#doing curls while he thinks something over

[bitters-n-sweets]

green-eyed — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Robby thinks the newest transfer, Dr. Chase, is flirting with you. Things get a bit complicated.

warnings: jealous and insecure trope, robby says something mean, hurt/comfort, dr. chase from house md cameo, not too angsty, happy end—yes, I'm a sucker for it. a/n: I think we can acknowledge that robby is slightly toxic. I mean, he’s emotionally constipated and still hasn’t gone to therapy, I would assume his behavior at work is similar to how he is with relationships—which is probably why he and Collins broke up—so even though this fic could be resolved so easily with good communication, said good communication is sadly something our dear robby and reader don’t have mastered yet. enjoy! masterlist

Robby thinks it’s been a while since he’s seen you laugh like that. Throwing your head back, tears in your eyes, covering your mouth because that’s a thing you do. And he’s gutted that he’s not the one in front of you being the reason for your laughs. He used to make you laugh like that all the time.

It’s Chase, the new hot-shot transfer doctor. Who has an Australian accent. Who could blame you? He’s young, blonde, blue-eyed, toned—a real life Ken. He’s a damn good doctor, too. The nurses call him Dr. Hemsworth behind his back. Wonderful. Robby hates how easily people gravitate to him. And now it’s your turn.

Robby stands across the ER, jaw tight, eyes flicking between Chase—leaning in to show you something on his phone—and the rest of the room, like maybe he can find something else to focus on. Out of habit, his hand drifts to the back of his neck. Your shoulders are practically touching. A few nurses glance over and giggle. One of them mutters something he doesn’t catch—but whatever it is, it makes his stomach twist.

Robby’s hands curl into fists inside his pockets. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. He trusts you, but some ugly part of him starts whispering things he can’t silence.

She should be with someone her age.

Someone who doesn’t feel like a goddamn relic when she’s in a room full of twenty or thirty-somethings.

His lips press into a thin line hidden under his beard as he storms your way. He doesn’t even realize his legs are moving until he’s about half-way.

“Quit flirting at work. Both of you,” he snaps.

You look up, startled.

Chase lifts his eyebrows, all amused charm. “Just showing her a video, mate.”

Robby doesn’t even look at him. “Go do your job, then.” It comes out sharper than intended, but he doesn’t take it back.

The room goes still for a beat. Chase gives you an apologetic shrug and steps away, but you’re already turning toward Robby, brow furrowed.

“Was that necessary?” You chase after him, keeping up with his big steps.

He doesn’t answer.

“Hey. Robby. What’s going on?” You manage to stop him by the stairwell.

“Nothing.”

“Come on,” you press, softer now. “Talk to me. Please.”

He halts, jaw tight, eyes not quite meeting yours. “Something funny happen during rounds?”

“What?”

“Just… looked like you were having a real good time.” He doesn’t say it mean, exactly.

You blink. “With Chase?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like your laughter a few minutes ago didn’t go straight to his chest and start twisting. “You tell me.”

You step in front of him, blocking his path. “Robby… are you jealous?”

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, crossing his arms, “I’m not young, or charming, or built like a damn Marvel character. Sorry if I don’t love watching people act like you two were—”

You stare at him, stunned. “You think I was flirting with him?”

“I think everyone sure thought you were.”

There it is. Not quite an accusation. Not quite a confession. Not quite fair, either. But honest in a way Robby can’t seem to help right now.

“It looked like you actually wanted to be there,” Robby says. “With someone who suits you better.”

That breaks something open inside you. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means this”—he gestures vaguely, bitterly, between you—“was a mistake.”

And that stings, even if you know he’s only saying that because he wants it to hurt you. “Really, Robby? You can tell that we’re a mistake because Chase was talking to me?”

“It’s not about him,” Robby snaps. “It’s about you eventually realizing I’m too old, too tired, too fucking cynical for you. And when that happens, I’ll be the one left picking up the pieces, wondering why I ever thought I could be enough.”

And then you realize. This is not jealousy. This is insecurity. Now you see the desperation in his eyes, but his shoulders are still so high and tense it masks it. You see the way he shuffles around, can’t seem to quiet down his own thoughts.

“You’re wrong.” You say.

“You can’t know that.”

“I do. Because I’ve already chosen you.”

Robby looks at you, and for a second, something flickers behind his eyes—hope, maybe—but he kills it quickly, walls going back up.

“I need to get back to work.”

You reach for his hand. “Robby—”

He pulls away. “Don’t.”

That single word makes you stop. And then he’s gone, out the stairwell door and back into the ER, leaving you in silence.

Robby knows he messed up. He knows you didn’t deserve that. But his heart’s pounding like he just ran a mile, and he can’t stop the thought looping over and over: that you’ll realize he’s right sooner or later. And then eventually, you’ll just leave like everyone else does.

So Robby does what Robby does best. He runs. He buries it deep, distracts himself just enough to keep from falling apart. Lets it all pile up behind a steady face, hoping it won’t spill over. And if it does? That’s a mess for later.

You decide to give Robby some space—after multiple attempts to approach him and him avoiding you, and finally find him at the end of your shift, standing at the exit, hands in his pockets. You know he’s waiting for you, and he always will, even when he’s doubting himself, even when his world is crashing down. Because that’s who Robby is. He shows up for people even when he’s hurting. It’s what makes you love him so much, and it’s killing you that he’d do this to himself.

You stand next to him. “You ready to talk?”

His head lifts to look at you slowly. He sighs, rubs his hands down his face. “No, not really. But I have a feeling we’re doing this anyway.”

“You don’t get to say all of that and just walk away, Robby.”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes, you did.” You cut in, soft but firm. “That was preemptive damage control. You meant to hurt me before I could hurt you.”

His lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything, just looks down because he knows you're right.

You sigh softly, reaching for his hand. This time, he doesn’t pull away.

“You think you’re too old for me? That I’d leave you for someone else? God, Robby—” You squeeze, cupping his jaw so he’ll look at you, and his own doubt in himself kills you. “I love you. I want you. You, who listens to me when I don’t even know what I need. Who calms me down with one look. Who knows me better than myself.”

He’s staring at you now, eyes locked on yours, holding his breath because he’s afraid to hope.

“I don’t care if people think we don’t ‘match.’ I don’t care if you have lines on your face or if your knees make that weird sound when you stand up. I love you. Even when you push me away because you don’t believe you’re enough—but you are, Robby. You’re more than enough.”

“I never once looked at you and wished for someone else. I look at you, and I thank God it’s you.”

His eyes are red, doubt and exhaustion evident, and he keeps staring down at your intertwined fingers—like if he lets go, he’ll lose something he can’t live without.

“Okay?” you whisper, nudging him gently.

Robby doesn't say anything at first. His eyes are glassy, the corners red, and he swallows hard like the lump in his throat might choke him if he tries to speak. He's looking at you like he doesn't know what he ever did to deserve you.

His lips part. Nothing comes out.

He tries again, and still—nothing. Not because he doesn't have anything to say, but because there's too much he wants to say. Because you just shattered every wall he’s built with so much certainty and care, and now all that’s left of him is the raw truth of how deeply and desperately he loves you.

So he just nods, a little breathless, and pulls you into his arms. He hugs you tight in front of the ER, deciding that he doesn’t care—no, fuck it, he wants everyone to see. To see that he has you now. That he has someone he cares about. Someone he loves.

“Okay,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You finally let out a breath of relief, sinking into him, your arms tightening around his waist. “Still think this was a mistake?”

He exhales slowly, resting his chin on your head. “No. But I think I’m going to need a lot of reminding.”

You hum, lips brushing the nearest patch of skin you can reach. “I’ve got time.”

[kenntoria]

it’s the way he watches you.

quietly, from where he’s half-sprawled on the couch, arms tucked behind his head, messy hair sticking up like he’s been dragging his hands through it. his blindfold is off, blue eyes shining in the dim light of the apartment. he’s been watching you for the past ten minutes.

you’re curled in a chair by the window, staring out, eyes not really seeing. your mouth is in a small, thoughtful frown and your hands are limp in your lap. you’re not crying. not talking. just… quiet.

too quiet.

gojo’s been thinking for a while now about what to do. if he should say something. if he should leave you be. it’s not like he’s good at this sort of thing. he’s the strongest, but feelings? emotions? gentle things? that’s a whole other kind of battlefield.

he gets up without saying a word. pads to the kitchen. opens and closes cabinets, a little clumsily, like he’s not used to moving around without swagger.

you don’t look.

so he makes hot chocolate.

with the fancy marshmallows you like. the ones shaped like stars. he burns his finger a little trying to fix it just right, and hisses under his breath, and mutters, “get it together, satoru,” like he’s on a mission from god.

he brings it over to you with both hands and kneels beside your chair.

you blink, surprised, when you notice him there.

“for the prettiest girl i know,” he says, trying for lightness, offering the mug like it’s a peace treaty. “warning: it may or may not be made with love and minor kitchen injuries.”

you take it. you don’t say anything at first. you hold the warm mug and look at it like you don’t know what to do with something kind.

and when you finally speak, your voice is too soft.

“…you noticed.”

“’course i noticed,” he says, and now he’s not joking. “you’ve got the world’s most expressive face. and also i love you. that helps.”

your breath catches.

and then, all at once, the tears come. hot, unexpected, falling down your cheeks faster than you can stop them.

gojo panics.

“hey—hey, no, baby, don’t cry—what’s wrong? is it too hot? did i do something? did i say something dumb again? is this about the marshmallows? i knew i should’ve used the heart ones—”

you shake your head, and now you’re really crying, tears slipping down your cheeks, nose scrunched, hands curled into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“satoru,” you croak out, half a laugh buried in a sob. “i’m crying because you love me.”

he stops. blinks at you. the world stills.

you sniffle. “you were being so stupid. and sweet. and you always know when something’s wrong and you try so hard to fix it, even if you don’t know how. and you just—i’m crying because you love me.”

his breath leaves him in a slow exhale, and something soft and stupid blooms behind his ribs.

“…of course i love you,” he says, voice gone quiet in the aftermath. “you’re my favorite person. of course i do.”you nod, like you already knew, like it still made you cry anyway.

he cups your cheeks gently, wipes at your tears with his thumbs, kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. your eyelids. your chin. every bit of you he can reach, like he’s trying to kiss all the sad away.

“you don’t have to cry,” he whispers, grinning a little even as his eyes go glassy. “unless you want to. but if you do, i’m gonna keep kissing you every time. it’s the law.”

you laugh again—soft and wet and warm—and pull him down into your arms.

he buries his face in your neck, and you breathe in the smell of him, cotton and sugar and something stupidly comforting.

the tv keeps playing in the background. neither of you look at it.it’s a quiet kind of comfort. full of warmth and kisses and love you don’t have to earn.

he stays close, holding you like he never wants to let go.

and outside the window, the city moves on. but in this little corner of it, there is only warmth. you, and him, and the cocoa. and all the love in the world.

[petalbcrnes]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𓈒 𝅄 ✶ ۪ ݁ w/ the BAT-BOYS𓈒

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　

𝅄 ꒰ ⌕ ꒱ ۪ ݁ After being a brat all day, you send them pictures wearing lingerie, while they are out on patrol𓈒 ݁ ۪ ୧

↦   ⟡   ∬ incl  ﹒  jason﹐dick﹐tim & duke𓈒

❛   ꜝ   ┈   ✺ cw ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎mature and suggestive content𓈒 ‎‎ ‎ ‎ᰍ

︩︪ ׅnotes𓈒⠀i’ve been working on this for two whole days. i loved every second of it but dear god did i give my sweat and blood for it. there are every reaction of the boys to the pictures also in phone text for alongside text id. hope you all enjoy!⠀ꞌꞋ ࣪

𓈒 ᯇ 🧷 : links𓈒　　mlist　　rules𓈒 ୧

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

𓏲𓏲⠀.. You’ve been a tease all day— pulling every trick in the book just to get a reaction out of your boyfriend. In the early hours of the mornings you didn’t let him go— clinging to him to make him stay in bed, while your touch turns from innocent to something a little more wicked. He’d warn you— hushed whispers by your ear telling you that you were playing with fire. You didn’t care. You wanted to touch that fire and feel it on your skin. That’s what landed you in this situation. ✶

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 ︶︶

It was already evening— the time to curl up with your sweet boyfriend on the couch, watching the shows on the screen in front of you, while the two of you exchanged nothing but sweet nothings and soft touches.

That was the norm for most evenings, but not this one. You had a different plan for this evening. Jason would go out for patrol soon. He liked to make these moments right before he left just a little more special. While that was sweet of him, this time you craved more.

You made sure to show him that. Even now, when the two of you are curled on the couch together, you moved a little closer. Jason instinctively gives you more space, opening his arms and wrapping you in his hold. He doesn’t even notice what you’re planning.

You shuffle even closer, moving yourself on his lap. In response he lets out a choked breath he can’t hold back. Maybe he thinks you won’t notice. But you do. He moves on the couch, trying to make the two of you more comfortable.

You’re almost annoyed. Jason will never assume anything you do is seducing him unless you spell it out for him, after that he’s putty in your hands— eyes glossed over and knuckles white, wanting more and more of you.

You just need to try harder, tease him even more.

You squirm on his lap. You can feel his chest rise with every unsteady breath. You could turn around— see how affected he is by the look in his eyes. But you can feel how he hardens against you and that’s all the reassurance you need.

You push even more— while moving on his lap, your hand drifts across the exposed skin of his arms, mindlessly tracing shapes on the surface.

The dam finally breaks. His hands land on your hips, their firm touch hold you down. That just makes you feel how affected he is even more. You turn to face Jason. A truly wonderful sight awaits you.

His brows are furrowed. There is a small pout on his lips. Just like always, his eyes are glossed over, trained on you. There’s a silent question in them. His fingers dig into the plush skin of your hips and in response you grind even harder— he almost moans at the movement, but the sound gets stuck in his throat— only a choked whimper leaves his mouth.

“What are you up to, pretty?” He asks, one brows raised.

He keeps his firm hold on you, as if to tame you— for his sake, and yours as well. You know if you continue to tease him like this, all it would take for him to flip you over on this very couch and take you there is only your consent to do so— only a few words— ‘I want you.’

“Nothing.” You hum in response, the feather-light touch on his arm rises, reaching his chest. “Can’t we have a little fun?”

He chuckles, the sound akin to a melody to your ears. Jason moves against the couch, giving you more space to settle on his lap. You move your legs so now you’re straddling him. Your hands still stay on his chest. He’s opened himself up to you. By instinct.

“I think you want more than a little fun.” He murmurs while his hand leaves your hip and settles on the back of your neck.

He guides you to present the surface of your neck to him. You tilt your head. His lips softly settle on the sensitive skin. You can feel every tender kisses he leaves on your pulse. Every little kiss has you melting in his hold.

“I want to have fun too. Unfortunately, I have to go out for patrol.” He says with one final kiss on your neck.

“You’re no fair. Leaving me with only kisses.”

The pout on your lips makes him laugh. He tilts his head, eyes locked on your figure on his lap. You can tell he wants more. You can even feel that he wants more— his dick is still hard underneath you. Every time you move you can feel his hips thrust up slightly. He wants this just as much as you do.

“You’re such a brat— a needy brat.”

“Well, this ‘needy brat’ wants to spend a very long night with their oh-so sweet boyfriend.”

He shifts his hands beneath your thighs. You tilt your head in question at his touch. Suddenly, he’s lifting you up while he sits up. The way Jason can manhandle you in any position makes you crave him even more. Your wrap around him even tighter by instinct, trying to savor the feel of his body against yours.

“You’ll have to be patient, pretty. Then you will have me all to yourself.”

That conversation was a few hours ago. Jason has been out on patrol and you have been left unsatisfied, needy on the bed you share with your boyfriend. You keep thinking of him. His hands on your hips and thighs; his eyes— so telling of how much he needs you.

You need him too, just as much he needs you. Why not send him a little present while he’s away? Just to remind him what he’s got waiting for him at home. The pretty red lingerie you bought a few days ago just to wear for him would be perfect for this.

Red is his color, no?

It takes a few minutes to finally to put on the lacy fabric— the way it flows around your body is downright sinful. For a moment you thing this might be a little too much.

Then you decide against that train of thought and start taking pictures— on the bed; in front of the mirror; on your knees— all just for your sweet boyfriend.

You sent the pictures and waited for a response.

[Text ID: Jason: “you just couldn’t wait until i got home.” Reader: “just sending you a little something to keep you company.” Jason: “you really are a tease tonight.” Reader: “only for you.” Jason: “let’s see if you’ll keep up with that attitude when i actually get home.” Reader: “all talk. waiting for you to prove it.” Text ID end.]

