers flexing as if he’s already deciding exactly how to use them. 

“One. . .”

He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You feel your pulse spike, But you stand your ground, glaring back at him, the fire of your own defiance still flickering even as fear claws at your throat.

“Two. . .”

The sound of the second number sends a rush of panic through you. He’s not going to wait much longer. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Three.”

The word comes out soft, but the weight behind it is crushing. He doesn’t give you time to react. His hand moves in a blur, reaching for you, and before you can take a breath, he’s closed the distance between you, his grip firm but not painful as he grabs your wrist.

The blindfold and restraints in his other hand hang there, a silent threat, a promise of what’s to come.

“You made your choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours, and the dark amusement in his eyes is gone now. “Now, you'll have to deal with the consequences…” He pauses, his gaze flickering over you, and a wicked smile curls on his lips. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're going to feel every single one of them."

And you know, as he pulls you toward the bed, that this game is over.

But the consequences? They’re just beginning.

“No!” you grunted, you bucked and kicked out with your legs, hoping like hell you caught him in the junk, “Get off me!”

Bucky barely flinches, his grip tightening as he maneuvers effortlessly to pin you down. The way he handles you—strong, unyielding—sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

“Nice try,” he mutters, his voice calm, controlled, that terrifying composure still in place. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

His hand moves swiftly to your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with ease. You feel the smooth leather strap, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s threading it through the buckle.

You buck again, a surge of panic flooding your chest, but his knee presses firmly into your legs, pinning you down. He moves quickly, efficiently, pulling your arm to the side as the leather restraint tightens around your wrist with a sharp pull.

The soft creak of leather is the only sound as he secures the second strap to your other wrist, buckling it in place, leaving you spread wide, helpless. Your chest heaves with the effort, but it’s too late—the leather holds fast, unyielding.

"See?" he says, his voice low, that dangerous smile tugging at his lips again. “You can fight all you want, but it’s only going to make this more interesting for me.”

“I hate you!”

He didn’t answer as he strode toward the end of the bed. His strong naked chest was distracting in the greyness of daylight, with a myriad of scars and rough marks criss-crossing his skin like a road map. This was a cruel man, unyielding and unafraid of violence.

You pressed your lips together when he produced a set of the same restraints at the foot of the bed. 

Oh, shit. 

Bucky grabbed your ankle and worked the cuff over your foot. 

“You don’t need to do this,” you rushed out, bargaining.“I’m not going anywhere.” Thanks to the wrist restraints.

The cuff pulled tight on your right leg. Satisfied, Bucky moved to the other side and you started taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to kick and fight. What was he planning? Why did he need you spread-eagle on the bed?

When you were tied down, he climbed onto the bed, his muscles shifting as he crawled between your thighs, and your nerves twitched and twisted in your belly. This wasn’t good.

He stops in front of you and slips the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Your breath hitches, and you feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You try to pull away, he grabs your chin, holding you in place. 

You can feel the heat of him, the way his body is so close to yours, and it makes you feel trapped, helpless. Every sense is heightened now that you can’t see. Every sound, every movement, every touch feels amplified, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you are.

With a swift, almost ruthless motion, Bucky grabs the delicate fabric of your nightgown, and in one clean, forceful pull, it rips in half. The sound of the tear echoes through the room, loud and raw, the fragile material giving way under his hands. The shredded pieces dangle from his fingers for a brief moment before they fall to the floor, discarded. 

His palms slid up your thighs and under your nightie and goose bumps broke out all along your skin. “Should I let you come, little girl?” he says, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear. 

Heat bloomed in your pussy, those words charged in ways you couldn’t begin to unpack. Was he really going to play the daddy card right now? Fuck. It was like he could see into your mind on how best to manipulate you. 

“Don’t,” You pleaded, not even caring that you sounded weak.

He pushed your panties to the side, gently tracing your entrance with his middle finger. “Just as I thought. Wet.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked your arousal off. “You like that, when I call you little girl.”

“No, I don’t,” You said, your chest heaving with the force of your breath. “You don’t need to do this.” 

“Do you ache inside?” He slipped his finger directly into your channel, pressing deep until he was completely seated. Then he curled his finger, hitting a spot that you'd sworn was an urban myth.

Your back bowed off the bed, limbs pulling tight against the restraints, and you bit your lip to stay quiet. You did not want to think about how good any part of him felt inside you, how that finger wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Please,” you panted, not sure what you were asking for. He pumped his hand, the friction both delicious and frustrating. Then he added another finger, going slow until it was in, and you whimpered. He’s playing with you, you know it and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You can feel it huh?” He said, “Your pussy is sucking in my fingers. So greedy. Don’t worry. I am going to take very good care of you.”

You held your breath. You didn’t know what was about to happen. You only knew it was going to be bad. If he teased you, it would be awful. Worse than awful. If he actually pleasured you, if you surrendered to him, it would be humiliating. He would gain the upper hand, and that was what scared you most. 

Licking you dry lips, you forced out, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Let me take care of you instead.”

He pumped his fingers lazily, in and out, in and out, dragging against your sensitive tissues. You inhaled sharply, the pleasure streaking through you like lightning. 

“Hmm keep telling yourself that.” He said like he doesn’t believe you, because he actually doesn't.

Your body strained toward the source of that bliss, chasing it and making a liar out of yourself. 

“Yes, I do. If you just—please—don't.” You could barely keep track of the conversation as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Hear how wet your pussy is for me?” The slick sounds filled the bedroom and you wanted to die of shame. He chuckled.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snapped, hoping your words would have some bite.

“Why would I? When you're right here, dripping and ready for me?” Bucky murmured, then flicked his tongue unexpectedly over your clit. You tried to keep your expression from revealing anything you were feeling, but when he twisted and pumped at the same time, you moaned deep in your throat.

Then he started eating you out. He licked and sucked like you were a meal and he was starving, his attention focused on your clit, swirling and sucking, and you suddenly knew what you had been missing out on all these years. Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged your clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it, again. At the same time, he strummed your clit with his tongue, rubbing and pressing. Bucky mastered your body in seconds, like some sort of pussy wizard, because you were instantly on the verge of coming. Your thighs started shaking and your lungs couldn’t pull in air.

And he stopped. 

You gasped, lurching, you tried to bring yourself closer to where you think his face is, where his breath felt hot. You could feel him smirking.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

Your thighs are trembling now, shaking in that way that tells me you're teetering on the edge, every muscle in your body straining. I watch, fascinated, as your lungs struggle to pull in air, your body begging for relief, for release. 

And then, I stop.

You gasp, a desperate sound, your body lurching as you try to chase what I've just taken from you. You try to bring yourself closer, your movements frantic, instinctive, as if by sheer will alone. Your head turns, your lips parting, reaching for where you think my face is—where my breath felt hot against your skin moments ago.

But I don't move. I smirk, watching the way your body fights itself, craving more but knowing I control every last part of this moment. 

"You're so predictable," I murmur, my voice low, almost mocking, but there's a darkness in it that lingers. "Always wanting more... always needing to be just a little closer, don't you?”

I run my hands down your sides, feeling every tense muscle beneath my fingertips, relishing the way your body responds to even the lightest touch. You arch, trying to make contact, to feel something—anything. But then, my hands lift off you, and the absence of touch sends a ripple of frustration through you. I can feel it, the tension mounting, the need rising higher. 

I reach across for the bullet vibrator, my fingers curling around the small device. I press the button, the faint hum vibrating in my hand as I adjust it to the lowest setting. The sound is barely audible over your labored breathing, but you know. You feel what's coming next. 

I lean down, my lips brushing your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "You know how this works," I whisper, my voice soft, almost tender. "I decide when. I decide how much. And you? You're going to beg for it." 

You can feel the vibration ever so slightly as I circle the air above your lovely hard nipples. I massage the bullet extremely gently around the outer edge of one of your nipples and then do the same with the other. I move it in slow circles, like a promise I’ve yet to fulfil. I can see the way your body responds—tense, trembling, straining for something more. 

“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Just enough to drive you insane, isn’t it? Just enough to remind you that I hold everything you want in the palm of my hand.”

You shudder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body arching slightly as you try to press closer to the source of the vibration. The frustration is written all over your face, and it’s beautiful, so beautiful. I watch you, drinking in every inch of your reaction, savouring the power I have over you in this moment.

“You love it,” I whisper, my breath brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “You love that you can’t control this. That I can make you beg for something as simple as this.”

“Just... do it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with frustration, but there’s still a spark in it, something stubborn. “Stop playing games.”

I chuckle softly, amused by your words. Stop playing games? Oh, but you and I both know that this is the game, and you’re playing it just as much as I am. You’re caught between wanting more and hating that you have to ask for it, and that’s what makes this so deliciously satisfying.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, lowering the vibrator just a little, letting it barely skim the surface of your areola—just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy. “You think you’re ready for more? You think you deserve it?”

You grit your teeth, trying to stay composed, but I can see the cracks forming. The frustration, the need. It’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Please…” you whisper, barely audible, and there it is—that hint of desperation I’ve been waiting for.

I smile, triumphant, and press the button to increase the intensity just slightly, letting the vibration pulse more firmly against your breast. 

“That’s better,” I murmur, my voice low, “But I’ll need more than that if you really want it.”

You gasp, your body reacting to the sudden change in sensation, your breath hitching as you bite back another plea. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll give me what I want.

You bite your lip, stifling another sound as the vibrations skate across your skin, and I watch with fascination as you try to maintain your composure. Your chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, but you’re still clinging to that last bit of resistance. You haven’t said it.

The word. The name.

I let the silence stretch out between us, the vibrator humming softly against your nipple, just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to tip you over it. You know what I want, and I know you’re holding onto it. That delicious defiance. The last weapon you think you have.

But I have all the time in the world.

“You’re holding out,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost a purr. “I can feel it. You’re so close, but you’re fighting it. Why?” I bring my face closer, my breath hot against your neck as I whisper, “You know what will get you what you want.”

You’re fighting me, refusing to give in to the game. I can almost see the wheels turning in your mind—I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing your ear now, the vibration of the toy a steady hum against your skin. “You know what I’m waiting for. Just say it, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your lips part, and for a second, I think you might give in. But then, through clenched teeth, you growl, “I’m not saying it.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. You’re trying so hard to resist, even though your body is betraying you, trembling under the light touch of the vibrator.

“We both know you want to say it, go on,” I whisper, my voice soft, dark, full of promise. “Say it. Say what I know you’re dying to say.”

You want to give in, but you’re too proud to make it easy. And so, in the smallest, most defiant voice, you mutter, “I don’t need to say it.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the vibrator away for a moment, denying you the one thing you want most. 

“Oh, you’ll say it,” I say, my voice calm, certain. “Because you know that’s how you get what you need.”

I reach down, pressing the button again, increasing the intensity just a little more. I bring it close, hovering over your skin but not quite touching. The tease. The torment.

“You want Daddy to make it better, don’t you?” I finally whisper, my voice almost a growl, low and intimate, right at your ear.

You think you can outlast me. You think your silence is some kind of victory, but I can see right through you. The stubbornness is admirable, really. I almost want to let you hold onto it for a little longer. Almost.

But then again, why deny myself the pleasure of watching you break?

I lower the vibrator back down, this time pressing it directly against your nipple—not the teasing, ghosting touch from earlier, but real contact. You moaned, your body arching against the restraints as the sudden sensation hits you, and I press the button again, increasing the intensity. The vibrations pulse through you, low and constant, just enough to drive you crazy.

To see you this turned on and into it at this early stage makes me want to burst. I continue to tease your nipples with the bullet, making you wriggle with pleasure as you lean your head back into the pillow. I watch your beautiful face intently as the vibrations gently massage your nipples—you look amazing— radiant, sexy, fuckable—and I am so excited to have you in this position—but I am taking my time. 

I want you to be wetter than you have ever been, have more orgasms than you have ever had and have you moaning more than you have ever moaned.

I lean in, my mouth hovering near your ear, my breath hot against your skin. “You’re close to saying it,” I whisper, my voice low, knowing. “I can feel it. You’re just one word away.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on—the way they’re starting to lose focus, the way your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it.

I smirk, watching you struggle, your body trembling under the relentless vibrations, your mind fighting the inevitable. 

“Still not saying it?” I ask softly, almost amused. “You think you’re winning by holding out? By staying quiet?”

I tilt my head, studying you, and then my hand moves—slow, deliberate—between your thighs. Whike gently stroking the vibrating bullet down the side of your body, making you wriggle. As I get to your hips, you open your legs further, wanting the vibrations on your clit. I stroke the bullet up from your hip and across the top of your beautifully shaved pubic line, as you thrust your crotch forward, wanting it. 

I resist the urge to give you what you want immediately—instead lightly running the bullet down the side of your pussy, being careful not to touch your luscious pussy lips. I position myself in between your legs as the bullet gets closer and closer to your clit. As it edges nearer, I see your pussy glisten from its wetness—oh my God it looks amazing and I love how you have your legs open, allowing me to see it all. How I want to devour it, again—but there is something you need to say first.

You whimper, your body shaking, your breath ragged. I can feel it—you’re so close to giving in.

And then, just as I feel you start to unravel, I pull back. I stop everything. The vibrator, the pressure—it all stops.

You gasp, your body lurching forward, desperate for the sensation to continue. You try to press closer, try to make contact, but I keep my distance, pulling away just enough to leave you hanging in agonising anticipation.

Your body trembles, your frustration spilling over as you try to catch your breath, and I know you’re about to break. You need this, and you know it.

I lean in, my lips brushing your ear, my voice soft but commanding. “Say it,” I murmured, the final push. “Say it, or I’ll stop this right now. I’ll leave you like this, desperate, aching, with nothing.”

Your breath hitches, and I can see the war playing out in your mind. The defiance, the pride—it’s all crumbling beneath the weight of your need. You’re trembling, your body screaming for more, and you know I have the power to give it to you. But you have to say it.

“Say it,” I repeat, my voice a low growl. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

For a moment, I think you’ll hold out just a little longer. But then, with a trembling breath, you whisper the word, barely audible, the last piece of your pride shattering. The bullet is now hovering just above your clit and I slowly press down—I smile satisfyingly and your legs open up further to reveal your lovely wet pussy.

“Daddy…”

I smile, victorious, and without hesitation, I press the vibrator back against you, harder this time, increasing the intensity, my hand moving in sync with the relentless pulse.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The sight is driving me mad—but I am focused on giving you as much pleasure as you can handle. I slowly rub it up and down your clit as the vibrations run through you. You slowly lift your hips forward, wanting the vibrations lower down, which I oblige. The bullet is edging closer to your glistening pussy—but then I reach across and spread your beautiful lips apart with my fingers—and start to brush the bullet up one and then down the other, in circular motions. This is driving you wild as it edges closer to entering you. I move the bullet down ever so slightly so it is resting, waiting to go in—but then move it all the way up to your clit.

The fact you don't know what's coming next is driving you mad—which makes you look even sexier, if that is possible. You’re at the mercy of what comes next, and the fact that you can’t predict it is pushing you to the edge. You hate it, don’t you? But it also pulls you in. It makes you irresistible.

I go to the next level of vibrations and flick the bullet down from your clit, entering you ever so slightly and then move it back up to your clit, vibrating all of your core. As I do this, you open your legs further, now fully relaxed and turned on and let out a sexy moan—wanting more and more. 

All that fight, all that defiance, just to end up here? It’s almost poetic. It makes me wonder—how will you explain this to your friends? Will you tell them how easily you gave in, how all that stubbornness melted away? Or will you keep this secret tucked away, something only we’ll know?

For the first time, you try to move your arms down to control the pleasure—but then realise you are tied up and I am in control, and let your arms drop behind agan. It's at this point it is time to take it up a level.

You've always been a freak, haven’t you? I saw the signs, the little hints you thought were so subtle. Makes me wonder if this whole act—the defiance, the resistance—is just your way of pretending you aren’t begging for it. You don’t want control, not really. You want to be pushed to the edge, and I’m more than happy to take you there.

I turn the bullet off, giving you some relief from the pleasure for a few seconds - then lean forward and kiss the inside of your left thigh—moving across to the right thigh—but pause over your wet pussy—my mouth just millimeters from your glistening lips—and let out a breath of excitement that you can feel—then move to your right thigh and kiss the inside.

Jesus—if only you could see yourself right now. I almost want to take a video, something to remember this by, a little keepsake of how you look when you finally let go. And then I remember… your phone’s already in my pocket.

I hover over you, taking my time, savoring the moment. With careful precision, I pull it out and position the phone in just the right angle, the best view of you—completely vulnerable, completely mine.

Maybe you’ll watch this back later. Maybe you’ll see yourself the way I see you now—completely undone, stripped of that defiance you cling to so desperately. It’ll be a reminder, a little piece of this moment that you can never escape. And I’ll watch you realise, all over again, how much you need me.

You shift beneath me, your breath shaky, and then, through the haze of tension, your voice breaks the silence. “What are you doing?” The blindfold makes your tone sharper, more vulnerable—unsure of what’s coming next.

You can’t see me, but I know you’re feeling everything. “Tell me,” you whisper, almost a demand, though your voice trembles at the edges. Even blindfolded, you’re still trying to cling to some control.

“Is that how you ask?” I reply, my voice calm, but with that edge of authority you’re trying so hard to ignore. You tense, knowing exactly what I’m getting at, but you’re stubborn, always trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

I lean in closer, my breath warm against your ear. “You know what I want to hear. Try again.”

Your lips twitched what I think is annoyance, “Daddy, please tell me what you’re doing.”

I lean in, my breath barely brushing your ear, “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m setting your phone right here,” I say, patting the bedside table. “Perfectly positioned. Just in case you want to watch this later—see how you look when you let go.”

You shift beneath me, tense, trying to decipher every sound, every movement. “I want you to remember exactly what happens next,” I continue, my fingers trailing lightly down your side. “Because you asked for this. And now, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

You are aching for more—so I reach for the wand, turn it on and apply it directly to your clit, sending new sensations through your body. I am moving the wand back and forth from your clit to your juicy pussy, vibrations covering all of you. As I move it all around your beautiful pussy, I can hear and see how wet you are. The circular motion around all of your pussy is taking you to orgasm—but then I stop suddenly, and you catch your breath. 

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t stop. Oh, God.” 

I pressed a kiss to your thigh. “Beg me, sweetheart. Beg me to make you come.” 

“Why are you doing this to me? You fucking psychopath!” 

I know you were right there, hovering on the edge, air sawing in and out of your lungs. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry. You wanted to claw my face with your fingernails. I know you’re wanting to crawl into my lap and ride my cock to orgasm. 

“Those are not the words. Try again. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

It is now time to up it again, so I squeeze some pleasure gel in my hand and smother the top of the wand in it. I then grab the bullet and rub more pleasure gel on that too. I now have the wand in one hand and the bullet in the other both vibrating and ready to make you cum. I press the wand gently onto your clit as the bullet slowly enters you, making you take a deep breath and blurt out

“Fuck, Daddy—Please make me come.”

From the look on your face and the words coming out of your mouth, I know you are in ecstasy and it makes my cock throb so much. I ask you to tell me how it feels and you say ‘Amazing, Daddy, please don't stop, I love it.’ Your words and sounds as you take the pleasure turn me on so much.

My eyes darted towards the camera, my eyes communicating: Are you watching? Do you hear yourself?

Your legs are fully open now as I continue to work the bullet in and out of you slowly and the wand on your clit. You are so wet so I decide to switch things up—I take the bullet and gently rub it up and down your clit whilst pointing the wand directly at your pussy. I start to slowly push the wand head against your pussy lips and flick it up and down, the dual vibrations sending you into a frenzy. Oh my God—you look sensational, irresistible—I am in total ecstasy just watching your reactions to the vibrating and your orgasms. 

Your legs, spread apart more, trembling mote, and as I slowly pull the bullet back, your pussy pushes it out and a squirt of your juices shoot out at me. I bet you heard yourself yelling as if from a distance, the high so unbelievably good, better than any drug you'd ever tried. It seemed to go on for days but was probably only seconds. As you came down, the shame crept in to replace the euphoria.

I have never heard or seen you do this before and it makes me even harder, if that is possible. It's like unwrapping a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted, but suddenly can’t imagine living without. I almost want to thank you for the privilege—almost. But that would ruin the moment, wouldn't it?

I slowly start to pull the bullet back again, and it happens again—your beautiful pussy pushes out the bullet and squirts your juices all over my hand. I can now see a wet patch underneath you, which drives me wild. The sight of you orgasming, squirting and gushing is almost too much. I wave the wand all around your soaking wet pussy, juices gushing out of you as I do. I turn the bullet and wand off and just sit there looking at your pulsating and dripping wet pussy and then your gorgeous face as you recover. I am in total awe—

I glance down at the mess you’ve made, my lips curling into a slow, almost proud smile. “Well, would you look at that,” I murmur, teasing, with a hint of mockery. “Miss perfect, always so put together, now completely… undone.”