You turn off your phone, satisfied with yourself. You’ve successfully teased your boyfriend all day, and probably made him hard while he’s out there on the streets of Gotham fighting god knows who. You rummage the closet, looking for one of his shirts to wear to sleep. After finding it, you settle on the bed, the soft sheets lulling you to sleep.

It’s only after a few hours of sleep you hear the window of the bedroom open. You know it’s him— you can recognize his quiet steps and shuffle of his leather jacket anywhere. You pretend to be asleep, trying best to hide the growing smirk on your face.

“I know you’re awake, pretty.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice. He moves closer to you. You can feel how the bed creaks under his weight. Suddenly, there’s not enough oxygen in the air.

You’re in for a long night.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 ︶︶

Dick has always been so sweet to you— bordering on his affections being saccharine, something that makes your teeth ache with how tender every touch and word of his is. You know he’d give you anything you ask him. All he wants is to please you.

His eagerness makes teasing him even more entertaining. You know there’s a line you can cross— when he’ll turn the tables on you. Suddenly, you’ll be the one begging for him to touch you, to unravel you with his fingers and tongue— you’ll beg for all of him. You’re sure he gets off on your neediness. You’ll have to find a way to balance the scales. The first move is to catch him off guard.

Dick is currently in the kitchen, mindlessly humming the song that has been stuck in his head this week. His attention is on the cookie batter in front of him. He insisted to bake for you tonight before he left for patrol. You almost feel bad about what you’re about to do. He seems so caught up with his mission to bake for you.

But you need something else from him. You move to the kitchen. Dick notices you immediately. He only turns his head slightly your way.

“Hi, lovely! I’m sorry, I have to go out before I finish baking.” He’s so enthusiastic to see you. He immediately points to the batter. “Came here for a taste?”

Oh, you did come here for a taste. Just not the one he thinks. You’re sure his taste would be more delightful on your tongue.

“It’s alright. I can take it from here.” You tell him, approaching him from behind and wrapping your arms around him.

He melts into your touch. His back settles against your chest. You trail kisses along the exposed skin of his neck. You can feel how his spine straightens. You hum against his neck, still leaving soft kisses.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He asks with a shaky voice.

“Want me to stop?”

He looks over his shoulder at you and you see the frown on his face.

Cute.

He tilts his neck to give you better access, eyes locked on you. His hands lay on your hands that are currently still wrapped around him.

“I didn’t say that.”

You smile against his neck. He preens at the sensation. You continue your kisses, getting a taste of him against your tongue. You savor it all. His taste, sounds and the small ways he tries to move closer to you.

You want to push a little more. Let’s see how much more you can do before he actually flips the tables on you.

You free your hands from his. He notices the absence of your touch. His eyes find yours again with a silent question in them. You just smirk as an answer. He raises a brow and a similar smirk forms on his lips.

Your hands drift lower and lower. You can see how the smirk grows even bigger on his lips. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. Your hands settle on his sweatpants, fingers tease the waistband— tugging the fabric and tracing the exposed skin beneath with your fingers.

You can hear him laugh.

Maybe you’ve already crossed the line.

“Now you’re just being a brat, lovely.”

It takes him only a second to switch the position the two of are in. Suddenly he isn’t the one cornered against the kitchen counter— it’s you. He’s flipped you from behind him and pushed your front to the cool marble surface.

You squirm in his hold— more firm than your own when you had him in your arms.

“Two can play this game, lovely. But I play it much better.” He whispers, his lips close to your ear.

Dick leaves a single kiss on your pulse point on your neck before returning your ear. He nicks your earlobe and you let out a small yelp. Your body moves on its own, slightly bending over against the counter and grinding against him.

You hear him groan behind you, an amused chuckle following.

“You just had to get a taste. Couldn’t wait until after patrol. You’re all bark, aren’t you? No bite.”

“Shut up—”

The words die on your tongue as you feel him push himself even closer to you. You can feel how hard he is against you. You whimper at the sensation. You try and grind against him but he stops you by the firm hold on your hip.

“Not yet. You’ve been a brat. You have to earn it.”

“But you’ll be gone for hours!”

“You can wait right, baby?”

He asks you in the softest voice you’ve ever heard. That’s the most infuriating and intoxicating thing about all of this. He has you bent over the kitchen counter, his dick already hard against your ass and somehow he still denies you. He knows you’re drunk on his touch and as a punishment for being a ‘brat’, he’s teasing you back.

The hours after he leaves for patrol are agonizing. You toss and turn in the bed. The sheets are too hot on your skin. You’d rather have something else on your skin— or someone else.

Unfortunately, Dick decided to punish you by leaving you high and dry by going on patrol. You know he’s affected by tonight as well, but he still has a way of making you the needy mess. He said he played this game better than you did. Let’s see if he’ll keep up this confidence after the little present you plan on sending his way.

Blue light be his color, but it always looked good on you as well. Especially when it’s the lacy and intricate fabric hugging your body. Sending the pictures were easy. You know he’d be even more affected after this.

[Text ID: Dick: “is this payback?” Reader: “you're the one who said you played this game better. i like proving you wrong.” Dick: “you really are all bark. will you be this eager when i get back? or will you melt in my hands just like before i left?” Reader: “keep thinking that.” Dick: “i am thinking of all the ways i'll get you begging. you don't have to remind me, lovely.” Text ID end.]

You spend the next hours in a haze. Your mind keeps imagining Dick— what he’ll do when he returns; what he will say; how he’ll handle you. Curse him and the hold he has over you.

You’re settled comfortably in bed, almost asleep when you hear footsteps approaching the bed. You didn’t even hear the window creak open. In the dark you can make out the blue of his suit. You don’t even have the time to close your eyes to pretend to he asleep, he’s already right next to you, hovering over your figure.

“Don’t pretend to be asleep, lovely. Prove that you have the bite.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐓𝐈𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄 ︶︶

There’s something mesmerizing about how Tim gets ready for patrol. It’s a routine he’s repeated almost every night. You’ve grown used to seeing him hunched over a desk, cleaning his weapons and going over the patrol route for the third time.

You like to watch him when he does all of this. His brows are furrowed, concentration evident on his face. His lips thin every time his fingers graze another one of his supplies. You do love his hands when they’re handling something. Especially when they’re handling you.

Unfortunately, tonight you aren’t receiving that attention from him. Tim is in another world right now, too far away to grasp how much you need him. You hear him hum in concentration. He flips a dagger in his hands, eyes locked on it.

You might actually be jealous of a dagger. Time to fix your problem.

You waste no time approaching him. Tim is used to your presence— he doesn’t even look behind to sense you walking over. Instead he leans on the chair’s back, as if he’s trying to maneuver closer to you. He’s sweet. But you need more than that right now.

When you reach him, your hands settle on his shoulders. You can feel him already preen at your touch. He lets out a small satisfied sound at the feel of your fingers against his shoulders.

You know he’s stressed most of the time— knots tangle themselves up underneath his skin and he can’t ask for help, or won’t allow himself that short reverie. But you— as his partner— take it up on yourself to help him unwind.

Your fingers push a little deeper. Tim tilts his head to give you more access. You peek over and see how he closes his eyes in pleasure of the feeling.

“Feels good?” You ask, even though you already now the answer to your question.

He hums as a yes, a small smile appearing on his face. “Feels very good. But why now?”

Nothing gets past him. Sometimes you want to curse his beautiful and genius brain. Your fingers trace circles on his skin, trying to untangle every knot. You feel him getting even more distracted. He’s leaning into your touch, searching for the pleasure only you can give him.

“Can’t I just make my boyfriend feel good for a little while?”

“I think you want to do more than just ‘making me feel good for a little while.’”

Tim tilts his head up, looking right at you. His eyes unravel every string of confidence you had just a few moments ago. You can feel the way your cheeks heat up. You’re sure he can notice how affected you are as well.

There’s a satisfied smile on his stupidly pretty face. You wish you could wipe it off of him, turn the tables on him for once.

Maybe you can.

Your hands drift from his shoulder, one settling on his jaw and another on his cheek— holding him in place. You see the way he licks his lips, almost in anticipation.

“You want a kiss?”

Tim raises a brow, as if offended you’d ask him that.

“What? You’re going to make me beg for it?” He quips, challenging you to push back.

You know how this will go. You might have him in your hands right now, looking up at you with those glossed over and wanting eyes, but he can play the long game a lot better than you.

“You’re such an ass—”

“You were literally desperate for my affections not even a second ago.” He interrupts your little tantrum. “Are you mad it didn’t go your way, baby?”

“Shut up. Don’t you have some equipment to show more attention to than you show me?” You huff, hands settling on your hips.

He laughs at the pout on your lips. Smug bastard— a pretty bastard— but still.

“Don’t be a brat and I’ll give you all the kisses you want. After patrol, alright?”

That’s how you ended up here— on the bed and utterly alone, missing your boyfriend and his stupid kisses. He’s probably out there smug, satisfied with the fact that he’s got you all needy and wanting for him.

You have to fire back somehow— show him what he’s missing.

You did get a new lingerie set a few days ago. It was supposed to be a surprise, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. Right now, you need him to be the desperate one, not you. The pictures you sent will have him just as needy as you. You’re sure of that.

[Text ID: Tim: “all you’re doing is showing me how much you need me.” Reader: “don't act too cocky. i can keep myself company.” Tim: “sure. while thinking of me right? leaving me on read isn't going to make me thing otherwise.” Text ID end]

You go to bed even more frustrated. He’s right and you know it. You could only get off when you’re thinking of him— pretty and long hands, skilled with how they unravel you; prettier eyes that lock on you and analyze your every expression filled with pleasure. God curse him and his stupidly pretty face.

You spend the next few hours like this, needy for him. In the dark of the bedroom, you hear the door creak open. You know it’s him— you can feel that it is him. Your body instinctively grows hotter in response to his presence. You try and pretend to be asleep, but nothing could get past him.

Tim laughs, so free and satisfied.

“You thought you could tease me like that and I’d return begging for you? I know you aren’t asleep. I’ve got to teach you a few lessons you’ve seem to forgotten.”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦

. 　 ✺ 　 ⁺ 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 ︶︶

Over the course of your relationship with Duke, you’ve learned that he is very kind— so eager to please and give, whatever it takes for you to be happy. Every satisfied smile you give him is a reward to him. All he wants to do is to make you happy.

He’s right in front of you right now, searching for his misplaced helmet. He has to be out for patrol in about an hour and he desperately needs that helmet.

You feel a little guilty. You’re searching right alongside him. But most of your attention is on his face— the concentration on his face; the way his pretty eyes dart across the room, a shining glint in them— basically, Duke is gorgeous, and you’re having trouble concentrating.

“Babe, have you found it yet? There’s no luck on my end.” He says, still looking around the room.

You’re really starting to feel the guilt. He needs his helmet and you’re too busy checking him out. He’s taken over your mind and you can barely even pay attention to your surroundings. That’s what makes you almost trip over something. You look down and see a flash of yellow near your feet.

Duke’s helmet.

You pick it up, excited to show it to him. Suddenly, a devious idea forms in your mind. Truly, an evil little idea. You could keep the helmet hostage just for a little while. Just for a minute. Duke could get it back. Maybe with a little kiss?

You find him still rummaging around the apartment you two share for his helmet. His eyes lock on you instantly, the light in them glowing a little brighter. There’s an equally bright smile on his face.

“Hi, baby. Did you find it?”

“Yes, I did!” You proudly show of his helmet, the triangle eyes of it staring right at him.

Oh, right. The plan.

“I would be lost without you.” He moves closer. “Thank you for finding it.”

“Wait just a second!”

He blinks, eyes growing a little wider. The smile is still on his face. He tilts his head, the confusion seeping onto his face.

“What’s wrong?”

God, you do feel actually guilty for this. But you desperately need him, so you have to do this.

“I’m not giving you the helmet.” You say, trying to fake the confidence and holding the helmet close to your chest.

He smiles even wider. He’s really pretty when he does that. You tell yourself to focus, to stay strong against your boyfriend and his disarmingly charming smiles.

“Why not, baby?”

“Give me a kiss or two and I might return it.”

“Might?”

“Yes. I might deem you worthy of returning the helmet to you. Actually, make that three kisses.”

He chuckles, the smile reaching his eyes. He moves a little closer and you can feel your knees weaken. He doesn’t even know how much sway he was over you.

“You drive a hard bargain, babe.”

“The kisses, Thomas. Or no helmet.”

He narrows his eyes at you, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes. You want to look inside his beautiful mind and figure out what he’s planning.

“So, you’re holding my helmet hostage for a few kisses?”

“Yes, I am. Make your choice, pretty boy.”

“I think you’re just being a brat.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “Want a kiss? Ask for it properly.”

It’s now your turn to narrow your eyes at him, but in annoyance. He’s playing you, and you know it. Unfortunately for him, you’re stubborn and not giving in. You stomp your foot on the floor and hug the helmet closer to your chest.

“You won’t hear me begging. Good luck with that.”

“Really? Not even when I do this?”

“Do what?—”

Suddenly you feel his hands on your waist. They wrap around you and you instinctively melt in his hold. He feels so warm. You want to stay in his arms forever and never leave. He locks his eyes on you.

“Hi.” He mutters, a playful grin on his lips. “Am I getting my helmet back?”

“I already said—”

He must have a talent for getting you to shut up. He leaves a little kiss on your cheek, lips warm against your skin and his hand cupping your cheek. The small piece of his affection already has you going limp in his hands. You don’t even notice how his hand drifts closer to his helmet and how he quickly snatches it away from you.

“Hey! Give that back!” You exclaim, but no matter how much you squirm, he keeps you in his hold and the helmet away from your hands.

“Thought you’d give me the helmet back if I gave you a kiss.”

“You know I didn’t mean a kiss on the cheek!”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“I didn't say that…”

He lets you go from his hold. He slips the helmet on, finally ready to go out on patrol.

“Trust me, I’ll come home and I’ll kiss you senseless.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure.”

“Hey.” He clicks his tongue. “Gorgeous, I’m not lying.”

You smile at him one last time and he’s already out of your apartment for patrol. You spend the next few hours waiting for him to return so he can follow up on his promise. Your mind is already going wild with every scenario that could play out.

Would he kiss you first? What would he do next? Would he finally untangle the knot that has been burning inside of you this entire night? Duke is someone who loves to give at heart, especially when it comes to you. He’d be good to you, right?

Why not speed up that process— give him something to look forwards to?

You have that lingerie you bought just to show off to him. The ivory one with the small and intricate sun rays sewn in with a lighter cream color. He’d like that little surprise, right?

Only one way to find out.

[Text ID: Duke: “is this just for me?” Reader: “for who else, sunshine?” Duke: “You're driving me crazy.” Reader: “that’s the whole point.” Duke: “does the fabric have little sun rays on it baby?” Reader: “come home soon and find out.” Text ID end.]

You feel satisfied enough, happy even— you’ve successfully teased your boyfriend so much that he’s probably rushing to come home. You settle on the soft sheets of the bed and wait for his arrival, drifting in and out of sleep as you do so.

It only takes a hour or two for Duke to come back. He opens the door to the bedroom gently, careful not to frighten you. You’re awake, of course. You’ve been waiting for him all night. But you don’t plan on giving in that easily. You keep your eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

“Don’t pretend with me, baby.” His voice is saccharine sweet. “I know you’re awake.”

He sits right by your side, his hand touching the exposed skin of your shoulder above the sheet.

“I wonder if you’re still wearing that lingerie. Don’t you want to give me a show?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　

.... 🌷 .. ! , ... wow you made it all the way here. hope you enjoyed all 4.6k words of this. my hands r literally numb !!! ty for reading it all <3

﹒   ♪   ┊ INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

˖ `· . 𓏵 © 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent. ... ⏤ㅤ Ⳋ ⊹

[imtaashu]

Click📸

(Teaching Him to Use Polaroid Camera 📷 )

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to teach Bucky how to use your Polaroid camera. He ends up more interested in taking pictures of you than anything else. One kiss. One photo. That’s all he wants… or so he says.

Genre: Soft Fluff, Domestic Vibes, Clingy!Bucky, Hurt-Your-Teeth Cute

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: None, unless you count excessive pouting and unrelenting affection

💌Author Notes: This one’s pure mush. Like sticky marshmallow fluff on a warm day. Clingy, pouty Bucky, armed with a Polaroid and zero chill, is here to ruin your day in the sweetest way possible. Inspired by the idea of him just wanting something to hold onto when you’re not home. 😭

🩷 Please enjoy — and yes, he will ask for another photo in the middle of the night.