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, enjoying the way you squirm at the sound of my voice. “It’s almost impressive, really. I never thought you’d let things get this messy. But here you are, all flustered and out of sorts. Makes me wonder if you secretly like it this way.”

I chuckle softly, pulling back just enough to see the reaction play out on your face. “And honestly? I think it's kind of adorable. Watching you, of all people, fall apart like this.”

I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I guess being a messy girl suits you.”

You grit your teeth, your voice dripping with frustration as you snap, “Fuck you.” The words hit the air like you’re hoping they’ll cut me, but all I feel is amusement curling in my chest, that familiar, sick satisfaction.

“Ooo, fuck me, huh?” I echo, my voice dripping with mockery, like I’m savoring the taste of your defiance. “That’s adorable. Are you giving me hints?”

You growl in frustration, the sound barely contained, your annoyance bubbling over. I laugh softly, watching you struggle against the moment. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to keep up with your subtle suggestions,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess someone’s a little touchy, aren’t they?”

The frustration in your eyes behind the black silk only makes the moment sweeter. You’re trying so hard to fight, to stay defiant, but I can see right through it. And it’s entertaining.

Without breaking my smirk, I glance over at the camera on the bedside, locking eyes with it for a moment, letting the weight of this moment be captured.

I turn my gaze back to you, the satisfaction in my smile only deepening. “See? It’s all right here, caught on tape. You’ll thank me for it later.”

I move myself upwards, leaning over you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, every breath shaky and uneven. My fingers trace gently across your cheek, I lean in slowly, my lips hovering just above yours, my breath mingling with yours. I intend for it to be gentle, just a small taste of power, but then—you moved.

You push upward, taking control of the kiss, pulling me into it with a hunger I didn’t expect. For a split second, I freeze, caught off guard by the way you turn the tables, the way stuck your tongue down my throat passionately. 

You’re not just reacting. You’re taking.

I am taken aback as I thought you were recovering but then you whisper in my ear, “I need your cock in my mouth whilst you fuck me with the rabbit.” 

Insatiable. 

I’m frozen, my mind racing to catch up with what I just heard.

“Oh my god…” I murmur, half to myself, the disbelief quickly melting into a slow, satisfied smile. I pull back, just enough to look at you, the amusement and intrigue sparking in my eyes.

I shake my head slightly, chuckling. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I pause, before I lean in close again, my voice dropping to a low whisper.

“But if you want that…” I tease, my lips brushing against your ear, “you’re going to have to say the magic word.” My smirk deepens, waiting for that final surrender. 

“Daddy,” you drawled so seductively, “Please put your cock in my mouth, I want to suck it while I come.” 

Music to my ears.

I lean forward and kissed you again, sucking on your tongue. I can see that you want your hands free to feel me, you can hear me unzipping my jeans, the sound of it makes you writhe with excitement—but no, you don’t get to have that privilege yet.

I move to the side of you, on my knees and reach back to get the rabbit, gently stroking it down your chest, in between your tits. As I get near your pussy, I squeeze some pleasure gel all over it and then turn it on, the ears and the shaft vibrating on the lowest setting. I rub the tip downwards on your clit, you tilt your head up as I move forward on my knees and your mouth is already open, waiting for it. 

Whilst you are waiting to taste my throbbing rock-hard cock, I slide the rabbit down further, gliding across your wet pussy lips and then I reposition it so the tip is resting against your pussy, ready and waiting to enter you.

As I move my hips forward slowly and my cock starts to enter your eager mouth, I do the same with the rabbit inside your pussy. Inch by inch my cock feels your mouth as the rabbit fills you. The slow rhythm of my cock sliding to the back of your throat and then to the edge of your lips is matched with the rabbit doing the same to your pussy—slow and gentle strokes, all the way in and then all the way out, just resting on your lips. The noises you make as the rabbit enters you fully, the ears vibrating your clit, are sensational and matched by the sight of your mouth wrapped around my cock and arms stretched across the bed, tied helplessly but taking all that I have to give.

You start to speed up sucking my cock, slurping on it, loving it filling your mouth  and this is my queue to match that speed and rhythm with the rabbit—you are so wet that it is gliding in and out of you. All the way in and then out again. Still not fast—but not slow anymore—as you rock your head back and then thrust forward, taking all of me in your mouth. You then slow down and lick around my tip, and I do the same with the rabbit, just the tip rubbing around your open pussy. Then you push forward and take my cock, upto my balls, all the way in your mouth and I slowly push the rabbit all the way in you—as far as it can go, the ears in perfect position to stimulate your clit again. You hold me there in your mouth, not moving at all, and I do the same with the rabbit. This is so passionate and sexy—I could shoot my cum down your throat now—but no way. 

I continue to match your speed and rhythm with the rabbit, letting you have some control. But now it's time for me to take that control back—and taste your smooth, shaven, delicious pussy. So I slowly and gently slide the rabbit out of you as I also pull my cock out of your mouth. As both leave you, you let out the most gorgeous and sexy moan, and—

Was that a smile?

Oh, I saw it. You tried to hide it, but there it was, slipping through for just a moment. And honestly? That’s a huge turn-on. 

I move to the end of the bed, in between your legs, my mouth inches away from your amazing pussy. I can't tell you how gorgeous it is—the mere sight of it makes me want to come. I push your knees as far apart as they can go to admire your soaking wet pussy. I can see your clit bulging, wanting attention. I can see your lips slightly spread apart and shining from your wetness. I follow your lips down, drinking in this magnificent sight —until my eyes lock on to your pussy, which is aching to be filled.

I slowly edge my mouth close to you, and then take one giant lick, from the bottom of your pussy to the top, with the whole of my tongue.

“Oh my f—uck,” you arched wildly against the restraints. You’re so sensitive now, “Bucky—Daddy. . .”

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaky, hesitant, like you’re not sure if you should even say it. But you do. And it’s music to my ears, “I want you. . .”

I tilt my head slightly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, my tone dripping with amusement, “you want me? I think I need a little more than that.”

I watch you squirm, enjoying every second of your hesitation, savoring the way you’re trying so hard to find the right words. “Come on now,” I add, my voice soft but laced with command. “I need to hear exactly what you want. You’re already begging—why stop there?”

I chuckle lightly, leaning in closer. “Let’s not play shy now, not after how far you’ve come.”

Using my thumb and finger on each side, I prize open your pussy lips. You are so open and I can see you pulsating. You push your buttocks into the mattress, which elevates your pussy ever so slightly—meaning my tongue is at the exact height and pointing directly at you. 

“Your cock daddy. . .please, I need to feel you inside me.”

I chuckle, “Soon, my good girl.”

I push my head forward until my tongue enters your pussy, your juices flowing out either side of my tongue. They taste amazing as they ooze into my mouth. I didn’t stop, either, fucking you with his tongue, growling as I held your legs open as wide as they would go. 

“You are so wet,” he snarled. “I fucking love it!” 

“So good,” you muttered, long past the point of coherence. “Yes, it’s so good.”

The corners of your mouth lifting as you let out a satisfying smile, your hands gripping the slack length of the restraights tightly. The whole sight of you, as well as your wetness and taste is utopia—I never want this to end.

�� × × ×

YOUR POV

After a few more thrusts of his tongue, he shifted to you clit, but there was no teasing this time. He licked you ruthlessly, relentlessly, until you began shaking, your hips rocking as you chased a second orgasm. You nearly levitated off the bed when it finally crested, your body splintering apart into a million pieces, destroyed. 

“James!” You screamed his name and strained against the ties holding you down as it went on and on, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

The sudden yank of the blindfold pulls you from the haze you’ve been drowning in. Light filters in slowly, and your vision, still blurry from the darkness, begins to sharpen. The world starts to come into focus, and your eyes immediately lock onto him.

Bucky came up on his knees and began furiously jerking his cock, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open as he grunted. His gaze locked on your swollen pussy until his movements grew uncoordinated, his hips stuttering, and hot jets lashed all over your belly and chest. Like he was marking you. 

Oh my god—did the camera catch that?

He squeezed to get every drop of come out of his dick and onto your body, then sat on his haunches, chest heaving. You were covered in him, the liquid cooling on your bare flesh. Pleasured and used by the last man you should ever be attracted to.

Now he was stroking his dick again, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pumped that giant rod between his legs. God, he had a gorgeous cock and you felt an answering tug in your lower half.

You watched his fist squeeze the head of his cock. A bead of moisture appeared on the tip and he used his thumb to smear it all over the head. You inadvertently licked your lips, missing his taste, and waves of heat rolled through your limbs, settling in your core.

“You like watching me work my cock?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, as if he already knows the answer.

“No.” you said stubbornly.

He tilts his head slightly, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “I’m starting to think no means yes.”

Bucky moves closer, and despite every ounce of stubbornness in you, your body betrays you again. It’s like your body is inviting him, reacting on instinct, craving what your mind is still refusing to admit. Your pussy was swollen, slick. Primed for sex.

“Deschide larg picioarele pentru mine. Mică târfă.” You heard Bucky growl in his throat.

“What?”

“Open your legs wide for me, little slut.”

God, you wanted to hate him for that, but a blast of heat tore through you. 

“Jesus,” you whispered as you widened your legs slightly. “You’re such a dick.” 

“Hmm. Do you like to be called names, Y/N?” He let go of his cock and placed his hands on either side of his hips, displaying himself for you. “Do you like your hair pulled? Do you like to wear a man’s come on your face?”

Shit, when he asked those things in his low Romanian-accented voice, it sounded like pure sex. No doubt Bucky fucked like a beast, rough and dirty. He hadn’t shown you that side of him yet. The men you had been with treated you politely, like you were made of glass. 

“Is that what you like to do to women in bed?”

Ignoring your question, he stared at your body, placing himself between your legs. “I wish you were sitting on my face right now. I would lick you and bite you, suck on your clit until you passed out. I want to pull on your skin with my teeth until it stings, then make you come so hard you squirt all over me.”

You stared at his wide cock, which jutted out proudly from his body, bobbing in his movement, with its smooth skin and veins along the side. You imagined that thickness drilling inside you, splitting you in half and filling you up. Your pussy clenched around the emptiness and you moaned.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

You licked your lips as you stared at his erection, too turned on to lie. 

“Yes.” Bucky raised his brows, “. . .Daddy.”

He grabbed himself again, strong fingers wrapping around the shaft as he pulled, teasingly rubbing his head against your tender pussy.

“I would fuck you so good. Deep and hard. I would give you all my come, everything I am saving up in my balls just for you.” 