✦ feel free to request more fluffy Bucky things ✦

Based on ✦ this ✦ request.. thank you @buckyismysafehaven 🫶🏻

craving clingy bucky or emotional destruction? — masterlist is right here baby 🫶🏻

───── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────

“you know this isn’t a weapon, right?” you ask softly, raising a brow at bucky, who’s holding the pastel blue polaroid camera like it might explode.

“are you sure?” he replies, squinting suspiciously at it “feels like it’s got a mind of its own.”

you giggle, gently pushing his arms down “babe. it’s literally made of plastic.”

“so are landmines in cartoons.”

“okay, soldier,” you tease, taking it from his hands and showing him, slowly “this is the lens. this is the shutter. this button here—”

he cuts in, voice low and all heart-eyed “you’re really hot when you go all teacher mode, y’know that?”

“bucky.”

“sorry.” (not sorry at all.)

⸻

ten minutes later, he’s already used half the film.

not one photo of furniture like you suggested.

just you.

you tying your hair up.

you reaching for the remote.

you laughing with your head thrown back, nose scrunching just right.

“you were supposed to practice with objects, not your emotionally-unavailable girlfriend,” you say, flopping dramatically onto the couch.

he hums, carefully tucking the latest photo into his wallet “the couch doesn’t smell like vanilla and steal my hoodies.”

you peek over. “what are you doing with that one?”

“backup.”

“backup??”

“yeah. in case you go to the grocery store without me again and i spiral.”

⸻

click. you blink. “did you just take one without asking?”

he smiles, slow and sleepy, cradling the photo like it’s treasure.

“you looked real soft just now. had to keep it.”

“you can’t just collect pictures of me like—like trading cards.”

“why not?”

“because i probably look weird in half of them!”

he walks over, lifts your chin with gentle fingers “you’ve never looked weird. not to me.”

twenty minutes later, you’re wrapped in a hoodie that almost eats you alive, legs tangled in a blanket on the couch.

“don’t even think about it,” you mumble, not even opening your eyes.

“i didn’t say anything!”

“you don’t have to. i can feel it. you’re staring at me like i’m a sunrise.”

caught. he pauses, camera halfway to his face “okay, but hear me out: the angle? god-tier. the light? holy. your face? illegal.”

you groan into the pillow “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re breathtaking.”

“that’s not gonna get you another picture.”

“…worked seventeen times already.”

eventually, he curls up beside you, cheek smushed against your shoulder, arms tucked around your waist.

he’s quiet for a while—just tracing little patterns on your skin then, he whispers, shy “can i take one of you kissing me?”

you blink. “like… a photo?”

he props himself up “yeah. just one.”

you hide under the blanket “nooo, that’s so embarrassing!”

“what? why!”

“i don’t look cute when i kiss. i squint weird.”

he gasps like it’s the most offensive thing he’s ever heard “your kissing face is my favorite face!”

“bucky—”

“i’m serious! that’s the face that says you love me.”

You stay quiet.

he softens, leaning down with a pout so genuine it borders on tragic.

“baby.”

no response.

“baby please.”

silence.

“you don’t love me.”

you peek out. “bucky.”

“you don’t. that’s why you won’t let me have a picture. my heart is broken. i might cry. this is the end of bucky barnes as we know him.”

you start laughing.

he immediately flops into your lap with a dramatic groan.

“just one photo of my girl loving me. is that so much to ask?”

“you’re a menace.”

“i’m your menace.”

finally, you give in. one kiss. one photo.

he sits up straighter than a soldier, camera ready, eyes wide and sparkling like he’s about to meet santa.

you lean in. kiss him softly.

click. his lashes flutter. His hands tremble slightly as he gently fans the developing photo, like it’s sacred.

and when the image comes in?

he just whispers, barely audible “…wow.”

later that night, while he’s asleep, you find the photo tucked into his wallet next to his dog tags.

you trace your thumb over it and smile.

he stirs, catches you looking.

“needed something to hold onto when you’re not home,” he murmurs.

“bucky, i was gone for ten minutes today.”

“and they were the longest ten minutes of my life.”

next morning, there’s a new polaroid stuck to the bathroom mirror.

you, fast asleep, curled into his chest on the back, in his boyish handwriting

“this is what peace looks like.”

and when you roll your eyes and tell him he’s obsessed?

he grins without missing a beat

“with you? yeah. obviously.”

-end

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ First sight of the bump

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ part 3 of the pregnancy series, just adorableness

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They notice your bump is finally showing

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The gentle waves whispered against the sand as the breeze curled through the open windows of your estate, salt-sweet and warm. The curtains fluttered, and the sky outside was painted with strokes of peach and lavender.

You padded barefoot through the marble-floored living room, humming softly as you traced your fingers over the petals of the fresh peonies Rafayel had arranged that morning. He insisted flowers bloomed better when you were near them, something about your presence being “the only divine thing that exists on this wretched earth.” Typical.

You wore one of his oversized silk shirts again. Pale blue, unbuttoned low and slouched off one shoulder, brushing the tops of your thighs. It was soft and smelled like him, salt, bergamot, and something dark and oceanic. It was also the only thing that made you feel remotely cute today, as your body slowly began to shift with the baby growing inside you.

You’d been self-conscious about it all day, hugging a pillow over your belly when you sat, avoiding mirrors, unsure if it was actually a bump or just the extra cake Raf had fed you in bed this morning.

But then you heard his voice from behind you.

“…Pearlie.”

You turned, startled, to find Rafayel standing in the archway. He must’ve just returned from a meeting, his coat draped over one arm, hair tousled by the wind, his blue-and-pink eyes locked on you like he hadn’t breathed the whole time he was gone.

His gaze wasn’t on your face.

It was on the soft swell beneath the shirt.

His voice came out low, almost reverent.

“Come here.”

You hesitated, suddenly shy, fingers curling at the hem of the shirt. “Don’t look too closely,” you mumbled, half teasing. “I think it’s just bloat…”

But he didn’t laugh.

He crossed the room in a few silent steps, and then his warm hands were on your hips, thumbs brushing just above the bump, and he slowly sank to his knees before you.

You stared down at him, your elegant, cold, sea prince of a husband, kneeling for you again, but this time, in quiet awe.

“You’re showing…” he whispered, almost breathless. “It’s there. You’re, growing it. Them.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t expected him to look like that, like he was seeing a miracle.

“I thought I’d be the first one to notice,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. Then another. And another. “And I am. Good.”

You giggled, wiping at your eyes without realizing you’d started crying. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“Of course not,” he said smoothly, trailing kisses in a lazy line across your bump. “I’m simply worshipping the shrine you’ve become. Isn’t that what husbands are for?”

You carded your fingers through his waves, and he rested his cheek against your belly, closing his eyes.

“Our little pearl,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re going to be the prettiest baby in the world. But still not as pretty as your mother.”

Then, with a sly smirk, he peeked up. “Do you want me to draw them? The bump. So we remember the first time we saw them like this.”

You nodded, tears in your lashes again.

He stood, scooping you into his arms with maddening ease and carrying you to the chaise by the window, mumbling to himself:

“Need softer pencils. Pink-toned paper. I want to get the shape of your thighs just right…”

And as the waves kissed the shore, he sketched you lovingly, over and over, bump and all, while murmuring about building a cradle carved from coral and naming the baby something “ridiculously romantic.”

You were already everything to him.

But now, you were his whole ocean.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It was still early, sun barely stretching across the horizon, sea mist clinging to the windows of your bedroom like a soft veil.

Zayne had already returned from his morning run, quietly meticulous as always. His hair was damp, towel slung over his neck, and he wore a crisp white tee and grey joggers that still clung to him from the workout. The house was peaceful. Quiet. Safe. Just as he liked to keep it for you.

You, however, were lost in your own little ritual, humming softly at the vanity as you brushed through your hair in your pale satin slip. You didn’t think much of how the fabric clung to your stomach now, just slightly. Barely. You assumed it was just the angle, maybe the lighting. Maybe your imagination.

Zayne passed behind you silently with a glass of lemon water in hand, intending to remind you to drink it before breakfast. But then he stilled. Mid-step.

You didn’t notice it at first. You were too focused on trying to clip a bow into your hair just right. But then his reflection in the vanity mirror caught your eye, how he’d frozen completely, brow furrowed, gaze locked somewhere low. He was staring.

“…What?” you asked, blinking. “Is my clip lopsided?”

Zayne stepped closer, setting the glass down beside you without a word. His eyes never left you.

“No,” he said softly, voice steady but quieter than usual. “Turn a little.”

You frowned, confused, but did as he asked. The moment you twisted at the waist, the soft curve beneath the silk became visible from the side. Subtle. But undeniably there.

And Zayne… just stared.

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, unless you knew him as intimately as you did.

His hand reached forward, almost hesitantly, and hovered just shy of your bump.

“I didn’t think…” he murmured, eyes narrowing in thought. “It’s showing.”

You gave him a bashful little smile and pressed a hand to your belly. “It’s tiny,” you said. “Probably just looks bigger when I’m sitting like this.”

But Zayne shook his head, firm and clinical. “No. It’s not bloating. The shape is consistent. Lower placement. It’s the uterus expanding.” A pause. Then more softly:

“It’s them. They’re growing.”

Your heart skipped.

And then, without asking, he slowly knelt in front of your chair, Zayne, your stoic, surgically sharp husband, on one knee, gazing at your bump like it was something holy.

“You’re changing,” he said, almost in awe. “And it’s not just physiological. You’re… glowing.”

You laughed, flustered. “That’s just the expensive skincare line you bought me.”

He smirked faintly. “No. That’s you. My wife. Carrying our child.”

His hands slid up your thighs and rested gently on either side of your stomach, and he leaned in to press a slow, reverent kiss to the bump. Then another. Then one more, just above your belly button, before resting his forehead there, breathing deeply.

“I should have noticed it last night,” he muttered into your skin. “I always inspect your body before bed.”

You flushed, smacking his shoulder lightly. “That’s not a clinical duty, Doctor Zayne.”

“I consider it part of your care plan,” he replied smoothly, before kissing your bump again. “Your body is officially under observation.”

You giggled, sliding your fingers through his black hair, heart aching with affection. “You’re being… so soft.”

“I’m overwhelmed,” he admitted, still kneeling there in his joggers like a man utterly undone. “You don’t even understand what you’ve done to me.”

Then, ever Zayne, he straightened, composed, and tapped your glass of lemon water with two fingers.

“Now drink all of this. And lie down for twenty minutes. I want to do a fetal positioning check before breakfast.”

“Zaynie,” you whined, but his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw.

“You’re glowing,” he repeated, this time like it hurt. “You’re not allowed to do it alone.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.���🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You’d woken up without him beside you, which was rare.

Xavier usually slept late. Or at least pretended to, just to stay curled around you longer, arms wrapped around your waist like he had no bones. But today, he wasn’t in bed. Instead, the faint aroma of tea and citrus hung in the air, he’d been in the kitchen.

Still half-asleep in one of his oversized button-downs, you wandered into the living room of the Linkon penthouse, rubbing your eyes. The silk barely skimmed your thighs, and the hem curved gently around your belly now, a small but undeniable bump that hadn’t been there last week. You didn’t even think about it.

Xavier was perched on the sun-warmed couch, shirt half open, his pale chest rising and falling slowly. A book was balanced in one hand, though his eyes weren’t on it. They were on you.

More specifically: on your stomach.

You blinked, shyly tugging the shirt hem down. “You’re staring…”

He didn’t answer at first. Just tilted his head, eyes like glass under the sun, soft and stunned.

“You’re… showing.”

You looked down, hugging the fabric across your belly. “A little,” you whispered. “I wasn’t sure if you’d notice…”

“I always notice,” he said simply, closing the book and setting it aside.

He moved so gracefully, barefoot across marble, sleep-mussed silver hair falling into his eyes as he reached you. His fingers curled gently at your waist, thumbs brushing over the bump, feather-light.

“I felt it when I held you last night,” he murmured. “But I didn’t want to say anything. Thought it might make you shy.”

“I am shy,” you mumbled, flushing deeply.

He knelt slightly to press his lips to the bump, almost sleepy in the way he worshipped it, resting his temple there afterward. “…It’s real now.”

You nodded, fingers brushing through his hair. “It always was.”

“I know.” He exhaled softly. “But I can see them now. The tiniest little proof.”

You stood there for a moment, his arms around your hips, his cheek against your belly, the sunlight catching on his lashes.

Then he looked up at you, lips curling faintly. “They’re probably going to be just like you.”

“Clingy?”

“Pretty,” he whispered. “And dangerous.”

You laughed.

Xavier tugged you gently onto his lap, guiding you into a comfortable sprawl across the couch with him curled underneath you like a sleepy cat. He lazily pulled the shirt open just enough to see the bump again, resting his hand over it.

“Should I draw them today?” he asked, voice already thick with drowsy contentment. “Like I used to draw you, before we were married. I want to remember this. The very first time I saw you like this.”

“You mean the stick figures?”

You pressed a kiss to his jaw and tucked yourself into the crook of his neck.

He smiled softly.

“I’ve always been obsessed with you,” he whispered. “But now I think I’ll be worse.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It was one of those lazy, golden hours where the world outside didn’t exist. Just you, Sylus, and the faint crackle of the fireplace he insisted on lighting even when it wasn’t that cold.

You were curled up in his lap sideways, your arms slung around his neck, one of his shirts hanging loosely off your frame. He’d brought you here for a “quiet week,” which, in Sylus-speak, meant locking down the whole property and letting his enemies wonder where the hell he disappeared to while he kissed you stupid between chess matches and ten-course meals.

Your lips were brushing over his in lazy half-kisses, giggly and clingy. He’d just said something smug, probably about how soft and cute you were for someone so dangerous, and you rolled your eyes, shifting closer to straddle him fully.

That’s when he noticed.

You felt his hands still on your hips, and his red eyes narrowed.

“…Wait.”

You blinked, still smiling. “What?”

He didn’t answer at first. One hand lifted from your thigh, slipping under the shirt. His palm flattened over your stomach, slow. Careful.

And then he smirked.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, voice a purr against your cheek. “What’s this, kitty?”

You swallowed, suddenly shy under his gaze. “I—it’s not much yet—”

“You think I don’t recognize your body like the back of my hand?” he cut in, the words fond, amused. “It’s a bump.”

You buried your face in his shoulder. “Don’t say it like that…”

He laughed low in his throat, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “Oh, no. Don’t hide now. You’ve been strutting around here in my shirts like a pampered little queen and didn’t think I’d notice your tummy getting rounder?”

You pouted. “It’s small.”

“It’s mine,” he said simply, pressing a kiss to the swell of it through the fabric. “Proof.”

You watched as Sylus, your infamously ruthless husband, the one who once bought an entire arms syndicate just to dismantle it, gently tugged your shirt up and stared at the bump like it was something precious.

He traced slow, teasing circles with his fingers around your navel. “You’re already spoiling them, aren’t you? Eating pastries in bed. Sleeping in past noon. Getting massaged while you boss me around.”

“You like being bossed around,” you whispered, grinning.

“I like you,” he corrected. “And I love this. Every inch of it.” He kissed the bump again, then looked up through his lashes. “I’m going to be even worse now, you realize.”

You tilted your head. “Worse how?”

“More protective. More obsessed. You think I let you out of my sight before?” He chuckled darkly. “I should buy you another safe house. Or ten.”

You whined playfully, burying your face back into his neck. “You’re crazy.”

“For you,” he hummed, arms tightening around you. “And for the little tyrant you’re growing in there.”

Then, softer, barely above a whisper:

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

You melted.

And for the rest of the evening, he refused to let you leave his lap, pressing kisses to your bump every few minutes like it was a prayer, murmuring what kind of empire your baby would one day inherit, as if it were already decided.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The rain tapped softly on the Skyhaven glass, distant and calming. Downstairs, the penthouse was silent, save for the quiet hum of the smart lamps dimming on their own and the occasional flicker from the fireplace.

You were curled up in Caleb’s private library, sunk deep into a velvet armchair with a half-eaten bowl of snacks in your lap and your tablet dimmed beside you, still on that silly slice-of-life drama you were rewatching for the third time. The scent of peach tea lingered faintly from your cup, long since gone cold.

And you? Dead asleep.

The hem of Caleb’s Farspace uniform shirt, stolen from him, of course, had ridden up a little as you slept, revealing just a sliver of your soft lower belly.

That’s how Caleb found you.

He’d just returned from a brief strategy meeting, storm-wet boots off, jacket abandoned somewhere, purple eyes already scanning for you the second the elevator opened. You weren’t in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the couch.