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Your legs were shaking, your movements uncoordinated because you were so turned on. So close. So needy. 

“And you’ll take it, yes?” he continued, clearly not caring that this was a one-sided conversation. “I have never seen a woman so hungry for it. Didn’t those boys in Hollywood know how to fuck you? I bet they left you unsatisfied.”

Fuck why is he dragging this out so much?!

Hands resting on your thighs, you began crooning, “Can’t you see how wet I am, Daddy? Can you see how turned on I am by watching you jerk that big cock of yours? I bet you have to use lube when you fuck, you’re so big. Do the women scream when you’re pounding inside them? Do you make them bleed, leave their pussies raw?”

“That fucking mouth,” Bucky murmurs, a low, satisfied growl escaping as a slow grin spreads across his face. The crown of his dick dragged against your entrance, teasing, and you actually tilted your hips, eager for the invasion. “That’s it. You’re ready for me.” 

You were beyond denial, beyond caring. “Yes,” you admitted to him. 

“Show me. Take me inside.”

This was so dirty. So wrong. Yet your body was humming, almost burning alive with lust. There was an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs, more than you would’ve thought possible considering the circumstances.

You adjusted your hips, seeking, and the head of his cock slipped inside you. Fuck, yes. You didn’t stop, continuing to rock your hips, writhing underneath him, to bring him deeper. You were wild for it, desperate to reach the finish, toward the explosive orgasm you knew awaited you. 

“Shh,” he said in your ear. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He took over then, but pressed in much slower than you expected. The beginning had been about domination and strength, but now he invaded so carefully, like he wanted you to feel every twitch and tiny movement. 

This was almost seduction, and it was worse than the chaos of moments ago. But there was no stopping it. You craved this, needed it. With a growl, he gave a final thrust of his hips and filled you completely, and the air left your lungs in a rush. He was hot and hard and so big, his dick impaling you, with the heavy weight of his body and restraints preventing you from moving. All you could do was lie there and take it. 

Which made it a thousand times hotter. 

“Fuck,” he said on a long exhale, then whispered a long string of another language that sounded both bewildered and excited.

Ragged breaths gusted against your cheek as he began to move, his hips meeting your pelvis. “You are mine, Y/N. Until I decide otherwise this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t respond, because his dick was destroying you in the very best way. You loved the way he felt inside you, like there was no room for anything else. No insecurities or worries, no past or future. Just this, right here. Perspiration coated your skin and he surrounded you, his cock pounding, pounding, pounding into your body. The pleasure built and you closed your eyes, focusing on the orgasm just out of reach.

The sounds of skin slapping and heavy breathing filled the room. He fucked you like it was his purpose in life, completely dedicated to the task and never slowing down for a second. With every savage thrust you slid a little on the mattress, and you were so close to coming, your muscles clenching and straining . . . . 

“You belong to me. Say it, doll.” 

The words twisted inside you, driving you higher, and the walls of your pussy contracted around his cock. 

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do that again.”

You squeezed around him once more, and he groaned. “Tell me. Let me hear you say it.” 

His fingers slid between your body and the mattress, moving lower until he found your clit. He rubbed you in tight circles. “Let me hear you say you belong to me.” 

The words fell from your mouth on a gasp. “I belong to you, Daddy.” 

Everything changed. He rode you even harder, without mercy, his fingers never leaving your clit, “Vino pentru mine, mica mea curvă frumoasă.”

Come for me, my beautiful little slut.

The combination of the words along with the stimulation became too much. Shocks raced up from your toes as the orgasm rushed over you. Your brain went offline, everything going blank for a long moment as the euphoria transported you into space. 

“God, yes! Oh, fuck,” you heard yourself shout from far away while you shook uncontrollably. When your climax finally ebbed, he moved to his knees, releasing your legs from the restraints and lifted your hips to change the angle. 

“Yes! Shove it deep, come inside me, Daddy.”

It allowed him deeper, and after a few pumps he swelled inside you, his hips stuttering just before hot jets of come filled your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, ah!” he roared, his fingertips sinking into your flesh. No doubt you would be covered in bruises tomorrow. That should’ve horrified you, but it didn’t. After a moment, his movements slowed but he kept rocking, his dick still pulsing inside you. 

“Take it all, baby,” he crooned and lowered to kiss your chest spine. “Take all of my come. You earned it. Ești o fată atât de bună.” 

You’re such a good girl.

Fuck, you wished he would stop saying things like that. You flushed from head to toe and basked in the praise. He continued peppering your skin with kisses, displaying a tenderness you hadn’t expected. You melted like hot candle wax on the floor.

“Ești frumoasă,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along your chest. “Ești perfectă.”

You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.

You felt butterflies in the deepest pit of your stomach. You’re not supposed to like that but you do.

Big hands swept up your back and you felt free from your restraints completely and then over your hip as he lifted you, angling your face toward his. 

“I need you,” he whispered and kissed you.

You fell into the kiss eagerly, softening for him and letting him take your mouth. You could feel his urgency, his desperation, and it fed your own. His fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair to hold you in place as his tongue and lips devoured you. 

The kiss went on and on, and your body responded as it always did to this man, your pussy getting more wet and swollen. You loved the way he kissed, with such absolute force and reverence. Like he longed to destroy and cherish you at the same time. Your skin crawled with need, a thousand pinpricks that made you feel alive and powerful. Bold, as if you could do anything. 

You decided to take a risk. You flipped it around so now you’re on top. You started moving your hand south, over his ribs and down his abs. His mouth broke off from yours and he waited, his breath coming fast. He didn’t stop you, so you continued toward his crotch, and your palm skimmed his sweat-slick muscles. 

He was glorious, a marble statue came to life. 

You found his cock, thick and hard against his belly, and you gave it a gentle brush, a tease, before continuing to his balls. He grunted when you rolled and squeezed their weight with your fingers. Most men loved to have their balls played with, and Bucky was no different. 

He spread his thighs to give you more room and you caressed him, exploring. When your hand swept the length of his dick, he jerked and rocked his hips, silently asking for more. You stroked him slowly and he exhaled against your cheek, strong fingers digging into your skin, the room quiet except for both your breathing. 

You liked having him at your mercy for a change. Your lower half began to throb as you worked him. You knew what it was like to have this big dick inside you and your pussy was weeping for it. You weren't sure he’d allow you on top, but you really wanted to ride him just this once.

You slid your leg over his hips to straddle him. He held onto your waist and the feel of all his strength and power beneath you made your mouth water. His gaze was locked on your pussy as you grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. You began feeding him inside, sinking down slowly, loving the stretch and burn as he took up all the space in your body. 

“Fuck, James,” You whispered, his full name falling from your lips while you paused to let yourself adjust. 

“Da, frumoasa mea fetiță,” he said softly, “Take me inside.”

A rush of arousal went through your core and he slid deeper. You gasped, hovering between pleasure and pain, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing and pressing. Tingles cascaded along the backs of your thighs, through your belly, and soon he was fully seated. 

Goddamn, he was a lot. 

You began slowly moving your hips, sliding his dick in and out of you while grinding on his pelvis. You clit dragged between you at the end of every stroke, and it sent streaks of white-hot need along your bloodstream. Though the room was dark, you locked eyes with him, and you could see the new arousal and possessiveness staring up at you. This felt so real. So intimate. Like he could see inside you, past all your deepest insecurities to your very soul. This is what he wanted.

You focused on your pleasure and churned your hips, loving the way his length tunnelled in and out of your channel, the friction unbelievably good. You tossed your hair and arched your back, giving him a show as you rode him. 

“God, yes,” you moaned. “I want to do this all day.” 

“Feel how hard I am?” His whisper filled your head like smoke, taking you higher. “That is all for you. Just you, comoara mea.”

The unguarded hunger and lust in his expression spurred you on, so you moved faster, and the bliss soon built and coiled inside you like a spring. When you placed your hands on his chest for leverage you half-expected him to shove you off, take over, and pin you to the mattress. Surprisingly he didn’t, so you dug your nails into his flesh, holding on as you continued to fuck him. 

“Oh, shit.” you eyes slammed shut. You were so close, the orgasm was right there. 

“Look at me,” he said sharply. “Look at me while you use my dick to get off.”

You did as he commanded, so you were staring at one another when you started to come a second later. The orgasm swept through you like a tsunami, waves and waves that chased everything else away. 

Your mind went blank, his beautiful face your only anchor as you trembled and shook. The walls of your pussy squeezed him in rhythmic pulses and his lips parted on a hiss. 

Before you’d even come down, he lifted you slightly and began pounding up from below. His feet were braced on the mattress, and each powerful thrust rocked the bed and sent the headboard into the wall with a bang. 

Bending, you placed your face directly above his, your mouths inches apart. You were close enough to feel his breath as he grunted and huffed. You don’t know what made me say it, but you started talking. 

“That’s it, daddy. Give me all of your come. Every bit of it, deep inside. Make me your good girl.”

“Fuck!” His body went taut beneath you, and you could feel him swell just before he flooded your insides again with hot lashes of his come. He held you still, his fingers clamped around your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises to add to the collection. 

“You are mine,” he ground out, his big body jerking beneath you.

Finally he sagged into the bed. You tried to catch your breath, your body sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. He was still inside you, and you could feel our sticky mess leaking out of you as he softened. 

He stared at the ceiling, arms wide, chest heaving, while sweat rolled down his temples and into his thick dark hair. You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you speaking. You didn’t have a clue as to what to say. You felt destroyed in the very best way.

He dragged a hand down his face. Gently rolling you off to his side.

“Soak in the hot tub,” he said and pushed to his feet. “Otherwise you will be sore later.”

He didn’t help you up or even look in your direction. Instead, he jerked on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom, leaving you on the bed. Naked, filled with his come, and unshackled.

Your body still tingles from the aftershocks as you reach over to the bedside table, your hand trembling slightly as you grab your phone. Bucky had placed it there earlier, so casually, like it was just part of the routine. But now, the weight of it feels different, heavier.

You swipe the screen, the familiar glow illuminating the dimly lit room. Your thumb hovers for a second before you press play. The video begins, and there you are—captured in the heat of the moment, vulnerable, raw.

You feel a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief watching yourself like this, seeing everything from a perspective that isn’t your own. Your breath catches in your throat as the sound of his voice, low and commanding, fills the room again. Each word, each movement, feels magnified, more intense than you remember.