But he knew.

You always fell asleep in the library when you were waiting up for him.

His expression softened immediately when he saw you: messy hair, drooling slightly, your body curled around a plush pillow with snack wrappers scattered at your feet. He stepped over them quietly, crouched in front of you, and went to brush a crumb off your tummy…

And froze.

His hand hovered midair, eyes locked on the small, unmistakable curve of your belly.

“…You’re showing.”

His voice was so low you might’ve missed it if you were awake.

Carefully, reverently, he reached forward and touched it, thumb brushing gently over the new swell.

Something in his face shifted. Like the soldier in him stepped back. Like the colonel vanished, leaving only Caleb, the boy who grew up loving you and never stopped.

You stirred slightly at the touch, blinking awake. “Mm… Cal?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just wrapped one arm around your waist, lifting you into his arms in one smooth motion.

You squeaked sleepily, curling into his chest. “I was watching something…”

“I saw,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “And stealing my shirt again, I see.”

You blinked again. “…Wait, is this about the snacks?”

“No,” he said quietly, still carrying you. “It’s about the bump.”

You froze a little. “…Oh.”

He looked down at you then, purple eyes soft, unreadable.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I-I wasn’t sure it counted,” you mumbled, flustered. “It’s just tiny. I didn’t want to make it a big thing—”

He stopped halfway up the stairs, tightening his grip on you.

“It’s a big thing,” he said seriously. “It’s the first thing.”

Your heart stuttered.

He walked the rest of the way in silence, setting you gently down on the bed, his hands still cradling your waist. He sank to his knees in front of you, pressing a kiss just under your navel, where the swell began.

Then another. And another.

“I’ve waited my whole life to see you like this,” he murmured against your skin. “To come home to you… and this.”

You felt your cheeks burn. “It’s really showing, huh?”

“Mmhm.” He looked up, smirking now. “Barely. But I see it. And I always will.”

Then he rested his cheek there, on the soft curve of your belly, eyes closed.

And for the first time since you told him the news, Caleb, Colonel Skyhaven, cold, calculating, famously unshakable, looked undone.

“I don’t care how many fleets I command,” he whispered. “This is the most important mission I’ve ever had.”

[xoxojisu]

MINE !

synopsis: when a guy confesses to you on valentine's day, how will katsuki react?

notes: request here! again w the unofficialbf!katsuki agenda like always

you weren’t expecting much out of valentine’s day.

you liked all the pink everywhere, sure. the flowers, the hearts, the whole aesthetic. but you weren’t holding your breath for a grand romantic gesture or a super hot valentine or anything.

you thought maybe you, mina, and sato would make some chocolates to give to friends. a fun, holiday-sprit thing to do with your good friends, no big deal.

of course, you'd wear a cute pink top because, well, why not? it’s valentine’s day, and you'd get to embrace the theme and look super cute!

and, also of course, you’d give katsuki some chocolate, like you've done every year since you were like four.

it wasn’t anything new. it was just.. something you did. a little exchange between the two of you. you'd make his differently than the friend-chocolate you'd make for everyone else. he preferred dark chocolate to milk, cocoa powder over condensed milk, and you always made it cute and packaged it nicely. in return, he’d always give you something back on white day, something he made just for you. it had become a tradition. a small, personal ritual.

but, other than that, because you were #singleasf, valentine’s day was just another fun hearts-themed day. you liked it, but it was nothing to make a big deal of.

you definitely weren’t expecting someone to walk up to you, red-faced and nervous, holding a little box of chocolates with your name on it.

“i know this is kinda random,” the guy says, laughing awkwardly. “but i’ve liked you for a while, y/n, and i figured if there's any day to do this, it should be valentines day, right? and-"

at some point, you start zoning out. ..who was this guy again? he looked vaguely familiar, but honestly, if he didn't know your name and wasn't confessing to you in real time, you would have said you didn't know him if prompted.

"-i think you're really pretty! and, um, your quirk is really impressive. and, like, i know we haven't talked much, but-"

you wonder how you're going to respond. what is the kindest way to say "who the fuck are you, no" to someone confessing to you in person. you consider saying yes solely because you respect his courage and would feel bad saying no.

"-so, um, would you please go out on a date with me?"

you consider asking him for his name, but that feels a little rude for someone who just poured his heart out.

before you can even answer, a hand appears on your waist.

a very familiar hand.

it's katsuki.

“she's mine,” he says flatly. no hesitation, no stutter.

you blink. that's news to you. the guy does too.

“oh,” he says, awkward. “i didn’t know that-”

“yeah. now you do.”

the guy backs off quickly, and you turn around, heart pounding despite your cool exterior.

“so… yours?” you ask, voice slightly teasing. "didn't realize you were so possessive, katsuki."

"'m not possessive." katsuki’s jaw is tense. “it's just.. that dumbass musta been dropped on his head when he was a baby. you're obviously mine."

katsuki's face gets close to yours. "you've always been mine."

"hey, don't be mean." you scold mockingly. "how was he even supposed to know? it's not like you told him beforehand. and we're not.."

"dating" is what you want to say, but you bite your tongue.

neither of you comment on the fact that he called you his and you went with it. or that his hand is still on your waist, or that his face was maybe an inch away from yours.

that's nothing unusual, though. you've been dancing around each other like this for years.

he scoffs, rubbing the back of his neck like it physically hurts to show that he has any emotion other than hot, fiery rage. (as if you haven't seen him curled up on your lap whining for you to scratch his head.)

“i shouldn't have to,” he mutters. “i mean… i spend every damn second with you. you wear my hoodie. i walk you to your dorm. for fuck's sake, we fucking cuddle on more nights than we don't,” he stops himself, groaning.

“fuck. you’re mine. you know it, everyone knows it, and he should damn well know it too.”

your breath catches. “katsuki-"

"don't listen to any other fuckin' dumbass." katsuki growls, suddenly pulling you close. "you're mine."

your heart races and your cheeks get hot. it's not just the proximity that's getting you. you're close all the time. it's the tone. the glint in his eyes. he's jealous, whether he'd ever admit it or not, and fuck, you're almost ashamed to admit how hot you think it is.

you smile, throwing your arms lazily around his neck.

"i'm yours."

masterlist rbs + comments super duper appreciated!

[barnesonly]

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: 8,5k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, dirty talk, praising kink, fingering, oral (m receiving), PiV, rough sex.

Part 4 | Previous Part | Next Part

You slammed your dorm door a little too hard behind you. Not on purpose. But kind of.

Your bag slid from your shoulder, landing with a dull thud by your desk. You kicked your shoes off without bothering to untie them, paced once across the room, then sat on the edge of your bed—and stayed there.

Frozen.

Staring at your phone like it might blink first.

God.

What the fuck was that?

You hadn’t done anything. It wasn’t your fault some guy sat next to you, smiled, introduced himself like you were a normal person in a normal class—not someone tangled in a secret affair with the professor who’d stared daggers through him the whole lecture.

Not your fault.

Still—James didn’t even look at you when he left. Didn’t nod, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe in your direction. Just turned and walked out like you weren’t the girl he had whispered I love you to, had cooked dinner for, had kissed so softly the night before you thought your heart would burst.

Your stomach twisted.

Was he really mad?

Jealous?

The thought made your heart beat harder—frustration and confusion and something smug curling in your chest all at once.

Why would he be jealous?

You didn’t flirt. You didn’t even talk back. You were literally just sitting there, awkward as hell, trying not to make it worse.

But he was mad. Definitely.

You lay back on the bed with a groan, dragging a pillow over your face and letting out something between a scream and a laugh.

You should text him.

No. Fuck that.

You didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t going to apologize for… what, being looked at? For breathing? For being his and not saying it out loud?

You weren’t going to chase him.

Not this time.

Still, your fingers hovered over your screen for way too long—over his name, the message bar, the unread silence that felt heavier by the second.

You threw your phone across the bed and grinned. Just a little.

Because if James Barnes was jealous?

Good. Let him stew in it for a while.

———

The next morning you turned the corner of the English building, clutching your travel mug and trying to walk slow enough that you wouldn’t be the first person in the classroom again. Your nerves had already done enough damage last night—spiraling into every version of Was he mad at me? Did I do something wrong?—and you weren’t about to make yourself an easy target for another cold shoulder.

Not today.

But of course, fate had a flair for cruel timing.

Because just as you passed the cluster of students lounging by the classroom door, he called out to you.

“Heyyy! Come here!”

Theo.

You blinked, surprised. He was leaning casually against the wall, surrounded by two other guys and a girl you recognized from one of your gen eds. All of them looked up when he waved you over.

You hesitated. But only for a second.

Because the truth was… you didn’t really have friends on campus. Not besides Sarah. And Theo didn’t seem that bad—just a little too friendly, maybe. But harmless.

You stepped toward the group.

“Hey,” you said, your voice more unsure than you meant it to be.

Theo smiled, shifting to give you space. “You heading to lecture?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Just about to.”

He grinned. “Cool. We were thinking about hitting that bar just off campus later. You should come with.”

“Oh,” you blinked again. “Um—maybe.”

“You should. Bring your roommate if you want. Or not.” He chuckled. “It’ll be chill.”

You smiled, polite. “Yeah, sure. Sounds fun.”

And that’s exactly when you felt it. That drop in the air. That shift. Like something passed through the hallway and sucked the warmth right out of it.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Professor Barnes walked straight past the group—dark suit, jaw tight, stride purposeful—and didn’t even glance in your direction. Not a flicker. Not a twitch.

Like you weren’t standing there. Like you didn’t exist.

Your stomach flipped. Heat crawled up your neck.

Theo was still talking beside you, something about what drinks they were planning to order, but you couldn’t hear a word.

Your eyes followed James as he disappeared into the classroom, his shoulders tense, his hand clenching slightly around the stack of papers he carried.

“…he’s so annoying, isn’t he?”

Theo’s voice pulled you back into the moment. You blinked, realizing too late that you were still staring at the door James had walked through.

You turned to Theo, trying not to look as rattled as you felt.

He smirked, misreading your expression entirely. “Professor Barnes,” he added, jerking his chin toward the classroom. “Total hardass. Always gives us way too much homework for no reason.”

You forced a laugh. Just a little huff of air, nothing too revealing. “Right.”

He chuckled. “Bet he thinks this is the only class we’re taking. Like we don’t have lives.”

You didn’t respond.

Because you couldn’t.

Your jaw was tight with the effort it took not to snap, not to correct him, not to defend the man you’d had your legs wrapped around the other night. The same man who kissed you like you were made of glass. Who whispered “I love you” into your mouth like it meant something sacred. Who was now… cold, distant, and glaring daggers at Theo from inside the classroom.

You didn’t dare look back at the door again. You just gave Theo a faint nod and an even fainter smile.

“Yeah. I should probably head in,” you muttered.

And then you stepped away, leaving him mid-sentence, heart pounding as you crossed the threshold and stepped into the classroom.

There were already a handful of students scattered throughout the room, chatting quietly, flipping through notes, setting up their laptops. James didn’t look up when you stepped inside.

You kept your gaze down as you walked toward his desk, clutching the paper he’d assigned yesterday—neatly stapled, with your name at the top. Just like everyone else, you set it down without a word. Didn’t linger. Didn’t meet his eyes.

You felt his stare, though. Burning through you.

You turned away and made your way to your usual seat near the front. But instead of sliding into it like normal, you paused—just for a second—and glanced over your shoulder. Just enough to catch him.

He wasn’t looking at your paper. He was looking at you. Jaw tight. Brow tense. Hands still.

Jealous.

And god—god—you kind of loved it.

You settled into your chair, letting your bag drop softly to the floor. You pulled out a pen with careful ease, flipping open your notebook, pretending like you didn’t notice the heat of his stare still dragging over your shoulders.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know what it did to you—seeing him like this. So composed on the surface, but brimming just beneath. That sharp, simmering edge of possessiveness, jealousy, frustration.

He didn’t know you’d spent the entire night thinking about him. That Theo meant nothing. That no one could ever mean anything the way he did.

The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation until James stepped up to the front, setting down his leather-bound folder with that familiar quiet authority. The moment he cleared his throat, the room hushed.

Your pulse ticked up. You sat up straighter.

Then—the door creaked open.

Theo.

He strolled in like it was no big deal, half-grinning as he made his way toward you again. And of course, of course, he dropped into the seat beside you with a casual little hey, like this was some meet-cute instead of the slowest unfolding death of your sanity.

But James?

He didn’t let it slide.

“You’re late, Mr. Reeves,” James said flatly, not even looking at him as he flipped open his notes.

Theo blinked, pausing mid-sit. “Oh—yeah, sorry, just lost track of time—”

“Time isn’t yours to lose in this classroom,” James snapped, still not raising his voice, but cutting clear through the air. “This isn’t a coffee shop. If you want to chat and drift in whenever you feel like it, I suggest transferring to a less demanding course.”

The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes flicked to Theo.

And you.

And Theo just sort of… sat back. Awkward. Tense. Mutters an “okay, yeah, sorry, won’t happen again” under his breath.

You wanted to die.

You could feel the red crawling up your face, your ears burning, hands locked in place on your desk. It wasn’t directed at you, not really—but sitting right next to the target of James’s very obvious disdain made you feel like a spotlight had landed on your chest.

You could barely even look at James after that. Not when he finally started the lecture, not when he spoke like nothing had happened.

But you didn’t miss the quick glance he gave you.

Sharp. Possessive.

A flicker of something territorial buried beneath his otherwise controlled expression.

You looked away fast, heart pounding.

Oh, he’s mad.

The moment James dismissed the class, the room buzzed to life—chairs scraping, backpacks zipping, soft murmurs filling the space. You were still packing your things, and you barely had a moment to breathe before Theo turned toward you.

“Okay, what is this guy’s problem?” he muttered under his breath, voice tinged with annoyance as he nodded toward where James had already vanished through the side door.

You blinked, trying to keep your expression neutral. “Well… you were a bit late.”

“Yeah, like two minutes. Two,” Theo groaned, dramatically slinging his bag over his shoulder. “He’s always on my ass. It’s like he’s got something personal against me or something.”

You hummed, noncommittal, keeping your eyes on your notebook as you slid it into your bag. God, if only he knew.

Theo leaned a little closer. “Anyway—as I said bar tonight. Few of us are going. You should come. Seriously. Could use some backup in case Professor Grump shows up again and tries to ruin my life.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. “Okay, okay…” you said. “I’ll ask my roommate too.”

“Cool.” He grinned. “See you there.”

He left with a little wave, and you lingered for just a second longer, glancing once at the empty desk at the front of the room—already missing James’s gaze, even if it had been narrowed with jealousy.

God, if only he knew there was no one else. There couldn’t be. Not when your entire heart already belonged to the man who’d just stormed out without a word.

And something told you… his office hours were about to get very, very interesting.

———

Back in your dorm, the door clicked shut behind you, and the scent of Sarah’s perfume still lingered faintly in the air. She was lying across her bed, flipping through a magazine, legs kicked up lazily in the air.

“Hey,” you said, dropping your bag onto your chair.

She glanced up, humming.

“So, uh… this guy from one of my lectures asked if we wanna go to a bar tonight. Him and his friends.”

That caught her attention.

“Ooooh,” she said, sitting up. “A guy, huh? Is he cute?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “He’s… fine. I mean, yeah, I guess. I barely know him.”

Sarah raised a brow, suspicious already. “Wait. Is that the guy?”

“What guy?” you asked, playing dumb as you walked to your dresser, pulling open a drawer with slightly more force than necessary.

“The guy you’re… y’know. Seeing. The one you won’t tell me anything about?”

You paused for a second too long.

“No. It’s not him.”

Her brows knitted, and she tilted her head. “Okay, then what about that guy? Your boyfriend or whatever he is?”

You looked over your shoulder, and your voice came out soft, careful.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Sarah blinked. “Right.”

You sighed, grabbing a sweater and sitting down on your bed. “It’s just a bar hangout. Some drinks. Nothing more.”

Sarah stared at you for another beat, then shrugged. “Well, I’m down. I need a drink and some bad decisions. Let’s go be hot and mysterious.”

You laughed a little, but your smile faded quickly once she turned back to her magazine.

Because no—James wasn’t your boyfriend.

But he wasn’t nothing either.

———

The bar was already packed by the time you got there.

Music thrummed low through the floorboards, the scent of beer and perfume hanging thick in the air. The lights were dim, soft amber spilling over polished wood and half-empty glasses. You and Sarah slid into a corner booth, cheeks flushed from the wind outside, laughing about nothing as you pulled off your coats.

Theo waved the moment he spotted you, then gestured you over with two fresh drinks in hand. You didn’t even have time to think before Sarah gave you a little shove.

“There they are,” Sarah said, nodding toward the bar.

You turned, heart lurching for no reason at all. You headed there with Sarah.

Theo grinned and handed you the drink. “Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I gambled.”

You took it, gave it a small sip. “Not bad.”

He leaned against the bar, a little closer than necessary. “So… you made it. I thought for sure you were gonna bail on me.”

You smiled, polite but guarded. “I said I’d come, didn’t I?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Fair. Gotta admit, I’m glad you did. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk, y’know, outside of all the ‘Modern Narrative Voice’ doom and gloom.”

You took another sip. “Yeah, it’s definitely… intense.”

“You’re one of the good ones though,” he added. “Barnes clearly likes you.”

That made your stomach flip. You looked down into your drink quickly.

“Anyway,” Theo continued, completely unaware, “he’s still a hard-ass. Gave me a B- last week and wrote a whole paragraph about ‘voice dissonance.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

You laughed a little, halfhearted. “Yeah, he’s… passionate.”

He grinned. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

You shrugged and took another sip.

He leaned against the bar, comfortably close but not too much, taking a sip of his own drink. „It’s good to take the edge off after all that homework Barnes gave us.”

That pulled a quiet laugh from you. “Yeah, it was a lot. Feels like he’s always pushing us to work harder.”

Theo nodded, making a face. “Right? The guy’s intense.” A pause, then his eyes slid to you again, warm and curious. “But you must be his favorite. Every time we get grades back, I swear he’s looking at your essay like it’s the Holy Grail or something.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip, though you covered it with a shrug. “I just… try hard. That’s all.”

“I bet.” Theo grinned, taking a drink. “Anyway, I’m really glad you came tonight. Thought you might skip out after class today.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“I dunno,” he said lightly. “Figured you’d be busy. Or maybe you just had better plans.” He held your gaze as he spoke, playful but not pushy.

You felt your lips curve into a small smile. “Nope. No better plans.”

“Good,” Theo replied, looking satisfied. “That means I’m officially winning my first bet of the night.”

You laughed—a real one this time—and took another sip of your drink, feeling the knot of tension between your shoulders ease just a little.

After some time of drinking and talking with Theo your phone vibrated against the table at the same time Theo’s did.

He frowned, unlocking his screen. “Looks like Barnes already graded the homework,” he said, turning his phone so you could see.

You quickly pulled yours up, breath catching as the grade appeared.

New Grade Posted: ENG 304 — Modern Narrative Voice

Assignment: Analysis of implicit desire in The Lover.

Grade: B-

Feedback: Needs more depth.

Your stomach dropped.

You stared at the screen in disbelief, rereading the short comment — “Needs more depth.”

More depth?

Your hands tightened around your phone. You’d spent hours on that assignment. Even reading it back last night, you’d thought it was good. Really good.

And he knew that.

Beside you, Theo groaned, “Ugh, I only got a C. That guy seriously hates us.”

You didn’t say anything at first, a strange mix of emotions burning in your chest — surprise, indignation… and, under it all, a sharp sting of jealousy.

God, was this because of him seeing you with Theo?

Your cheeks heated at the thought. You wanted to believe it wasn’t that petty, that James was better than that.

But then again, the look he’d given you yesterday—the way he’d been so clearly pissed—flashed back in your mind.

You swallowed, setting your phone face-down on the table.

“That’s ridiculous,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, but Theo caught it.

“Right?” he replied, nudging your elbow. “Your stuff is always A-worthy. Probably just a bad mood.”

You forced a smile, but your chest was tight.

More depth.

More like… you weren’t sure what the hell this game was anymore.

And god, you weren’t sure if you were mad at him or dying to see him—probably both.

“I gotta go,” you said abruptly, already reaching for your coat.

Theo paused mid-sip. “Wait, already? Thought we were going to stay a while.”

But you weren’t really looking at him anymore.

You grabbed Sarah’s wrist. “Come on,” you muttered, weaving through the crowded bar toward the door.

Sarah hurried after you, confused. “Hey—what’s going on?”

The cool night air hit you as you pushed outside, heart thudding in your chest.

You exhaled hard, feeling your hands trembling as you pulled your phone back out. That stupid B– was still glaring up at you like an accusation.

“That guy,” you said bitterly, shoving the phone into your pocket and rubbing your face with both hands.

Sarah frowned. “Your guy? What happened? Did he say something?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “No. He didn’t say anything. That’s the whole fucking point. That guy is fucking with me again.”

You started pacing, shoulders tight with a mix of frustration and disbelief.

“I try so hard and he…,” you muttered, voice climbing, “he’s trying to piss me off. Like some kind of petty revenge because I was talking to someone else.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. “Wait — seriously? You mean he’s jealous?”

You threw up your hands. “I don’t know! Probably. I just feel like he’s playing some game with me—and I’m so sick of it.”

Your heart was still racing—part of you wanted to scream, part of you wanted to cry, and the other part wanted to march straight to his office and demand an answer.

Sarah moved a little closer, brows furrowed. “Damn,” she murmured. “Sounds like he’s really under your skin.”

You pressed your lips together, the heat rising to your cheeks.

“God,” you groaned. “He’s so under my skin.”

Sarah stepped closer, rubbing your arm. “That’s bullshit,” she said gently. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the dorm. You deserve better than this.”

You nodded, forcing a smile as you tried to keep yourself together— knowing that whatever was going on with him, whatever this was between you two, was something you couldn’t even begin to explain.

———

The next morning, you woke up with a bitter taste in your mouth.

Your alarm buzzed at the usual time—plenty of time to make it across campus, slip into your usual seat before the room filled up—but you stared up at the ceiling instead, lips pressed together. Normally you’d already be rushing to get dressed, double-checking your notes, telling yourself to breathe.

But not today.

Today you wanted to piss him off as well. Skip his class, simply out of spite.

So you rolled onto your side and grabbed your phone, thumb hovering over the school schedule. Ten minutes until his class would start.

Your heart gave a stubborn thump.

And then you switched it off.

You could already picture him looking up at the door the moment the class began, expecting you to slip inside. Maybe even hoping you would.

And you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

With a defiant huff, you burrowed back under the blankets, squeezing your eyes shut and telling yourself you weren’t going to overthink it—weren’t going to spend the whole hour wondering if he noticed, or if he cared.

But of course you did.

Every tick of the clock felt loud. Every page of the book you tried to read went fuzzy. Even when Sarah texted you a dumb meme halfway through the hour, you barely smiled.

And still you stayed put, feeling equally smug and miserable. Because skipping his class wasn’t going to make you miss him any less.

If anything, it just reminded you exactly how tangled up you were in this whole mess.

But fuck it. Today you needed to rest, to clear your mind.

And to prepare yourself before facing him at his office hours tomorrow.

———

You didn’t bother knocking.

The door to his office was already slightly ajar, so you pushed it open with a tight jaw, heart thudding. James looked up from his desk, pen held between his fingers, expression carefully blank the moment he saw you.

You closed the door behind you with a sharp click, making sure they’re locked.

“What the fuck was that grade?” you demanded, hands balling into fists at your sides.

His brow barely twitched. “That was your grade,” he answered evenly.

Your blood boiled. “That was not my grade. That was nowhere near what I deserved—I did good on that homework!”

He set his pen down slowly, gaze dropping back to the papers. “You could do better.”

That fucking icy tone.

You took a step closer, voice trembling with fury. “That’s such bullshit, James. You know it is.”

A tense silence stretched, humming between you like a live wire.

And then it hit you—the one thing that explained the sharp edge in his voice, the way he wouldn’t look at you.

Your lips parted in disbelief. “Are you jealous?”

His shoulders went stiff at that, hands flexing once against the desktop. He didn’t reply. Didn’t deny it. Just kept his eyes fixed anywhere but your face.

Your heart flipped.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, more astonished than angry now. “You are.”

He finally looked away, his jaw ticking, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line.

And there it was—James, perfectly composed on the outside but seething under the surface.

You stared at him across the desk, your breath coming quicker, feeling that reckless thrill rise in your chest despite the tension, despite the fight.

“You’re jealous,” you repeated, softer this time, like you couldn’t quite believe it yourself.

And still—he didn’t say a word.

You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh—dark and bitter in the quiet of his office. “God,” you scoffed, “can’t I even talk to other people without you losing it?”

That finally got him to look at you properly, something heated flashing in his eyes as his voice dropped. “That was not just talking,” he shot back, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “You were clearly flirting with him.”

Your mouth fell open. “That’s not true,” you fired back, feeling heat rise up your neck. “We were just talking. I barely know him!”

James’s gaze stayed locked on you, sharp and unyielding, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he was holding himself back.

“You were in my class laughing with him. I saw how he looks at you,” he ground out, low and taut. “And then you skipped my class like I wouldn’t notice. Don’t play innocent with me.”

Your heart thudded faster, disbelief and that strange thrill tangling together in your stomach. “You really think I’d just go after someone else? After everything we—”

“You tell me,” he interrupted, voice rougher now.

You stared at him for a long beat, breath caught halfway in your chest, realizing just how much this was eating him up—and somehow, that twisted knot of jealousy and want left you trembling for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.

You felt the tension humming between you like a live wire as you took a cautious step closer.

“God, James,” you breathed, your voice softer now—trembling but sure. “I would never.”

He went very still at that, his eyes darkening as they searched your face like he was looking for any trace of a lie. But all you could do was look up at him—lips parted, hands aching to touch him.

You inched even closer, close enough that your knees nearly brushed his, close enough that you could see the way his chest rose and fell a little faster.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, and something in him finally broke.

In one harsh breath he pulled you flush against him — hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go — and his mouth crushed against yours, hot and needy. You moaned into the kiss, hands fisting his shirt as he pushed you back until the edge of his desk dug into the back of your thighs.

“Say it again,” he growled into your lips, voice low and raw.

“I’m yours,” you gasped, pulling him closer like you could never have him close enough.

He grabbed the backs of your legs and lifted you up onto the desk ass he kissed you deeper, messier — hands sliding up under your skirt, thumbs brushing your inner thighs as he groaned into your mouth.

“That’s right, you hear me?” he murmured against your lips, fingers tugging your panties aside, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your clit and making you whimper. „Just mine.”

Your hands flew to his belt, trembling, desperate—aching to feel him as much as he clearly needed you. And when you finally pulled him free and felt him hot and thick against your palm, the needy sound he let out was enough to make your whole body throb.

He broke the kiss with a low, feral sound—hands gripping your hips and dragging you off the desk just enough to turn you around.

Your palms hit the surface with a thud, papers scattering as he bent you forward, his body pressing up against yours until you could feel the hard line of him at your backside.

“I think I gotta teach you a lesson,” he groaned into your ear, voice gone husky.

You whimpered, cheek brushing the desk as his hands bunched up your skirt around your waist. You could feel him yank your panties down in one smooth motion — his fingers gliding between your folds as you arched into him.

“You’re mine.” he growled, dragging his thumb through your slick and circling your clit just once before positioning himself at your entrance, „don’t you dare fucking forget that.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, breathless, trembling with need.

He pushed into you in one deep, unforgiving stroke, filling you so perfectly you moaned aloud—hands clawing at the edge of the desk for leverage.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise as he pulled back and thrust into you again, and again—rough, relentless, every inch of him driving into you like he was claiming you, like he needed you to feel him for days.

“You like that?” he rasped, leaning over your back as his mouth brushed the shell of your ear. “You like knowing you’re the only one who gets me like this?”

“Yes,” you choked out, dizzy and aching and so goddamn full of him.

He groaned at that — fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your face back as his hips snapped against you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room.

“You’re my good girl,” he growled into your ear, voice wrecked with possession. “And you’re gonna remember who you belong to.”

And god, you did—every perfect, brutal thrust carving him into your bones, every gasp and moan a reminder of exactly who had you trembling, aching, and ruined over his desk.

Your legs were trembling by the time his hands slid up your back, fingers gentle even as he kept you pinned against the desk. Every inch of you was on fire—breath catching in shallow gasps as you felt him slow down his rhythm just enough to lean forward and kiss the curve of your shoulder. Fucking you slow but hard, making sure you feel him well enough.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against your skin, voice raw with need as his hips rocked into you again—slower this time, deeper.

A shaky moan slipped past your lips and you arched back into him, craving every last bit of his heat.

“Could anyone else make you feel like this?” he groaned, hands gripping your waist as he moved, deliberate and unhurried—like he was savoring you, like he never wanted this to end.

“N-no,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed, body tightening around him as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

He responded with a low sound of approval, one hand moving up to your chest as he pulled you up slightly against him. His palm flattened over your heart, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Good,” he whispered into your ear, lips dragging over your earlobe before his teeth grazed it. “You’re mine, baby. Every perfect inch of you.”

Your lips parted in a trembling gasp — because god, the way he was saying it, like it was forever, like he was marking every part of you as his and you were so hopelessly lost in him.

“Please,” you whimpered, voice catching.

And whatever restraint he had left shattered.

He bent you back down over the desk and gave you what you wanted — what you needed — every thrust sharp and hard and perfect until you were crying his name, knuckles white as they gripped the edges of the desk, until you were right there on the edge with him.

And as you shattered, he held you so close you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began, breathing you in like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath—hands lingering on your hips as his chest rose and fell against your back. The office was still humming with the afterglow of it all when you felt him ease away and his hands guided you around to face him.

Your gaze flicked up to his, heart still pounding wildly as he brushed his thumb along your swollen bottom lip.

“On your knees,” he told you, voice deep and husky, the heat in his eyes making your whole body ache all over again.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your knees touched the floor, eyes never leaving his as you knelt before him—hands skimming up his thighs as you leaned in, lips brushing over his cock already slick from you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, fingers threading into your hair to guide you, his breath hitching as your lips wrapped around him.

You took him slow at first, tongue swirling around him before hollowing your cheeks and sinking deeper—feeling him tense, hearing that low, broken sound tear from his throat.

“God, baby… just like that,” he groaned, fingers flexing in your hair as he rocked his hips carefully into your mouth.

The taste of him, the way he was looking down at you like you were everything—it only spurred you on, hands braced against his legs as you took him deeper, letting him set the pace.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he hissed, voice strained and needy as you felt him throb against your tongue, his control slipping more with every breathless moan you pulled from him.

And you held his gaze the entire time—so willing, so eager to please—knowing you were his, and knowing just how much he needed you.

He was trembling under your hands—breath shaky as his gaze stayed locked on yours.

“I’m close,” he groaned, the words thick with need as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I wanna come in your mouth.”

His voice dropped to a husky rasp as he guided you deeper, fingers tightening in your hair.

“Will my pretty girl take it for me?”

You gave him a small, breathless moan and nodded, looking up at him with parted lips, aching to give him exactly what he wanted.

“God,” he choked out, jaw flexing as his hips gave a final, shuddering thrust — and then heat flooded your mouth.

You swallowed around him instinctively, eyes fluttering as you kept him there until the last pulse of pleasure wrung through him and his hands slowly released their grip on you.

When you pulled back, lips slick and swollen, you pushed yourself to your feet—reaching blindly for a tissue on his desk.

Before you could do anything, his hand was on your chin, thumb tilting your face back to him as his gaze darkened.

“Nu-uh,” he murmured, voice low and commanding. “Swallow it.”

Your breath caught—heat sparking in your belly at the possessiveness in his tone and without breaking eye contact, you swallowed.

He let out a low, satisfied sound, thumb brushing over the corner of your mouth like a final caress.

“That’s my good girl.”

He pulled you up into his arms without hesitation, hands gentle but firm as they settled at your back.

You melted into him, breath shivering as you tucked your face against his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat was a steady reassurance under your cheek, and for a moment you just stayed like that—held and safe.

“I never meant to make you jealous,” you murmured into the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling lightly into it.

He let out a slow sigh, chin resting on the crown of your head as his arms tightened around you.

“I know,” he answered quietly, voice still carrying that edge of tension that hadn’t fully let go. “I believe you. It’s just…”

You felt him hesitate—his thumb rubbing slow circles against your spine.

“You have no idea how scared I am,” he admitted, voice almost too soft. “That someone else will see what I see. That they’ll look at you the way I do. And that one day, I won’t get to have you like this.”

His hands held you a little firmer at those words—like the thought was too much to bear.

And you held him just as tightly, heart aching at the worry threaded through him.

You eased back just enough to look up at him, hands sliding up to rest against his chest as you shook your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, voice firm and gentle all at once. “Because I will never look at anyone that way. I only see you, James. And I love you.”