As the video plays, you notice the moment when Bucky shifts, his gaze no longer on you but directly into the camera. That smirk, the one you’ve seen a thousand times, is aimed at the lens—not at you. For a second, it’s as if he’s performing for the camera, not for you, and the realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

He knew. He knew you’d be watching this later, knew exactly how it would feel for you to see him like this, his eyes focused on the camera while you were completely unaware. The deliberate way he captured the moment, not just for you but for himself too, is unsettling—and somehow, impossibly, it draws you in even more.

It was all planned. A reminder that even in the heat of it, Bucky was always one step ahead.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy

Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!

Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff

It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.

He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.

He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9

But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.

“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.

“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.

“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.

But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.

Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”

He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.

Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.

“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.

But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.

“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”

He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.

Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.

“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.

With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.

“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”

“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”

The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.

“Or she.”

Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.

You matched each other perfectly, in every way.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Could you perhaps write something? It’s the readers birthday and Reid waits all day to see if she brings it up, but they never do. So he shows up at her apartment with a gift for her and tells her he’ll always remember her birthday, even if she doesn’t tell anyone when it is. And then a little smut occurs. 😱

Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, forgotten birthday

Word count: 7.9k

a/n: this is such a great idea i'm so sorry it took me forever to get around to writing it !! it's probably way smuttier than you thought lolol i was in a smut slump but we're back !

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (fem receiving) protected PinV

The day unfolds like any other, with the usual rush of paperwork, coffee runs, and the occasional moment of laughter echoing through the bullpen. You stay focused on your work, avoiding any unnecessary interactions that might draw attention to yourself. After all, it’s your birthday, but you’ve chosen to keep that to yourself. It feels strange, withholding such personal information, but in a high-stakes environment like this, there’s a part of you that prefers to blend into the background. Birthdays aren't meant to be a spectacle here. 

You glance around the room, noticing the typical energy coursing through the space, unaware that a pair of eyes have been subtly watching you all morning. Spencer Reid, as meticulous with people as he is with facts, has always been someone who notices the little things others tend to miss. Today, it’s your silence, the absence of a celebratory card, or a slice of cake that catches his attention. He’s well aware of what today means, not because you told him, but because he knows. Just like he knows the birthdays of every other team member, except yours is different—yours matters more to him. 

Spencer taps his pen against his notebook, his gaze drifting toward you. He debates internally whether to say anything, to let you know he’s aware. He’s read enough about social norms to understand that birthdays often come with expectations—balloons, cake, a few awkwardly sung lines of "Happy Birthday"—but that’s not your style. He’s noticed how you avoid the spotlight, how you prefer quiet moments over public celebrations. Still, he wonders if there’s something you’re hoping for today.

Penelope, typically the beacon of all things celebratory, hasn’t said anything either. But Spencer figures you’ve kept it quiet on purpose. He knows Penelope would have plastered the office with decorations had she been aware, and since the office remains as normal as ever, Spencer figures you’re not in the mood for that kind of attention.

He watches you, waiting for a sign—a smile, a quick glance his way, anything that might suggest you’d appreciate a private acknowledgment. When nothing comes, he respects your decision, but there’s a gnawing feeling inside him. Birthdays are supposed to be special, and even though you’ve chosen not to celebrate, he can’t just let it pass without doing something. Not for you.

The day comes to an end, and not a single word has been spoken about your birthday. You’ve kept it quiet, of course, but still, the silence lingers a bit more than you expected. Not from anyone else, and not from you. Spencer has watched the day unfold in his quiet, observant way, and though he knows you’re not one for grand gestures, he can’t let this pass unnoticed. 

After leaving the office, Spencer’s mind is already set on what he needs to do. He stops by your favorite restaurant, carefully picking up dinner. You never told him your favorite spot, but he’s always been the kind of person who pays attention to the little things—especially when it comes to you. He takes pride in knowing these details, even if he’s never made a show of it.

From there, he heads to a local bakery, the door chiming just as the frustrated baker is about to close. Spencer, out of breath and apologetic, manages to convince the baker to stay open just long enough to get a small cake with your name written on it. The generous tip helps, but more than anything, it’s the desperation in Spencer’s voice that softens the baker’s resolve. 

Now, standing outside your front door with his arms full—dinner in one hand, cake in the other—he uses his elbow to press the doorbell, feeling a flicker of nervousness that’s unusual for him. He never shows up unannounced like this, but he knows this is different. This matters.

Inside, you’re curled up on the couch, completely absorbed in the book your parents sent you as a gift. It’s one you’ve been dying to read for months, and it’s been the perfect way to end your quiet day. The unexpected ring of the doorbell pulls you from your peaceful moment, your brow furrowing slightly as you set the book down. 

You tiptoe toward the door, glancing out the sheer blinds to see who it could possibly be at this hour. When you spot Spencer standing there, your heart skips a beat. You quickly open the door, a confused grin tugging at your lips.

"Reid?" you ask, your voice light but puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

He shifts awkwardly, his arms still burdened with dinner and the cake, and there’s a sheepishness in his expression that’s both endearing and unexpected. 

"Happy birthday," he says, though it comes out more like a question, his uncertainty evident.

Your heart swells at the sight of him, the surprise of his gesture hitting you all at once. You glance at the dinner in one hand, the cake in the other, and something warm blooms in your chest.

"Thank you," you say, your voice soft as you open the door wider. "Come in, please."

Spencer followed you into the kitchen, his eyes subtly taking in the details of your small, cozy home. It occurred to you that this was the first time he had ever been inside, and that realization only added to the strange, fluttery feeling that had been building inside you since he showed up at your door.

He set the bags down on the counter, the quiet clinking of takeout containers filling the brief silence between you. 

“How, um... how did you know it was my birthday?” you asked softly, a hint of shyness in your voice. 

Spencer didn’t look up immediately, making himself busy with the food, carefully unpacking it as though it were an everyday task. “I would never forget your birthday, Y/N,” he replied, his voice so matter-of-fact yet warm. 

His words struck something deep inside you, and your heart swelled all over again, the warmth spreading through your chest and into your limbs. “Reid... that's so sweet,” you murmured, barely able to contain the emotion in your voice.

He smiled over his shoulder at you, that soft, almost boyish grin that made everything feel lighter. “I hope this is okay,” he said, turning around to show you what he had brought. “I guessed you’d like this.”

You blinked, staring at the familiar containers in his hands, and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t just any takeout—it was your favorite order from your absolute favorite restaurant. Your mind struggled to process how he could have known, and your body felt like it was on the verge of exploding with a tidal wave of affection and gratitude.

“H–how?” you stammered, unable to get out anything more coherent as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Spencer shrugged in that sweet, almost bashful way he did sometimes, his eyes meeting yours as he simply said, “I pay attention.”

Those three words hit you harder than anything else he could’ve said. It wasn’t just the dinner, or the cake, or even the fact that he’d remembered your birthday without you saying a word—it was that he saw you, truly noticed you, in ways you didn’t think anyone ever did.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, your eyes soft and full of everything you couldn’t put into words. “Reid, you didn’t have to do all of this,” you whispered, but there was no mistaking the happiness in your tone.

He smiled gently, placing the food down on the counter. “I know,” he said, his voice soft, “but I wanted to.”

And just like that, your quiet birthday became something more than you ever could have expected—because of him.

As the two of you settled into an easy rhythm of conversation over dinner, it felt surprisingly natural—despite the unexpectedness of the evening. You sat across from each other at your small kitchen table, the soft clinking of forks against takeout containers punctuating the space between your words. Spencer, usually so reserved and careful, seemed more relaxed, as if the intimacy of the moment had broken down some of his usual barriers.

“You know,” Spencer began between bites, “this restaurant has one of the highest customer satisfaction ratings in the area. I didn’t just pick it at random—I wanted to make sure it was perfect.” He looked up at you, his eyes bright with sincerity.

You smiled, taking in how thoughtful he had been without even realizing how much it meant to you. "I can’t believe you went to so much trouble for this. I really don’t expect anything big for my birthday."

Spencer shrugged, his expression so genuine it made your heart ache just a little. "Well, it’s not just any day. It’s your day. And you deserve to feel special."

His words landed gently, but with a depth that made your pulse quicken. You had always seen Spencer as more than a colleague, but you’d never really considered him in a romantic light. The way he was speaking tonight, though, made you notice things about him you hadn’t before.

“You’re really thoughtful, Reid,” you said, picking at your food, your voice soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone remember the little things like you do.”

He glanced at you with a shy smile, pushing his glasses up slightly. “I like to notice the important things. People tend to overlook those details, but they matter.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, and you suddenly realized how much attention he must’ve been paying all this time. Spencer was always observant—he was a profiler, after all—but this was different. He was talking about you, not in a way that made you feel studied, but in a way that made you feel seen.

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it like that,” you replied, your voice light, though your heart felt anything but. “Most people don’t pay that much attention.”

Spencer looked at you intently then, his gaze soft but unwavering. “It’s hard not to pay attention to you.”

The statement was simple, but the way he said it felt like something more. You felt your cheeks warm, caught off guard by the realization that Spencer Reid might see you in a way you hadn’t seen yourself.

“Reid, I—” you started, but he interrupted, not even realizing the shift in the conversation.

“And you’re always so organized with your case files,” he continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “I appreciate that about you. You make my job easier, and honestly, it’s hard not to enjoy working with you.”

You laughed softly, feeling flustered but trying to keep it light. “You make me sound like I’m perfect or something.”

He tilted his head, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I’ve always thought you were... well, pretty amazing.”

“I... I didn’t know you felt that way,” you admitted quietly, playing with your fork to avoid looking directly at him.

Spencer, seemingly oblivious to the weight of his own words, shrugged again. “I'm not always good at saying what I’m thinking, but you’ve always stood out to me. I guess it’s just… obvious to me.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for the first time, you found yourself really considering Spencer Reid in a different light. Sure, he was brilliant, kind, and more attractive than you’d ever let yourself dwell on—but you had never imagined he might see you that way.

You felt... average. Just you. How could someone like Spencer, with his genius mind and thoughtful nature, possibly see you as anything more than a friend or colleague?

As you looked across the table at him, his expression soft and open, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you had been wrong about where you stood with him.

After the plates were cleared, you and Spencer sat side by side, laughing as you decided to abandon any pretense of formality and dig into the cake with forks. It was just the two of you, after all, and the evening had become too comfortable for anything else. Every bite seemed to add to the warmth between you, and even though neither of you had touched a drop of alcohol, it felt like you were both intoxicated—drunk on the unexpected affection and connection between you.

You noticed Spencer watching you with an intensity that was both thrilling and unsettling. His gaze felt heavier than usual, more present, more... intentional. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little self-conscious under his watchful eyes. “What?” you asked, your voice light but breathless as your lips curled into a small, uncertain smile.