For a moment, his gaze searched yours — like he was holding his breath, needing to believe you.

And then something in him softened. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he exhaled slowly, his hands moving to cradle your face.

“You don’t know how much I need to hear that,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

You held his stare, heart aching at the honesty in his eyes.

“I’m just…” he began, his brow furrowing as though he was choosing his words carefully. “That boy is your age. I’m your professor. I can’t give you a normal relationship. I wouldn’t blame you if you ever wanted something easier. Something you could show off.”

Your hands slipped up to cover his, fingers lacing together as you pressed his palm closer.

“James,” you said, your voice steady, “I don’t want easier. I want you.”

And that was all there was — the quiet hush of the office around you, and him leaning in to kiss you like it was a promise he couldn’t quite believe you were making.

You melted into his kiss, hands tangled in the back of his shirt as his mouth moved over yours—slow and claiming, like he never wanted to let you go.

When he finally pulled back, his gaze searched yours, thumb rubbing your cheek.

“Was I too obvious?” he asked, a tiny crease between his brows. “With the… jealousy…”

That made you laugh — a soft, breathless sound that felt too light for all the tension that had been between you only moments ago.

“Yeah,” you admitted, lips quirking into a smile. “A bit. But it was cute.”

He huffed a small, self-deprecating laugh and ducked his chin, the ghost of a smile pulling at his mouth. “Cute,” he echoed like he wasn’t sure if he liked the word or not.

“Very cute,” you teased, reaching up to smooth your thumb along his bottom lip. “And a little obvious. You weren’t exactly subtle telling him off.”

He exhaled, shaking his head, though there was amusement in his eyes. “God, I thought I was keeping it together,” he muttered. “Seeing him talk to you like that—I wasn’t going to wait around.”

That pulled a quiet hum from you as you leaned into him again, savoring the way the tension bled into something warm and easy between you—knowing you wouldn’t change a thing.

He laughed under his breath, brushing his thumb over your cheek as the quiet settled again. “And I did mean it about your grade,” he added, eyes glinting. “You could do better.”

Your jaw dropped. “James,” you warned, giving him a look that could have set fire to the room.

“What?” he said, hands lifting like he was innocent. “You told me not to give you a good grades just because I fuck you.”

“But I spent hours on that homework,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him even though you felt the edges of a smile tugging at your lips.

He grinned, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Consider it motivation,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You groaned, half laughing as you pushed at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, voice low and playful. “But you’ll thank me when you pass with flying colors. And,” he paused, lips brushing your jaw, “I’ll reward you properly when you do.”

You chuckled and shook your head in amusement, pulling out from his embrace and grabbing your bag.

„I should probably go…” You said with a frown.

James nodded, running a hand through his hair. „Yeah… Text me when you’re home, alright?”

„Sure.” You smiled and headed towards the door.

You stopped just before reaching for a handle, glancing at him one more time. He was gathering the scattered papers from the floor already.

„Love you,” you said quietly but loud enough for him to hear.

James looked up at you and his gaze softened immediately, he tilted his head a bit and smiled genuinely.

God how you loved that smile.

„Love you too,” he answered and watched you leave.

———

You came back to your room. Your heart was still beating fast even though you felt much calmer now.

Your dorm was blissfully empty, the faint hum of the heater and the street noise outside the only company you had. Sarah had run off to who knows where, and suddenly the idea that had been tugging since you left James’ office wouldn’t leave you alone anymore.

You glanced around once, even though you knew you were by yourself. A thrill ran up your spine as you grabbed your phone and crossed to the mirror leaning against your closet door.

Your hands felt a little unsteady as you slipped your top off your shoulder just so, tugging the neckline down enough to expose a teasing glimpse of your bra. Then you ran your fingers slowly up your ribs, pushing the fabric down a bit more until you could see the swell of your chest in the reflection.

God, it was ridiculous how good this felt—knowing exactly who you were doing this for.

You tilted your chin, gave the camera your best smoldering look—lips parted, hair tousled—and took a few different shots until you found one that was downright sinful.

Your thumb hovered for a second over the send button. You felt a spark of wickedness light up in your belly.

You | 5:27PM

Thanks for the “motivation,” professor. Thought I’d give you some too.

And then you hit send.

Your pulse kicked up as you stared at the sent message and the preview of the photo—lips parted, eyes dark, shirt pulled low enough to leave very little to the imagination. Your hands were trembling, heart thudding wildly. Instantly, your body felt warm all over, a slow ache stirring between your legs just at the thought of him seeing you like that—knowing that beneath his composed professor persona was a man who could hardly keep his hands off you.

You bit your bottom lip and flopped onto your bed, phone clutched to your chest, grinning into your pillow. The air still smelled faintly like him, or maybe you were just imagining it.

And oh god, you couldn’t wait for his reply. If he was jealous before, this was going to drive him absolutely crazy.

Your phone buzzed against your chest—you nearly jumped, breath catching as you grabbed it and unlocked the screen.

James | 5:29PM

Jesus Christ. You’re making it very hard to focus right now.

Your lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile as you bit your thumb and kept reading. You could practically hear the edge in his voice, that low, tight control he always had before it snapped. A rush of heat went straight to your core.

You typed back quickly, fingers flying before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart was pounding so loud you were sure someone outside could hear it.

You | 5:29PM

That was kinda the point. Is it working?

A moment passed before the next message lit up your screen.

James | 5:30PM

More than you know.

You shifted on your bed, legs rubbing together instinctively as you replied. Your thumbs moved before you could overthink it.

You | 5:30PM

Still working this late?

The reply came quickly.

James | 5:30PM

Yeah. Too much grading left.

A wicked little thrill ran through you. Biting your lip, you shifted deeper under your blankets, already picturing him alone at his desk, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration.

You | 5:31PM

Poor professor. Bet you wish you were here instead of looking at homework.

A moment passed.

James | 5:31PM

You have no idea.

Your smile curved into a grin as you decided to push him further.

You | 5:32PM

Mmm… wish I could help you relax. I could come over. Maybe wear something pretty just for you. Or maybe nothing at all.

Your pulse quickened.

James | 5:32PM

Careful, sweetheart. You know exactly what you’re doing.

That was the encouragement you needed—heat spilling into every word as you typed your next message.

You | 5:33PM

And I bet you’d do more than just look. Remember how you had me bent over your desk just a few hours ago? I haven’t stopped thinking about it

A few seconds ticked by—long enough that you wondered if you’d finally pushed too far—then your screen lit up again.

James | 5:33PM

God. You’re going to drive me crazy. Keep that up and I’m going to end up leaving this pile of papers unfinished.

A shiver ran through you at the raw want under his words.

And you weren’t anywhere close to stopping.

Your heart was racing, and you could feel heat climbing up your neck as you shifted on your bed, knees pressed together.

You | 5:34PM

That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? You could have me all to yourself instead.

You paused before typing the next part, already knowing it would get to him.

You | 5:34PM

And this time, I could do everything you want me to…

There was a tense, breathless pause.

James | 5:34PM

Fuck, baby. You’re playing a dangerous game tonight, aren’t you?

You bit your lip, thumbs flying.

You | 5:35PM

Maybe I like dangerous. Especially when it’s you.

His next message was slower to come, like he was thinking—or picturing every word you’d sent him.

James 5:36PM

And maybe I like that you never make it easy for me to concentrate.

Keep this up and I’m going to give you a office hours you won’t forget.

Your lips parted, breath shallow. It felt like you could feel him already—hands gripping your waist, his mouth dragging along your neck—and all you could do was keep him hooked.

You | 5:36PM

That’s exactly what I was hoping for. You always look at me like you want to ruin me.

A tiny typing bubble appeared… then disappeared. Then came his reply, short and direct:

James | 5:37PM

I already have.

You shifted on your bed, breath coming faster as you thought of him sitting at his desk across town—tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, probably pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always did when he was focused.

God, you ached for him.

Your hands moved before you could overthink it, sliding your skirt up just enough as you set your phone to take another shot. This one was closer—your fingertips brushing against the inside of your thigh, your panties barely in frame.

You hit send, then quickly followed with a message before you lost your nerve:

You | 5:39PM

Still working? Or did I just make that a lot harder?

You held your breath, heart thudding in your ears as you stared at the screen.

His reply came fast.

James | 5:39PM

Keep going. Show me what you’d let me do to you if I were there.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at his words, a dizzy little thrill running through you.

You | 5:40PM

Not so fast, Professor… Maybe I’ll write you something instead, hm?

Your phone buzzed almost instantly after you hit send.

James | 5:40PM

Tease.

Your lips curled into a cocky little smile as you rolled onto your stomach, kicking your feet idly behind you. Your heart was still thudding wildly in your chest—you could feel the anticipation humming under your skin.

You bit your bottom lip and typed back quickly:

You | 5:40PM

Mm, I think I have some idea, professor…

And then, after a beat—before he could send anything else—you added:

You | 5:40PM

Let me show you properly. Give me a few.

Your hands were trembling just a little as you grabbed your laptop off your desk, already knowing exactly what you were going to do. The glow of the screen lit up the darkened room as you pulled up a blank document and took a breath.

You could feel him waiting. You could feel him already aching for you.

And God, the power in that—it was heady and intoxicating.

Your fingers moved before you could overthink it, spilling all the need and heat and breathless tension you felt straight into words, painting a picture for him of exactly what you wanted him to do to you. Of how he made you feel. Of what you thought about when you touched yourself to him. Every filthy, worshipful thought you’d been holding back.

You | 5:58

[PDF FILE ATTACHED]

Every time I’m alone, I find myself thinking about you in a hundred secret ways.

I wonder what it would feel like to have you pressed against me when I can barely catch my breath — your hands everywhere at once, hands that seem to know my body better than I do.

I picture your lips tracing a slow path down my neck, my collarbone, my ribs, and how you’d look up at me like you’re savoring every inch, making me ache before you ever truly touch me.

I want you to pin my hands above my head and kiss me until my lips feel swollen, until my whole body is trembling just for you. To feel your weight and your heat, your voice telling me how good I am for you, how much you need me — and I’d believe every word.

I close my eyes and I can already feel you inside me, deeper and slower this time, like we have forever, like you could take me apart one gentle thrust at a time. I want to moan your name into the dark and hear you groan mine back as you hold me so close I forget there’s even a world outside the bed.

You waited few minutes for his reply.

James | 6:01PM

You have no idea what you just started.

Your heart leapt at his words, heat pooling between your legs all over again.

Your thumbs flew across the screen before you could stop yourself.

You | 6:01PM

Oh yeah? What is it?

You stared at your phone for what felt like forever—one minute turned to ten, then fifteen, then thirty.

You thought maybe you’d scared him off, and were about to put the phone down when it buzzed again.

Your breath caught as you opened the message.

James | 6:33PM

[PDF FILE ATTACHED]

You say you want me but you never see what burns beneath my skin. You don’t know the way I ache to brand you, to leave my hands and lips where everyone else can see.

To taste you until you’re trembling, to press you into my sheets so deep you’ll never wash my scent off your body.

And God help me, I want them all to know you’re mine. I want them to look at you and see my name written in the purples on your throat, in the bruises I leave at your hips.

You make me greedy, you make me feral, and all I want is to have you tangled up beneath me, moaning my name so loud it drowns out any thought—except one—you’re mine.

You stared at the words, pulse thudding in your ears, eyes tracing each devastating line again and again.

Your hands were trembling — you could hardly catch your breath.

And there was only one thought repeating in your mind as you reread his message for the third time: God, I want him.

You stared at your phone in stunned silence, his words practically burning into you.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you finally sent back a single, breathless reply:

You | 6:35PM

Wow…

Almost immediately, your phone buzzed again.

James | 6:35PM

Are you free this weekend?

Your heart leapt into your throat.

You | 6:35PM

Yeah…

Three tiny dots appeared and disappeared—like he was thinking, deciding—before his next message hit your screen, heat rolling through you as you read every word.

James | 6:36PM

Good… Maybe you can fix that homework grade. I remember you said something about writing with my fingers inside you in one of your “works”…

You sucked in a shaky breath. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily as a dizzy little thrill ran up your spine.

God, he never missed a thing you wrote—and knowing he wanted to make it real just for you had your body already aching.

Your fingers moved before you could second-guess yourself.

You | 6:37PM

Guess I’ll need my professor’s hands-on guidance, then.

And just like that, you knew—this weekend was going to be unforgettable.

James | 6:37PM

Mhm… See you at my place tomorrow then. Come any time you want.

You smiled stupidly at your phone, warm fluttering in your chest as you stared at the text. A little giddy, you bit your lip and quickly typed back.

You | 6:37PM

I’ll be there <3

You didn’t expect another reply, not really. But then your phone buzzed again.

James | 6:38PM

What’s that?

You scrunched your brows in confusion, a tiny smile already tugging at your lips.

You | 6:38PM

What’s what?

You stared at the screen, nerves and amusement coiling together.

James | 6:39PM

That <3 thing.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it—the kind that made you cover your mouth like someone might overhear. Poor old man.

You | 6:39PM

It’s a heart, James… Flip your phone to the side…

You tried not to wheeze as you could picture him frowning at the screen, turning his phone around like a puzzle. The image was too cute—your grin grew wider.

James | 6:40PM

Oh.

I see it now…

Your breath caught as a tiny pause appeared, the typing bubble blinking once, twice.

James | 6:40PM

<3

Your face felt so warm it was ridiculous. God, he was so cute.

You pressed the phone to your chest, heart thudding wildly as you stared at the ceiling, already looking forward to tomorrow more than you could put into words.

Part 5 💋

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404

[rainrot4me]

I'm wondering what your thoughts are on what the creeps/pastas favorite positions are, I don't know if you've done this already but I'd love to read it.

(I would especially like to see slenderman and eyeless jack)

Giggling like a schoolgirl right now I’ll have you know. I don’t think they’d be into anything totally specific, but I’ll give the general vibes.

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Face-to-face, full control, messy and intense.

Jeff’s favorite is anything where he can watch your face. He likes hovering over you, pinning your wrists, keeping his eyes locked on yours while you’re unraveling beneath him. It’s not just about dominance—it’s about seeing the exact second you fall apart for him.

“Yeah… look at me. Don’t hide now.”

There’s blood on your neck and his teeth are sharp—bites marks are always a constant.

He’s loud. Insatiable. Territorial. But there’s something almost adoring in how tightly he clings during.

✦ . ticci toby

From behind, deep, a hand around your throat.

Toby’s favorite isn’t about dominance—it’s about closeness. He likes pressing up behind you, arms around your waist, face buried in your neck. It’s grounding. Steadying. He doesn’t even mean to be rough, but his strength always slips through.

“You feel so good. Yo-You always do this to me…”

His voice stutters between your name and low, choked laughter.

He melts when you praise him. Curls around you like a dog desperate for warmth.

✦ . eyeless jack

Slow, intimate, full-body weight—especially on a bed or table.

Jack’s all about knowing body language and observation. He wants you lying beneath him, eyes wide (or blindfolded), letting him explore every inch. His body is heavy and cool, and when he covers you completely, it’s almost overwhelming.

“Stay still. Let me see you… all of you.”

Despite it, the weight is nice. You’re completely unable to move, completely at his disposal.

There’s an intimacy in the way he touches—measured, reverent, curious. You’re his favorite subject to study.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Up against a wall, rough and breathless, or anywhere he can slam into you with force.

Tim’s unhinged when he’s desperate. His favorite positions are anything fast, gritty, and impulsive—like he couldn’t wait to get you home. He likes taking you hard, somewhere risky, somewhere you could definitely get caught.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?”

A definite hair-puller and face-grabber.

He gets exhausted quick, but it’s worth the intensity of the few moments before he’s forced to be slow again.

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

You on top, his hands behind his head, a smug look on his face.

He likes watching you get desperate for it, take things into your own hands. Brian loves being under you, hands resting behind his head as you ride him at your own pace. He’ll tease, taunt, praise—but he never interrupts. He just stares and lets you wreck yourself for him.

“Go on, sweetheart. Show me how bad you want it.”

That smirk? Criminal. And so is the way he won’t let you look away.

Of course, the second he decides to flip you over? Good luck catching your breath.

✦ . kate the chaser

Standing, aggressive, your hands pinned behind you.

Kate’s favorite is you surrendering. Not weak—never that—but willing. She likes you pressed to a wall or bent over something stable, her knife on the table as a reminder. She growls praise. She bites. But she also kisses where it bruises.

“You wanna run, bunny? Go ahead. I’ll catch you.”

You don’t run. You never do. Couldn’t if you tried.

It’s like a predator cradling her favorite thing in the world.

✦ . ben drowned

Lazy couch cuddles turning into slow grinding, you straddling him.

Ben is all about comfort meets chaos. He loves having you draped over him while he plays games… until things shift. His favorite position is straddling his lap, your fingers in his hair while he guides your hips in slow, teasing movements.

“Pause the game? Nah. I can multitask.”

The teasing is terrible but it’s worth the slow build up before everything finally floods over.

Half-mocking, half-sweet, all-consuming. He lives for making you blush first.

✦ . clockwork

You tied to the bed. Or her lap. Pick your poison.

Clockwork is a switch—but when she’s in charge, she owns you. She likes you restrained and at her mercy, watching as she takes her time. But when she lets you take over? She’ll sit back, spread her legs, and let you know exactly how good you’re doing.

“Don’t stop unless I say so.”

And God help you if she moans your name.

She thrives on mutual power exchange. Push her buttons right and she’ll reward you handsomely.

✦ . laughing jack

Absolutely unhinged. Any and all.

Jack doesn’t have a favorite—he just loves chaos. He wants to bend you over a bench one day and cuddle you in a bubble bath the next. Upside-down? Handstands? Magic tricks? He’ll try anything.

“Let’s make it a game. Whoever finishes first gets the last lollipop.”

“Jack—”

“Too late, already ate it.”

Literal candy, kisses, and giggles included.

✦ . slenderman

Floating. Wrapped in tendrils. Like an offering.

Slenderman is otherworldly. His favorite is holding you suspended—entwined in shadowy limbs while he explores you with terrifying precision. Your body weightless. Your mind hazy. Your voice a prayer.

“Your devotion pleases me.”

His voice fills your head like honey and smoke.

He touches with reverence, as though your body is holy. He wraps around you like a cocoon. Safe. Silent. Unshakably his.

꩜ .ᐟ

[belli5]

Off Limits .ᐟ ೀWS²

╰ Synopsis Will insisted that you’d meet his teammates, but he didn’t think he’d be jealous of his teammates, but how couldn’t he though?

Tags/contains Fluff, Angst if you squint, Will Smith x fem!reader, jealousy, Will being protective, kissing(grow up pls), not proofread(yet)

➺ from Sera, to you📨. Lowkey missed writing for Smitty, so hoping to see soon more Smitty requests. In real life scenario I KNOW Smitty would not talk to his friends like that but I like to be a little delusional about how he'd be as a boyfriend.

masterlist ᥫ᭡ please reblog this fic if you enjoyed it! Please do NOT rewrite/repost my work anywhere else without permission!

It starts with Will tapping his fingers on your thigh. Not seriously, more like like he’s working up to something, the way he does when he’s thinking hard but trying to act casual about it.

You glance over at him from your spot on the couch, tucked his arm with your legs curled up. His phone glows in his free hand, screen half covered by his thumb. You try to read it, but he tilts it away from you with a little smirk.

“Why are you hiding your phone?” You ask, voice light and teasing a bit.

He chuckles. “I’m not hiding. Just figuring something out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh.”

Will hesitates, just long enough for you to know it’s something he’s been thinking about for a while. And then he blurts it out. “I want you to come to the team dinner tomorrow.”

You blink. “Team dinner?”

“Yeah.” He lifts his arm from your leg and leans back, a little more animated now. “It’s nothing fancy. Just the guys and a couple staff, probably at a steakhouse or something. But I want them to meet you.”

You smile, because it’s sweet, it really is but the nerves bubble up fast. “Are you sure? Like.. is that something people do?”

Will frowns, sitting up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean..” you pick a loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Isn’t that a lot? Bringing your girlfriend to something that’s usually, like, just the team?”

He pulls a face. “It’s not that serious.”

You snort. “Sounds kinda serious.”

Will leans closer, ducking his head until your noses are almost touching. “Okay. Maybe I want it to be serious. And the guys said they’ll also bring their girlfriends aswell.”

Your stomach flips, and he grins like he knows it. Because he does.

Sure, you’ve seen his teammates when you go to his games, but you’ve never met met them like that. And not to mention you’ll meet some of the other wags.

“I’ve already told them about you,” he adds casually, like it’s no big deal. “So you might as well come meet them. Save me the pain of hearing them speculate for another week.”

You narrow your eyes. “Speculate?”

He groans. “You don’t wan to know. Smitty this, Smitty that. ‘Why doesn’t he bring her around?’ It’s relentless, because I do bring you around, but they haven’t met you..”

You laugh, fully picturing Mack or Tyler egging him on in the locker room. “Okay. I’ll come.”

He lights up, practically vibrating with satisfaction, and pulls you into his lap with no warning. You yelp, hands landing on his chest as he presses a kiss to your jaw up to your lips.

“But I swear to God,” you mumble into his shoulder, “if they’re weird or mean or make you feel weird—”

“They won’t,” he says quickly. “They’ll love you.”

You can’t help but melt a little at the confidence in his voice. Maybe it won’t be so bad meeting his teammates, to you it just means he’s taking you more serious, which makes you feel good.

You spend most of the day obsessing over what to wear.

Will insists that it’s not a big deal, but you can’t help it. Meeting a whole NHL roster of guys who are basically brothers to your boyfriend? Yeah, that’s a big deal.

And you’re gonna meet the other wags, which is a lot more motivation to you, to make a good impression to fit in with them, because you plan to spend rest of your life with Will.

He’s lounging on your bed while you tear through your closet, tossing tops over your shoulder and rejecting everything out loud.

“Too casual. Too formal.” And more.

Will watches you with a lazy grin, arms folded behind his head like he has all the time in the world. “You can wear anything and you’ll still look good, babe.”

You pause. “That’s not helping.”

He shrugs. “Sorry, babe. Facts are facts.”

Eventually you settle on denim skirt and a black top you know he loves, one that hugs you in all the right places. Will throws on a simple button up and jeans, and the two of you head out.

The restaurant smells like steak and butter by the time you step through the front doors. Warm lighting bathes the space in soft golds, catching the shine of glassware and polished cutlery. There’s music playing low under the hum of conversation, and Will’s hand slides naturally into yours, fingers laced tight.

“They’re already here,” he murmurs, tugging gently as he leads you toward the back of the restaurant. “Big long table. You good?”

You nod, offering him a small smile even as your nerves tap quietly at your chest. “A little nervous.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. “They’re gonna love you. Just be your cute, sweet, hot self.”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. Great combo.”

He smirks, leaning in to whisper, “You’re my whole combo.”

You barely have time to laugh before you arrive at the table and see them all and a handful of girls scattered along a long wooden table, already deep in conversation. A few drinks have clearly already been had.

“There he is!” Someone calls, and heads turn like coordinated play. And then they see you.

It’s not aggressive. Just a collective, slightly too long pause as they take you in.

Will’s hand drops to your waist, possessive in a quiet, casual way, like it belongs there. “Guys,” he says, voice steady. “This is my girlfriend.”

The way he says it makes your chest tighten. He’s so calm, so confident. No room for debate in his tone. “This is Y/n.”

You smile, lifting a small wave. “Hi.”

And then they greet you at once. You see Mack start talking, you knew Macklin was his best friend. “There’s a spot here,” he insists, tapping the back the chair beside him. “You don’t have to sit across from Will. He never shuts up.”

Will’s hand stay on your waist, firm. “She sitting next to me,” he says, not in a rude way though.

You glance at Will, he doesn’t say anything else, but his hand slides under the table to rest on your thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles.

Introductions fly by, many names, you barely catch half of them. Their girlfriends around the table smile at you kindly, some more curious than others. One of them, lean over to ask if it’s your first team dinner. You nod.

Throughout the dinner, it becomes clear that several of the guys are trying to get your attention. Not in a weird way. Just a little much.

Mack leans forward across the table everytime you speak, like he wants to catch every word. William is quick with a comment whenever you so much as smile.

Even a few of the others throw in jokes, chime in when you laugh, or ask a question about your program, your hobbies, what brought you to San Jose.

It’s nice. But noticeable. And Will definitely notices.

His hand never leaves you. He keeps it on your leg or waist the whole time. At one point, he gently tugs your chair closer to his until your knees are brushing. When Ferraro asks what you two did on your first date, Will answers before you even open your mouth.

“She doesn’t remember the name of the place,” he says. “But I do. I planned it.”

You smirk, nudging him. “I remember! Just.. not the exact name.”

“She said I was a better date than she expected,” Will adds, eyes gleaming. “Swear.”

“She told you that? On the first date?” Mack asks from the other side of table.

Will shrugs. “She did.”

You look down at your drink to hide your blush. When you glance back up, William is looking at you, a little focused if you could say. “You play any sports?” He asks casually.

“Nope,” you reply, shaking your head. “Not anymore.”

“You look like you could’ve,” Mack adds.

“Good genes, I guess.” You say, laughing.

Will’s arm wraps around your shoulders now. “Okay, you two don’t need to run scouting reports on her.”

Some of the guys at the table laugh, but you don’t miss the subtle edge in his voice. You lean in to murmur, “baby..”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head down to brush a kiss to your temple. “She’s not a prospect.” Will mutters quietly, that only you could possibly hear him.

By dessert, things mellow out. A few of the girlfriends start asking about school, and you fall into conversation with them while the guys argue about some call from the last game. Still every now and then you catch one of the boys eyes lingering just a little closer than necessary.

Will plays it cool. Doesn’t call it out. But you feel it. In the way he keeps you close. In the glances he shoots across the table. In the way he responds to anything said to you that could even vaguely be taken as flirtatious.

And when it’s finally time to leave, and everyone’s saying their goodbyes, some of the guys hug you a little too tight, leaving Will holding your arm gently tugging meaning he wants to leave faster.

You catch the way Will tenses beside you, thanking them quickly before steering you toward the door. Once you’re outside in the cooler night air, you exhale. “That was a lot.”

“You were perfect,” Will says, unlocking the car. “They loved you.”

“You okay?” You ask as he opens the passenger door for you. “You were a little quiet toward the end.”

Will doesn’t answer until you’re both inside the car, engine humming low. “I just don’t like the way a couple of them looked at you.” He finally admits, glancing over.

“Too friendly?”

He nods. “Yeah. That.”

You smile, reaching across to rest a hand on his knee. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks over at you, expression softening. “I know.”

You add, teasing, “You were kinda hot though. Quietly fuming.”

Will groans. “I wasn’t fuming.” He laughs, but reaches for you hand and brings it to his lips. He looks at you for a beat longer, thumb brushing your knuckles. “I hated every second Mack looked at you,” he mutters.

You grin. “You gonna bodycheck your best friend over me?”

He leans in, kissing you. “Don’t tempt me.”

[bobbedazzled]

Hiiiii

Any way you can write even a little imagine or something based on this tiktok please? 🥺🙏

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8MQuGRm/

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

— “ pspspsps “

༝ฅ pairing: sylus x reader

༝ฅ content: fluff, animal transformation

༝ฅ a/n: I didn’t know if you wanted a continuation or a general imagine but this idea is cute regardless TT I hope you enjoy!

origin: 💡

Could it be a dream? A spell? A wish come true? You press your toe pads into your gums where tiny new teeth emerged. The odd pain does little to settle you into your reality. You’re small. Much smaller than you remembered.

In this foreign world, the floor stretches endlessly like a field, furniture towering like monuments. The shoes by the door resemble boats, large enough to drift in. Laces snake across the floor, coiling like dangling rope.

You pounce at it, batting and tugging it with soft claws. It’s too much fun to notice the door creak open or the pair of voices entering the room.

Luke and Kierian look around, blinking slowly like they've wandered into someone else's daydream. Kierian moves first, kneeling down. The fur along your spine bristles as you arch, tail puffed in an attempt to look bigger. But he doesn’t flinch, his hands gently reach forward like he already knows you’re harmless.

"I don't see her," Luke mutters. "Do you think the boss would mind?"

Kierian cradles you in his palms, tilting his head as he studies you. You chirp, trying to speak, to let them know you’re already here. The sound is small and squeaky, freezing the twins in place as they watch you squirm.

You’re placed in a different room. Strange scents nudge at your instincts as you investigate. You nose through the unfamiliar space, drawn toward a desk cluttered with shiny tools and neatly stacked papers. You wiggle your body, then climb up to explore.

Some items are too heavy to topple, shame. Sylus has endless patience for you, and this would’ve been a golden opportunity to test it. You curl your body around the cool steel of a pencil holder, then tumble into a tray of clips like it’s a makeshift nest.

You scatter the silver clips across the surface, swatting and chewing. One tangles between your mouth and paw just as the door opens again.

You freeze. He pauses in the doorway, a heavy sigh leaving him as he steps inside. His eyes skim over you as he shrugs off his coat and tosses aside whatever filled his hands.

"And who do you belong to?" His voice fills the room. You watch him for a moment, then resume your quarrel with the clip. He arches a brow but chuckles.

"I see you've made yourself at home," he murmurs, stepping forward. "Unfortunately, you can’t play with that."

He reaches out, cupping your head in his palm, fingers trailing from your crown to your tail. It sends a wave of heat and shivers down your spine. He’s warm, and you can’t help but lean into his touch despite the size of him.

"No collar, either," he notes, slipping the clip from your grasp. He lifts you from the desk, tucking you into the crook of his elbow. He doesn't speak again for a while. Instead, he wanders around the base, cradling you securely.

Worry flickers in his eyes, feeling your absence. You try to speak, to explain, but your voice crescendos only in frustration. He doesn’t respond, simply rubs lazy circles into your belly to quiet you. You tug at his shirt, snagging your claw on the threads. You attempting to retract, but your small, fuzzy body doesn’t respond right. He watches in silence as you fight to free yourself.

"Are you endeared?" you think bitterly, glaring. He smiles, then uses one finger to gently unhook you.

"Since your owner left you here, I suppose you’ll stay with me for the time being."

His palm rests on your head, slipping his pinky beneath your jaw, scratching an itch you didn’t know you had. Your eyes flutter shut as you tilt your head, meeting his tender gaze.

"Have you eaten, little one?"

He carries you to his bedroom and sets you gently on the polished wood of his dresser before leaving. You explore the new perspective in silence. The room is dimly lit, colored by firelight. Shadows dance over decorated walls. At the far end of the room, red eyes glare at you. You ignore them, instead padding toward a shiny object just out of reach.

When Sylus returns, he holds a small plate of cooked fish, flaked into manageable bites. He places it before you like an offering and watches quietly as you eat with dainty paws. A harsh caw splits the air from the corner. Mephisto flutters on his perch as he complains.

"Don’t be jealous," he says, without looking .

He vanishes again behind fogged glass panels, you hear water running, smell soap, the rustle of fabric. You leap down, and follow him to the warmth of his bed.

You meow only once and the bed is yours. The new terrain is wide and sunken, draped in crimson and black bedding. The sheets ripple beneath your paws, and you pause to knead at it, claws tugging gently at the weave. A red wave of energy wisps around you. It climbs up his thigh, trails toward his chest, and you follow. You paw at it instinctively, chasing it across the linen hills.

The red shimmer disappears just before you catch it. You sit tall, alert and blinking, but nothing moves. Beneath you, his chest trembles with laughter. His hand finds your back again, stroking once, then resting there. You lower yourself slowly, paws curling inward as your tail tucks close. His thumb rubs your neck as he watches you, eyes soft.

"You remind me of a very special kitten." He murmurs.

You lie curled on his chest, his heart a slow thrum beneath your paws. Kneading lazily, you rest your head against him. A low, content purr hums from your throat. The steady rise and fall of his breathing lulls you.

The world blurs between dream and reality. You melt into the heat, into the warm fuzziness as something washes over you, prickly and cool.

And then-- POOF!

Your body is noticeably heavier. You’re lying atop him, back in your normal form. You blink, disoriented, and look up. Sylus is staring back in shock. He blinks slowly, adjusting to the sudden weight of you, body still warm from the heat of your transformation and the fire flickering beside the bed.

His hand, which had rested against your fur, now presses to the curve of your back. Your skin prickles under the feel of his fingers.

"Well," he says, voice thick with amusement, "this is certainly... unexpected."

You don’t move right away. You're too stunned, caught in a web of your own thoughts. You can feel the low rumble of his chuckle beneath you.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asks. "You made quite the impression, sweetie. I believe you won your duel with my office supplies."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You’re not sure whether to apologize, explain, or simply roll off him and flee. You try, but he catches your wrist, pressing a firm palm to your back.

"Have you learned a new method to sneak up on me?"

"I-I… was that me?" you stammer. "That wasn’t a dream?"