Spencer let out a soft laugh, a sound so gentle it sent warmth coursing through you. He shifted closer, his hand lifting, and before you could process what was happening, his palm was cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed across your lips tenderly, lingering there. 

“You have...” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours, “some frosting.”

His touch was electric, sending a shiver through you, though you were frozen in place. Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but you couldn’t move. Spencer's thumb continued to gently trace the curve of your bottom lip, the moment stretching between you, thick with something you hadn’t realized was there until now.

He leaned in a little closer, his breath brushing your skin as he whispered, “Y/N… I’m going to kiss you. Is that okay?”

His words, soft and tentative, sent your pulse racing, and you barely registered the nod you gave in response. But that was all he needed. Spencer's gaze flicked down to your lips, and he closed the remaining distance slowly, as if giving you every chance to stop him, though you knew you wouldn’t.

His lips met yours gently, a hesitant kiss that was soft, warm, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you, locked in something fragile and sweet.

Spencer’s hand stayed cradling your face as he deepened the kiss just slightly, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his forehead rested gently against yours, and his eyes were still closed as if he were savoring the moment.

“Was that okay?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion, still holding onto the last traces of your kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, your hands instinctively finding their way to his chest. “Mhm, very okay,” you whispered, smiling softly as your heart raced in your chest.

Spencer opened his eyes slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The room felt heavier with meaning now, but it was the kind of weight you welcomed, a sense that things had shifted between you in the best possible way.

“Can I do it again?” Spencer asked, his voice playful, his lips pulling into a silly grin that made your heart flip. 

You couldn’t help but giggle at his eagerness, your cheeks warming as you nodded once more. This time, though, you didn’t wait for him to make the first move. You leaned up toward him, your hands sliding from his chest to the back of his neck, your fingers gently threading through the soft strands of his hair.

Spencer’s hands moved from where they had been resting on your face, sliding down to your waist as he pulled you in closer, your bodies now pressed together with a new, delicious kind of tension. He let out a soft, happy hum, the sound vibrating through you, making you feel like your entire body was alight with warmth. 

When you felt his tongue gently part your lips, exploring your mouth with such tender care, you couldn’t help the soft, sweet moan that escaped you. The sound seemed to stir something in Spencer, and you felt his fingers tighten on your waist just as a low, deep groan rumbled from his chest.

Encouraged by his reaction, you tangled your fingers further into his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. The world outside this moment seemed to fade even more, leaving just the feeling of Spencer against you, the intoxicating heat between your bodies, and the soft sounds of contentment that passed between you both.

Each kiss was deeper than the last, each touch more deliberate, as if you were both slowly learning a new language made of gentle caresses and lingering glances. Spencer’s lips were soft and insistent against yours, but always so tender, as if he was savoring each moment, never wanting to rush. The feeling of his body pressed so intimately against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go, made your pulse race.

Spencer pulled back ever so slowly, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You let out a soft whine, your body instinctively leaning forward, both at the loss of his lips and the delicious pull of his teeth. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath, the air between you thick with unspoken feelings.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured, his voice soft and almost breathless, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Your heart skipped at his words, and you tilted your head slightly, curiosity getting the better of you. "How long?" you asked, your voice just as quiet, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile intimacy between you.

Spencer laughed, the sound low and almost bashful. "Two years and three months," he said with a soft chuckle, his breath tickling your skin.

You paused for a moment, realizing how specific that time frame was. Then it hit you. "That's... that's when I started at the BAU," you said slowly, your mind racing to piece it together.

He nodded, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between. "Since the first day I saw you, I knew you were special."

His words hung in the air, and something inside you shifted. You could feel the weight of his confession settle in your chest, and it only made the moment feel more intense, more real. Spencer had been feeling this way for so long, waiting patiently, watching from the sidelines, all without you ever knowing.

That’s when you made your decision.

"Take me to the bedroom, Reid," you said, your voice steady but filled with anticipation.

Spencer pulled back instantly, his eyes wide in surprise, his expression almost comically stunned. "What?"

You held his gaze, your hand gently brushing his cheek as you repeated, more softly this time, "The bedroom, please?" You threw in your best puppy dog eyes, knowing it would be hard for him to say no.

For a moment, Spencer was frozen, his mind clearly racing to catch up with the reality of what was happening. "Okay—yeah, yeah," he stammered, still in shock but unable to hide the excitement building in his voice.

He stood back quickly, offering his hand to you with a mix of eagerness and hesitation. You took it, letting him pull you gently from the kitchen, the warmth of his palm against yours sparking something deep inside you. As he led you down the hallway toward the bedroom, your heart raced, the anticipation growing with every step. 

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind you, your hands were already tugging at Spencer’s sweater vest, pulling it over his head with eager fingers. His usually neat hair was left a little wild and messy, and you couldn't help but giggle softly at the sight. He grinned back at you, shaking his head like a dog trying to shake off water, making you laugh even harder.

"You're ridiculous," you teased, but your words were laced with affection.

Spencer just smiled wider, his eyes filled with mischief and desire. Without missing a beat, his hands found the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up as you raised your arms in surrender, allowing him to undress you with deliberate care. The fabric slipped over your head, and as soon as it was discarded to the floor, you could feel his gaze roaming over your body.

His eyes lingered on your chest, clearly noticing the absence of a bra, and the way his breath caught sent a shiver through you. There was something so intense, so reverent in the way he looked at you that it made your skin tingle. His hands found their way to your breasts, his touch gentle yet filled with hunger, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening.

Without another word, Spencer dipped his head back down, capturing your lips in another kiss that left you breathless. This time, it was deeper, more urgent, as if all the emotions he'd been holding back for years were pouring into this moment. His thumbs rubbed at your nipples as he kissed you, and you could feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, matching the rhythm of your own as you whined softly into his mouth.

Your hands found their way to his hair again, tangling in the soft strands as you pressed your body closer to his, craving more of him, more of the way his lips moved against yours, more of the way his hands explored you.

The moment you felt the unmistakable press of Spencer’s arousal against you, your instincts took over. Your hands trailed down, quickly working at the waistband of his pants, eager to feel more of him. Spencer’s fingers left your body only long enough to undo the buttons of his shirt, your breaths becoming heavier as the distance between you both shrank even more.

Soon, he was down to just his briefs, his skin warm against yours, and for a second, you thought he was about to pull you into another kiss. But instead, he surprised you by crouching down in front of you, his hands resting on your hips. You looked down at him with curiosity and amusement, tilting your head.

“What are you doing down there?” you asked, laughing softly, though your heart was racing.

Spencer looked up at you, and the look in his eyes sent a rush of warmth through your body. There was something almost reverent about the way he gazed at you, like you were the most precious thing he'd ever laid eyes on. “I have wanted this for so, so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to savor every little bit of you.”

His words made you flush with heat, the intensity of his desire crashing over you like a wave. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, and before you could say anything in response, Spencer's hands were moving again, removing the last pieces of your clothing as he kissed the newly exposed skin. 

And then, you were standing completely bare before him, your most intimate parts now level with his face. The vulnerability of the moment, combined with the raw hunger in Spencer’s eyes, made you feel dizzy, but you couldn’t look away.

It seemed like this was exactly what he had wanted all along. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin before his tongue traced a sure stripe through your slick folds. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure up your spine, your knees almost buckling from the sheer intensity of it.

A gasp escaped your lips as Spencer continued, his mouth working with a determination that made it clear this was something he had imagined countless times before. His hands gripped your thighs, steadying you as he continued his ministrations, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes designed to unravel you from the inside out.

You couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips, your fingers tangling in his hair once again as he savored you, just like he said he would.

"You taste better than I imagined," Spencer murmured between breaths, his voice thick with desire before he dove back in, his mouth moving over every inch of you, leaving no part untouched. His tongue was thorough, his lips relentless, and each movement made it harder for you to hold on to any coherent thoughts.

Your grip on his hair tightened as a desperate whimper escaped your lips. "You—ungh—you imagined this?" you managed to gasp out between moans, your voice shaky and breathless.

Spencer hummed against you in response, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his mouth latching onto your clit with more intensity, suctioning his lips tightly before shaking his head back and forth, creating a sensation so intense it made you scream out, your body trembling with the force of it.

The sound that left you was raw, completely involuntary, as waves of pleasure rolled through you, Spencer's hands gripping your thighs tighter to hold you steady as you lost yourself in the moment. He was relentless, devouring you with an eagerness that matched his earlier words. It was clear he had thought about this—dreamed about this—and now, with you here in front of him, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

"Reid..." you moaned, your voice breaking as your entire body responded to his touch, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. Each movement of his tongue, each gentle bite or hum, pushed you closer and closer to the edge, and all you could do was hold on tight, letting him take you wherever he wanted you to go.

But then, just as you were teetering on the edge, Spencer pulled back, leaving you breathless and aching for more. The sudden absence of his touch made your body tremble, a desperate whine escaping your lips. When you looked down, confused and still dazed with pleasure, you noticed the almost stern look in his eyes, his lips glistening as he gazed up at you.

"Spencer," he said, his voice low, full of intent.

Your brow furrowed slightly, your mind hazy from the high you had been riding. "What?" you managed to ask, your voice breathless and needy.

His eyes softened, but his expression remained firm. "Call me Spencer," he repeated, his tone a mixture of command and affection, as if this small detail mattered more than anything in that moment.

Before you could fully process it, he leaned back in, parting you gently with his thumbs to give himself even more access. The feeling was overwhelming, your body trembling as he resumed his ministrations with renewed intensity, his tongue and mouth working in tandem, more precise and focused than before.

The need in you swelled again, even stronger than before, and this time, you couldn’t hold back the moans that spilled from your lips. "Spencer," you gasped, his name escaping your lips like a prayer, your body arching into him as he pushed you further and further toward the edge.

Hearing his name on your lips seemed to spur him on, his movements growing even more deliberate as he devoured you with every ounce of the hunger he had been holding back. You were completely at his mercy, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel as he brought you closer and closer to the peak of pleasure, his name falling from your lips again and again.

Spencer could sense how close you were, your breath hitching and your body trembling beneath his touch. He doubled his efforts, his tongue moving with precision and urgency, his fingers pressing against your thighs to keep you steady. The need to see you completely unravel, to give you that release, spurred him on as he focused entirely on you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, and then, finally, the tension that had been building in your core snapped. You tilted your head back, your body arching as the overwhelming pleasure took over. With a loud, uncontrolled moan, your hands found Spencer’s hair, gripping it tightly, tugging hard as you released, your body shuddering and your mind reeling from the intensity of it all.

Spencer didn’t stop, his mouth never leaving you as he worked you through your climax, swallowing everything you offered him. The feel of your fingers gripping his hair, the way your body shook as you released in his mouth—it was everything he’d dreamed of, and more. Only when your body began to calm, your breath evening out, did he slowly pull back, his lips brushing against your skin one last time, savoring the moment.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of satisfaction as you slowly came back to reality. You were still breathless, your body weak from the intensity of your orgasm, but the way Spencer looked at you, filled with awe and admiration, made you feel like you were floating.

"That," he murmured softly, "was everything."

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, still floating in the afterglow, your head in the clouds, your body humming with the remnants of pleasure. Spencer slowly rose from his knees, his hands gently skimming your skin as he stood to his full height, a soft, amused smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you.

“You with me, beautiful?” he asked, his voice full of warmth and amusement as he stroked your hair, fingers threading through the strands tenderly.

You blinked up at him, your eyes still hazy with satisfaction, but your smile was soft and content. “I’m with you,” you replied, voice breathy but sincere, your whole body feeling like it was made of light.

Spencer chuckled, the sound affectionate and full of something deeper. “Good, good,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “Do you want to keep going?”

A slow smile spread across your lips, and the way you said, “Please, Spencer,” made his heart race with excitement and affection.

Spencer grinned, the playful glint in his eyes returning as he gently guided you down onto the pillows, his hands firm but tender. He leaned over you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he whispered, “Anything for the birthday girl.”

With that, Spencer lowered himself over you, his body pressing against yours with a sweet, delicious heat. You could feel the warmth of him, the anticipation growing as his lips found yours once again, slow and lingering, savoring every second. His hands explored your body as though he wanted to memorize every curve, every inch of your skin, and the way he touched you made your heart race all over again.

This wasn’t just about physical pleasure anymore—it was about something deeper, something that had been quietly building between you both for much longer than either of you had realized.

"Can you..." you started, but then hesitated, suddenly feeling a wave of shyness crash over you. This was Reid, after all, your colleague and friend, someone you'd see at work tomorrow. The reality of that hit you, and it made your heart race for an entirely different reason now.

Spencer, noticing the shift in your demeanor, raised an eyebrow, his voice soft and reassuring. "Can I what, darling?" he asked, a small, amused smile on his lips as he looked down at you.

You shook your head, trying to brush it off, but Spencer’s expression quickly shifted to concern. His hands, which had been tracing gentle patterns on your skin, paused, and his voice became softer, more serious. "Y/N... are you okay?"

You let out a quiet sigh, nodding, but there was still a lingering tension in your chest. "Just... is this going to be weird tomorrow?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The intimacy of the moment, the emotions wrapped up in everything that had just happened—it suddenly felt fragile when faced with the idea of seeing him at the office the next day, going back to the usual routine like nothing had changed.

Spencer's face softened even more, and he tilted his head, his eyes searching yours. "Weird?" he repeated, his voice thoughtful, as if he was carefully considering your words. He shifted slightly, his hand coming up to gently stroke your cheek. "No, Y/N, this doesn’t have to be weird."

You blinked up at him, your heart settling slightly at his calm demeanor. He continued, his voice gentle but certain. "We can take it one day at a time, okay? But if you're worried about work, nothing between us will change unless you want it to. I care about you too much to let this ruin anything.”

"If anything, this makes everything better," Spencer continued softly, his eyes full of sincerity as his hand stayed gently on your cheek. "I’ve wanted to be close to you for so long. I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up or make you feel uncomfortable. We can handle this however you want—slow, steady, or even just keeping it between us for now."

His words soothed the unease that had started to form, the tenderness in his tone making it clear that he wasn’t rushing anything, wasn’t trying to push for something more than what you were ready for. Spencer, as always, was careful, deliberate, and understanding. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, made you feel safe, even in this new, uncertain territory.

You took a deep breath, feeling some of the weight lift from your chest. "I just… I don’t want this to change things in a bad way," you admitted, your fingers lightly brushing over his arm as he hovered over you, your bodies still close but the air between you calmer now.

Spencer shook his head, his smile warm and full of affection. "It won’t. I promise. I’ll still be me, you’ll still be you. And we’ll figure out whatever this is together, one step at a time. You don’t have to worry about work or anything else right now. Just... be here with me tonight."

You felt a sense of relief wash over you, his words grounding you in the moment. The fear of what tomorrow might bring began to fade as you looked up at him, trusting that Spencer, with all his care and thoughtfulness, would never let this turn into something that would hurt either of you.

"Okay," you whispered, offering him a small smile. "I’m here with you."

Spencer’s face lit up with a soft, almost shy grin as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hands once again finding their way to your waist, holding you close as if reassuring you through his touch.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and comforting. "Because I’m not going anywhere."

With that, the tension between you melted away, leaving only the quiet intimacy of the moment. Spencer guided you back onto the pillows, his movements slow and deliberate as he kissed you again, this time with more ease and tenderness, making it clear that whatever happened next would be on your terms, whenever you were ready.

Spencer groaned deeply into your mouth as you pushed his briefs down, your hand wrapping around him, stroking him with just enough pressure to make his breath hitch. You guided him into position, your need for him clear in the way your body responded. His lips never left yours, but his breath grew more ragged as the tension between you mounted.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours, his voice thick with restraint.

You whimpered in response, the feeling of him grinding against you, the tip of his cock hitting your clit, making it impossible to think of anything else. “Please, Spencer,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “I want you so badly. Please.”

He let out a strained groan, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as your words washed over him. "Okay, okay," he whispered, trying to soothe you even though he was losing his own control. "Shh, you never have to beg me for anything, ever."

Your body writhed beneath him, desperate for more, for him, and you shifted your hips instinctively, trying to coax him to push inside. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and your need for him was palpable in every shaky breath you took.

Spencer, however, managed to hold onto a sliver of resolve, even as it wore thin. "Y/N, beautiful," he said, his voice rough, "we need to use a condom."

"Top drawer," you gasped, your words nearly a plea as your body moved beneath him, craving the release only he could give you. "Hurry!"

With a nod, Spencer fumbled toward the bedside table, pulling the drawer open with shaky hands. He found the box quickly, tearing it open with urgency. Your eyes stayed locked on him, watching every movement, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your skin burning with need.

He returned to you swiftly, sliding the condom on with practiced care, though his hands were trembling. The moment he was ready, he positioned himself above you again, his eyes filled with both desire and affection as he leaned down to kiss you, this time slower, savoring the feel of your lips against his.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice softer now, filled with reassurance as he finally pressed forward, slowly pushing inside of you, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure crashing through both of you.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a loud, satisfied moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely, your body welcoming him in a way that felt natural, perfect. Spencer groaned, his breath hitching as he felt your tight walls constrict even further around him. 

"Y/N, darling, relax, please," Spencer panted, his voice laced with both urgency and concern as he struggled to hold himself back, his body tense with restraint. He could feel your tightness, the way you clenched around him, and it was driving him wild, making it hard to stay in control. 

You whimpered, your body still adjusting to the sensation. "You're just—ah!" Your voice broke into a loud gasp as he finally pushed all the way inside, filling you completely. The stretch was intense, overwhelming in the best way. "You're so big... why didn't you tell me you were so big?"

Spencer let out a tense chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction despite his own effort to keep himself in check. "I, uh... didn't think it was that big," he managed to get out, his breath shaky as he looked down at you, his forehead damp with sweat from the strain of holding himself back. 

“You’re a fucking liar,” you laughed breathlessly through your whimpers and whines, your body trembling with both pleasure and amusement.

His chuckle, though filled with affection, was also tight with restraint, and you could feel the tension in his body as he tried to keep from moving too quickly. "Just... breathe," he murmured, his voice gentler now as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, trying to calm both you and himself. "I'll give you as much time as you need. I don't want to hurt you."

You nodded, taking deep breaths as your body slowly adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. Spencer’s hands stayed gentle, stroking your sides and thighs as he gave you time to acclimate, though you could feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.

After a moment, you shifted your hips, testing the sensation, and the movement elicited a low groan from Spencer, his self-control wavering. "Okay..." you whispered, your voice soft but filled with need. "I’m ready."

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he slowly began to move. His pace was careful at first, each thrust deliberate as he let your body adjust to his size, but the tension between you built quickly, and soon, the rhythm grew more urgent, more desperate.

Each movement sent sparks of pleasure through you, the sensation of him filling you so completely making you dizzy with desire. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he moved so perfectly in sync with you, as if you were made for each other.

Spencer groaned deeply, his forehead pressing against yours again as his movements grew more intense. "You feel so good," he murmured, his voice strained as he fought to hold himself back just a little longer, wanting to make this last as long as possible for both of you.

"Spencer!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as your body trembled beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Yeah, baby?" he panted, his voice rough and breathless as his hips slapped against yours in a steady, rhythmic motion. "Tell me what you need."

"You! More! Please!" Your voice was a desperate plea, every inch of your body burning with want.

"Fuck," he breathed, his control slipping as he sped up, his thrusts becoming more intense. His hand snaked between your bodies, fingers finding your clit as he began to rub you in time with his movements. The sensation made you cry out again, the combination of his fingers and his body sending you spiraling toward the edge.

“I’m—I’m gonna come,” you whined, your body trembling as you clenched tightly around Spencer, the sensation pushing you toward the brink.

“Y/N!” he gasped, his voice strained as he tried to hold on. “Calm down, baby, you’re going to push me out.”

But you were too far gone to hear him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure that was building inside you. Your whimpers grew louder, your body thrashing uncontrollably as Spencer’s fingers moved faster, working in perfect rhythm with your body's need.

Suddenly, it hit you all at once, the most intense release you’d ever experienced. You let out a violent scream, your entire body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, something deeper and more powerful than anything you'd ever felt before.

Your walls clenched so tightly that you did, in fact, push Spencer out, and you gushed all over him, your body overwhelmed by the force of your orgasm. Spencer let out a low groan at the sensation, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and arousal as he watched you come undone in front of him, watched your release coat his stomach and thighs.

“Did you just... squirt?” Spencer asked, his voice full of pure awe as he looked down at you, his eyes wide with amazement.

You were a panting mess on the bed, completely spent from the intensity of what had just happened. “That, or I just peed on you,” you mumbled, half-joking but still trying to make sense of the overwhelming sensation you had just felt.

Spencer laughed, shaking his head as he dipped down to kiss you, his lips soft against yours. “You are so sexy, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice full of affection and admiration.

You kissed him back tiredly, your body too exhausted to do much more, but the desire to give him what he needed still lingered. "Want you to come too," you whined softly, your words almost pleading.

“Okay, okay,” Spencer soothed, his breath hitching as he positioned himself once more, slowly pushing back inside you. The sensation made your body jolt, and you cried out, your back arching from the overstimulation. It was too much and yet not enough, the oversensitivity sending sharp pulses of pleasure through you.

“Are you okay, darling?” Spencer asked, his voice breathless as he fought to hold himself back, concerned about your comfort.

You nodded quickly, though your body was trembling beneath him. “Nuh huh,” you whimpered, your voice shaky as you gripped him tightly, pulling him closer. “I’m okay, I want this. Please,” you urged, your body still sensitive but craving the closeness, needing to feel him chase his own release.

Spencer groaned at your words, his resolve crumbling as he began to move again, thrusting into you with an increasing pace. His body was tense, his breath ragged as he neared the edge, each movement sending both of you into a dizzying spiral of pleasure.

You clung to him as he chased his release, your breaths mingling, your bodies connected in a way that felt intimate and overwhelming all at once. And when Spencer finally let go, his body shuddering as he found his own climax, you held him close as he groaned and whispered your name. 

After Spencer had taken care of both of you, gently cleaning you up and even changing the sheets that had been soaked in your release, the two of you finally settled into bed, wrapped up in each other's arms. His body was warm against yours, his breath steady as he held you close. Everything felt so perfect, so right in that moment, like the world had shrunk to just the two of you in that cozy little space.

You nuzzled into Spencer's chest, feeling his heartbeat under your lips as you placed a soft kiss there. "I want things to be different," you mumbled, your voice quiet and filled with a softness that made his heart swell.

Spencer looked down at you, his hand stroking your hair gently. "Yeah?" he asked, the happiness in his voice evident. "Different how?"

You shifted slightly, still cuddled close, your lips brushing over his skin. "I want everyone to know," you murmured, your voice more certain this time.

Spencer chuckled softly, though he held you tighter, a smile spreading across his face. "Know what exactly?" he asked, teasing slightly, though he had a feeling he knew where this was going.

You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes with a sweet, serious look. "That you're my boyfriend," you said, your voice full of affection, but also with a sense of determination.

Spencer’s heart fluttered at your words, and he couldn’t help but break into a grin. He’d never thought he’d hear you say something so simple yet so powerful. "Boyfriend, huh?" he teased softly, though his own voice was thick with emotion. He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. "I think I’d like that," he whispered.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words settle over you like a blanket. "Good," you replied, kissing him softly. "Because I want everyone to know how lucky I am."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his thumb gently tracing the outline of your face. "I think I’m the lucky one, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with nothing but pure, overwhelming happiness. And in that moment, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

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[babyfoxflower]

hi! making a request for alastor x f!reader! maybe where alastor has a nasty jealous side and takes it out on reader????? in a good way of course 👀 just a bit of an idea!

Ooooooo! I love this idea!

Jealousy

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Jealous & Possessive Alastor, Groping, Scratching, Biting, Blood Drinking, Oral (Fem! Receiving), P in V Sex, Cervix Fucking, Creampie, Also a little fluff at the end because I couldn’t help myself

“Well, well, well, looks like someone has a death wish, touching what’s mine,” Alastor’s tone was menacing as he narrowed his eyes at the man who had just briefly brushed against you.

His scleras were turning from red to black, and you knew what that meant. He was about to murder this man. He’s always like this but it gets worse when he drinks. When another man even just glances at you, he becomes a feral animal.

“Alastor, my love, it was just an accident,” you said trying to calm your overly jealous boyfriend.

“Haha, accident? I saw the way this wretch was looking at you from across the bar and now he has the gall to dare to come near you, the Radio Demon’s lady…” Alastor’s antlers were now growing, and you knew that you had to get him out of here before things escalated further.

The man was frozen where he stood.

You took Alastor by the face, “Come on, honey, let’s go home,” you gently whispered into his big fluffy ears, “let’s go home and you can do whatever you want to me, claim me as your own.”

Alastor looked at you and grinned largely and then he turned back to the man who was shaking in his boots, “You get to live this time. But if I ever see again, I’ll fucking tear your soul apart and broadcast your misery for all of Hell to hear. Hahahaha.”

You took Alastor by the hand and led him out of the bar.

All the way back to the hotel, Alastor wouldn’t stop groping you. He squeezed your ass and your tits, and kept kissing up and down your neck. You just let him though because you preferred him like this to when he was slaughtering someone. Plus if you were being honest, it was turning you on and you could feel your panties getting soaked by the minute.

Once you got back to your room, Alastor ripped your dress off of you and pushed you onto the bed. “Tell me, my dear, who do you belong to?”

“You, Alastor. I’m all yours.”

“That’s right, very good,” he said as he cut off your bra with his claws.

He removed his gloves to get a better feel of your mounds, he massaged them with his palms. You let out a little mew.

“Heh, I guess it feels good then?”

You nodded.

“But, I know my darling. I know you prefer pain with your pleasure,” he said before lightly digging his sharp claws into the tops of your breasts over the scars from the previous times.

“Fuck! It stings so good,” you cried out.

He chuckled darkly, before dragging them down to just before your nipples as he knew you had places that you didn’t like to scratched. He pulled his claws out of your tits and watched the beautiful blood start rolling down.

“Looks delicious,” Alastor licked his lips.

He ran his tongue across your chest, lapping up your oh so yummy blood. The sweet taste of iron filled his mouth and he moan profusely. You, yourself couldn’t help but moan and groan. You bucked your hips and rubbed your clothed cunt against his pants tent.

“Could that other man make you feel this good?” He asked.

You shook your head, “No, no only you can make me feel like this, baby!”

“You’re being so good tonight, my pretty pet. Saying all the right things. Letting me have my way with you. That deserves a reward, wouldn’t you agree?”

Before you could answer him, he was already kissing his way down to your belly and from there that special place between your legs. He tore off your panties with his mouth, “Look at that, so wet already, are we?”

You felt that familiar sting as he dragged his claws up your inner thighs. You threw your head back as you enjoyed every last bit of the pleasurable pain that raising through you, sending tingles up your spine. He planted a gentle kiss on your clit, knowing that it would drive you mad.

“Please, Alastor!” You begged.

“Please, what, my dear?”

“Give me oral pleasure, please!”

“Well, you did say the magic word.”

He started off with little kitten licks but that soon turned to long strokes up and down your labia. The lewd wet sounds mixed with your lovely moans filled the room.

Alastor began rubbing circles into your bud of nerves while still keeping his other hand gripped tightly on your thigh. He teased your entrance for what seemed like ages before finally shoving his long inhuman tongue into your weeping puss.

He reached it deep inside of you until he reached that spot. He started spelling the alphabet over it again and again with his tongue until you saw stars. You screamed out as toes curled and you came undone all over his face. He drank up all the juices that poured out of you.

“Tastier than venison and jambalaya combined,” he hissed.

Quickly, he removed his clothing and made you touch your knees to your chest as his forehead touched yours. He eased his thick member that was already dripping precum inside of you. Once your walls adjusted, he started pounding in and out of your cunt. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each hard thrust.

He moaned your name before kissing you passionately. Your lips moved in sync with each others, he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You could still taste yourself. You could feel yourself coming undone again.

“Bite down on me, darling,” he said exposing the crook of his neck to you.

You obeyed and bit down as hard as could, the sweet taste of iron now filled your mouth.

“Ah! Fuck! It feels so good!” He huffed into your ear.

Your walls clenched down on him as you had your second orgasm. Your eyes rolled back this time and you went momentarily deaf.

His thrusts got faster as he was reaching his climax as well. Soon he went cross eyed and cried out your name as his thick seed filled you up.

Alastor collapsed on top of you. Both of you were panting and drenched in sweat. Once both you came down from your collective highs, you held him as he laid his head on your chest. You stroked his hair and his ears, he looked up at you and smiled softly. His genuine smile.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Alastor.”

You two eventually fell asleep and next morning, he already had your favorite breakfast ready for you.

[jeonscatalyst]

oh!

https://x.com/ChicknBunny13/status/1837421144309194972

I got this ask hours ago and wanted to get my thoughts right before I posted it because for some reason I didn’t know Jungkook said this. I guess it probably wasn’t translated by most translation accounts so that’s why I missed it.

So for years, Jimin and Jungkook’s bond has been attacked by so many people because of the way they constantly tease, and banter and bicker with each other. To so many it meant that they hated each other, or they were just bros you know, because “that is how siblings behave” but now we see that Jungkook grew up watching his parents constantly tease and bicker and playfully roast each other and he saw that as them showing their love for each other or keeping things fun in the relationship. That is what he knows love is. That is the way he grew up believing couples behaved. They always say the way kids grow up watching their parents behave is how they try to be with their own partners because that is all they know and this is what Jungkook said so many years ago after Jimin got frustrated at him for always teasing……

It really doesn’t get any clearer than this. You see to Jungkook, he knows that his parents show their love for each other by playfully picking on each other or roasting each other. He doesn’t see it as hate or anything negative but as love and this explains so much about how him and Jimin behave with each other. Someone sent me an ask once about this and I explained that romantic relationship don’t have a set dynamic. Yes there are some characteristics of romantic relationships that are pretty much universal but these things usually depend on alot. So many people think that couples are always extra soft with each other, or don’t bicker or roast each other forgetting that people are just different. I had always known that Jimin and Jungkook probably found it fun to constantly tease each other to get a reaction but coming to find out now that Jungkook probably grew up seeing his parents like this and knowing that they bicker because they love each other is definitely something.

Just for more context this happened on one of his station head Lives where he mentioned that his mother’s cooking was really bland and that his dad sat by him complaining about how bland the food was and how his parents got into bickering about it but he (Jungkook) ate it well because it was his precious mom’s cooking.

You see, this is why it is important to not box things together. This is why it is important to try to understand context before drawing certain conclusions. This is why it is important not to look at every aspect of life as a one size fits all because I can bet good money that more than 3/4 of this fandom doesn’t know Jk ever said this but this single statement changes the way you view alot of things about his dynamic with Jimin. You know that dynamic that many people claim is sibling coded because of the constant teasing and banter but now we know how he feels about that kind of a dynamic in general.

Next time someone tries to make you feel like Jimin and Jungkook could never be in a romantic relationship because of how they banter or how they “push and shove” each other, kindly show them this.

Thanks anon for sending this to me and thanks @chicknbunny13 for this post on X because even I didn’t know Jungkook said this.