He shifts to sit up fully, the motion tilting you into his lap. He studies you for a moment, eyes scanning your face, searching for an explanation you don’t have.

"I assume it was a temporary state, though I’m surprised it was a complete transformation." he murmurs thoughtfully. One hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb grazing your cheek in a touch too tender for the amusement laced in his voice.

"And you knowingly made that mess in the other room?"

Your ears redden, flustered and caught. A quiet hum escapes him, savoring your reaction. His eyes flick down your body and back up again, slow and deliberate.

"Well," he starts, "now that you’re out of that state, how will you compensate me?"

“Compensate for what?" you ask, mocking his low, velvety tone.

"For emotional distress. For your ambush. And," he leans in, his nose brushing yours, “for how incredibly soft you were."

Your brain, still wrapped in haze, short-circuits under the weight of his gaze. You huff, scandalized, lifting a hand to his chest with mock offense. Your palm meets the steady warmth of him, stiffening your arm out to create distance. He only smiles, letting you guide him gently back against the headboard.

His fingers slide around your wrist, tracing a slow line upward. He glides over the bend of your elbow, the curve of your shoulder, and coasts down the slope of your waist.

The firelight dances across your skin, a flickering distraction from the sudden and sobering realization: your very bare, very human body has returned atop him, as though your transformation had never happened.

He exhales softly, lifting the blanket aside. The sheets whisper beneath you as you slide into the space he makes. He follows, guiding you closer with a firm hand at the small of your back.

Once settled, he drapes the blanket over your shoulder with familiar care. He pulls you to his chest, resting a hand along your spine. His lips graze your temple, lingering softly before resting against the spot. He trails gentle, deliberate kisses toward your ear, each one warm against your skin.

"You’ll have to make it up to me."

[ccupcakqs]

— rainy day movies ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: cuddles, teasing, domestic softness pairing: alex albon x reader a/n: i may or may not have once fallen asleep on my long-time crush’s shoulder during a movie too🫣

you hadn’t planned on staying in all day.

the morning had started off clear enough. soft sunlight through the curtains, coffee in matching mugs, alex’s hair sticking out in five different directions while he blinked at you from across the kitchen island. you had laughed, told him he looked like a dazed bird. he’d squinted at you, mumbled something about disrespect before padding over in socks and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“you like it,” he’d whispered, voice still sleepy.

you did. you always did.

but somewhere around midmorning, the clouds rolled in thick and heavy. the kind of gray that blurs the skyline and makes everything feel a little slower, a little quieter. the first drops of rain tapped gently at the windows, and within twenty minutes, the sky had opened up completely. it poured.

you watched it from the couch, tucked into the corner with a blanket around your legs, your laptop balanced on one knee. alex had disappeared into the kitchen again, raiding the cabinets with the focus of someone preparing for a minor emergency.

“we need snacks,” he’d declared, popping his head out dramatically. “movie day rules.”

you had raised an eyebrow. “you don’t even know what movie we’re watching yet.”

“doesn’t matter. popcorn is non-negotiable. we’re doing this properly.”

now you’re sitting side by side on the couch, legs tangled, a giant bowl of popcorn between you and at least four blankets layered over your laps. the rain is steady outside, soft and rhythmic, the kind that turns the whole apartment into a cocoon.

you scroll aimlessly through the streaming queue while alex frowns at the options like you’re choosing a stock to invest in instead of a romcom.

“we could watch something funny,” you suggest.

“we always watch something funny.”

“because life is depressing enough?”

“fair.”

you keep scrolling. he shifts, the couch creaking slightly under his weight, and his thigh presses against yours a little more.

“what about something old?” he asks.

“how old are we talking?”

“like early 2000s. bad outfits. better soundtracks.”

you grin. “iconic. i’m in.”

you settle on something with a ridiculous title and a poster that looks like it was made in powerpoint. alex pumps a fist like you’ve just agreed to a team strategy call.

“i love when you support the classics.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

the movie starts. the opening credits roll. alex steals the popcorn bowl and props it on his chest, looking far too smug about it. you curl further into the couch, legs brushing his.

it’s comfortable in the way that only comes with time. not just the physical closeness, but the way you don’t have to think too hard about what to say or do. the silence is easy. his presence is familiar.

he tosses a piece of popcorn at your face without warning. it bounces off your cheek and lands in your lap.

“rude,” you say, turning to look at him.

“precision aim,” he replies, clearly proud.

you reach into the bowl and flick one back at him. it lands in his hair.

“direct hit,” you say.

he mock gasps and sets the bowl down, shaking his head like he can’t believe you’ve escalated this so quickly. then he shifts closer and drapes his arm over the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder lightly.

“you’re lucky i like you,” he murmurs.

your chest tightens in that quiet, happy way it always does when he says things like that. simple. casual. real.

“i’m very lucky,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder.

the movie plays on, mostly ignored. you both throw occasional commentary at the screen — bad acting, questionable hairstyles, plot holes wide enough to drive a team bus through. you laugh, and he laughs with you, and somewhere in the middle of a slow montage set to an early 2000s indie ballad, his hand finds yours under the blanket.

his thumb rubs soft circles against your knuckles. your breath catches a little.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t look at you.

just holds your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

the movie plays on, long forgotten in favor of soft glances and lazy comfort.

your head is still on alex’s shoulder, and he hasn’t moved in minutes. not that you mind. he’s warm. steady. he smells like the fabric softener you both always forget to replace and the faintest trace of his aftershave from earlier that morning.

you shift slightly to get more comfortable, and he adjusts without a word, guiding you to lean more fully against him.

“you good?” he murmurs.

“mmhmm,” you hum, eyes fluttering closed. “too good.”

he smiles. you don’t see it, but you can hear it in his voice.

“don’t fall asleep on me.”

“can’t make promises like that.”

he wraps his arm more snugly around your shoulders, fingers brushing your arm through the blanket.

you let yourself sink into him, the weight of the day slowly leaving your limbs. the rain outside is still falling in gentle waves, the kind of rhythm that makes your body slow down whether you want it to or not.

the dialogue on screen fades into background noise. the popcorn bowl sits forgotten on the floor. your breathing deepens, one soft inhale after the next, and soon enough, you’re still.

alex glances down. your head’s tucked into his collarbone now, your lashes brushing your cheeks, hand still loosely curled into his sweatshirt.

his smile softens.

“hey,” he whispers. no response.

he shifts carefully, brushing your hair away from your face. you’re definitely asleep now.

he stays there for a moment longer, letting the stillness settle over both of you like another blanket.

then, as gently as possible, he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other under your back.

you stir just a little, murmuring something unintelligible as he lifts you off the couch.

“shhh,” he soothes, voice low and warm near your ear. “i’ve got you.”

you don’t wake.

he carries you slowly through the apartment, your body limp and trusting in his arms. he nudges open the bedroom door with his foot, carefully pulls back the covers, and lowers you onto the bed like you’re made of porcelain.

you curl automatically toward the center, one hand reaching out like you’re still searching for him.

he doesn’t leave you hanging.

he tugs off his hoodie and climbs in beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. as soon as he settles, you find him again — arm around his waist, face tucked into his chest.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“you’re the best part of any rainy day,” he whispers, even though you can’t hear him.

and with the storm still humming gently outside, he lets his eyes close too.

[jaylaxies]

loser jungwon who eats you when you sleep? 🤭

cw: dubcon, heavy somno, loser jungwon.

jungwon is but a pathetic little cat when it comes to you. he doesn’t think twice before entering your room when he stays over, being your brother’s best friend and all. he sees the opportunity and goes for it, all in.

it’s his first time doing this, and it’s like something snaps the second he sees you sleeping on your side, your legs curled, your shorts barely covering anything. he tiptoes in slow, closes the door behind him, not breathing too loud. every step closer makes him go feral, his cock aching, and when he kneels at the edge of the bed, tugging the blankets down gently, holding the waistband of your panties aside, and finally seeing your soft cunt exposed for him? he whimpers like a needy lil kitty.

his fingers tremble as he spreads your thighs, being gentle, so fucking careful, like you’ll wake up and slap him. but when you don’t? when you stay soft and warm under his sweet mouth? jungwon loses it. his lips wrap around your clit like he’s sucking on it to stay alive, moaning into you with warm, red cheeks and glassy eyes, cock grinding into the side of your bed like a pathetic virgin.

“fuck,” he whispers, dazed, “you taste so good, i—i shouldn’t, ugh, gosh, i know i shouldn’t—just once, hm? just once i promise.” he sniffles, whining into your cunt like a starved man, your slick coating his chin, nose buried in your wetness like it’s the only place ever.

you wake slowly, almost dazed, until you feel the wetness between your thighs—tongue flicking? lips sucking? and breathless whining? when your eyes open and you see jungwon there, face ruined, cock soaked through his sweats, crying as he eats you out? you laugh at the depravity of the situation, “oh you’re fucking pathetic,” you whisper, grabbing him by the hair, “aw? my brother’s closest friend, humping my bed like a loser while drooling all over my pussy?”

he whimpers at your voice, bucking hard into the mattress, tears dripping down his flushed cheeks. “i’m sorry—i needed it—i needed you so bad,” he blabbered, lips still inching towards your clit. you push his face back down and hold it there, “then don’t stop,” you murmur, spreading your legs wider, “you’re already disgusting—might as well make me cum, yeah?” and he does, moaning into you, tongue trembling, kind of sloppy, and desperate as if he’s actually thankful for the humiliation. when you cum, thighs squeezing his pretty lil face, he sobs—literally sobs from the taste, and from the shame, which makes him come too, untouched, soaking his boxers like the filthy lil loser he is.

[pankesitopank]

finger sucking with THE JEONG YUNHO PLEASE

that damn 21cm of hands

Mouthful

Jeong Yunho x Reader 

cw: finger-sucking, oral fixation, size kink, mild praise

wc: 1.7k (1.785~)

note: You don't know how HARD it was for me to write this. I deleted it and rewrote it like 800 times! I'm not really used to oral fixation, and since it's not something I consume and I don't read it either, maybe this ended up being crap. Well, I hope not and I hope you like it loooove

You’ve always known Yunho’s hands were big. graceful palm and fingers slicing through stage lights, the way a simple point could dominate an arena full of screaming fans. But living with the thought and living with the man are different beasts entirely—especially when he’s lounging barefoot on the sofa tonight, fresh from the shower, hair still damp and curling over his forehead, one arm draped along the backrest while those famously massive fingers drum an aimless rhythm against the cushion.

They’re bait, and you’re starving.

The movie you pretended to suggest slips into background noise while your gaze keeps darting to his hand. Yunho notices—he always does—and his mouth tilts in that unfair, dimple-slanted smile. “You’re not watching,” he murmurs, voice gone syrup-thick from post-practice exhaustion. He shifts, stretching long legs until his knees brush yours. “Something on your mind?”

Your throat goes dry. You’ve kissed those knuckles in passing, trailed your lips in teasing nips across his callused palms, but you’ve never fully indulged the urge simmering beneath your skin: to feel every length of him glide across your tongue, to taste how power translates into salt and heat. Tonight, that urge eclipses embarrassment.

“I keep thinking about your hands,” you confess—a whisper half-drowned by the TV. His eyebrows jump, surprised but pleased.

“These?” He lifts one, spreading fingers wide. The span makes your stomach flutter. Under the lamplight the veins stand out, blue under honey-tan skin, and tiny, dancer-earned scars cross his knuckles like silver constellations. “They’re yours,” he adds, suddenly soft. “Do whatever you want.”

Permission detonates in your chest. You crawl toward him, settling between his parted knees on the carpet. He draws a quick breath when your palms slide up his shins, but he doesn’t move. The only thing that shifts is the slow tightening of his gray sweatpants, a tent of interest forming as he watches you take his hand in both of yours like a priceless relic.

The pad of his thumb brushes your cheek first—familiar, tender. You tilt into it, kissing the whorl of fingerprint before letting your tongue flick out. Yunho’s breath stutters. His other arm drops to rest on the sofa cushion, fingers curling.

“Baby,” he warns, already hoarse. It’s not a protest; it’s a prayer. You part your lips wider and take that thumb in, sealing your mouth around it, sucking gentle, experimental. The taste is fresh soap and cedar shampoo, clean but unmistakably him. Your eyes flutter closed as you swirl your tongue, memorizing each ridge.

A shaky exhale leaves him. “Fuck.” He’s mesmerized, you realize, not just by the sensation but by the sight: your cheeks hollowed, lips stretched, the gleam of saliva coating flesh that can palm a basketball. When you glance up, the pupils blown dark behind his fringe make your core clench. He looks worshipful.

You release the thumb with a wet pop only to nip the side lightly. “More,” you whisper. You guide his hand, sliding your mouth to the index finger. This time you take it deeper, until the tip brushes your throat. Yunho’s hips twitch. He’s wide-eyed, chest rising in heavy pulls through the loose neck of his T-shirt.

“God, your mouth…” His voice fractures as you moan around him—a vibration he feels pulse up his arm and straight to his cock. He cups the back of your head, not pushing, just anchoring, as if afraid you’ll drift away. You hum at the tenderness.

Two fingers now. You angle them together and fit your lips over both, feeling the slight stretch. Your jaw protests but your arousal eclipses discomfort. Drool slips past your lower lip, stringing to your chin, and Yunho’s eyes track it hungrily. His free hand fists the sofa. “You look—so pretty—so fucking pretty like this,” he gasps.

You lash their undersides, licking from base to tip, then suck hard as you withdraw. His breath catches, like strings pulled taut. When you tug them free, your saliva glosses skin to a shine that the lamp turns into liquid gold. You kiss every joint, each knuckle, worshipful. Then you guide his middle finger to your tongue and flatten it, letting him watch you trace the length in broad, languid licks while making sacred eye contact.

Yunho’s self-control frays audibly—he makes a wounded sound and shifts, sweatpants now obscenely tented. “Baby, please,” he murmurs. You know that pitch: need edging on desperation. But you’re greedy; you want him trembling.

“Spread them,” you instruct softly. He obeys, fanning three fingers. You take them all at once, mouth straining, your tongue wedged between middle and ring. The stretch drags a moan out of you—part discomfort, mostly bliss. Yunho’s head falls back against the couch, throat exposed, Adam’s apple bobbing violently. His hips roll, memory-muscle trained by hours of dance translating into a silent, involuntary grind against air.

Spit drips down your chin, splashing your chest. You pull back, breathing hard, to watch a thick string connect you to his middle finger. Yunho watches too, chest heaving. Wordlessly he lifts his hand and swipes that string across your bottom lip, thumb following to smear spit across your cheek, marking you. The gesture lights a fuse low in your belly.

“You like my fingers?” he rasps, cradling your jaw. You nod, dizzy with it. “Then lay back. Let me see how much.”

The command vibrates through your bones. You obey, scrambling to sit against the plush rug, knees bent, thighs parted. Yunho shifts off the sofa, kneeling between your legs in one fluid motion that makes you acutely aware of how wide his shoulders spread, how small you feel beneath him. His hand—those hands—skim your calves, pushing them wider. Heat flares where he touches.

He reaches for the waistband of your shorts. “Words, angel,” he reminds, always seeking consent even drunk on lust. The care in his voice spikes your pulse.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

Fabric peels away, baring you. The cooler air kisses your slick folds. Yunho’s nostrils flare at the sight; a soft groan escapes him. He palms your thighs, thumbs caressing inwards, but pauses when your hips jerk at his proximity. “Sensitive?”

“Always for you.” The confession is almost shy. He rewards it with a gentle kiss to your inner knee before dragging his mouth upward, planting a trail of lips that burns open-mouthed and wet. When he reaches the apex of your thigh he stops and replaces lips with index finger, teasing your slickness with feather strokes. Your back arches.

“Look at you,” he murmurs reverently. “Already dripping.” He holds his middle finger up, glistening, letting lamplight make the evidence glitter before your eyes. Then—slow, deliberate—he brings it to his own mouth and sucks. Your breath stutters violently. Yunho hums deep in his chest, tasting you. “Sweet.”

The sight nearly ends you. But he’s not done. He lowers that same finger to your entrance, pressing slow until the first knuckle vanishes. The stretch makes you gasp—he’s thick, longer than most men’s full fingers—and he watches your face like it’s sunlight. “Okay?”

“More,” you pant. He obliges, easing deeper until his palm kisses you, curling up to stroke that velvet spot inside. Your thighs quake. Yunho watches transfixed: the way your body clutches him, the way your mouth falls open in unguarded pleasure.

But curiosity sparks. He withdraws, slick with your arousal, and lifts two fingers—index and middle—toward your mouth. Instinct takes over; you open eagerly, letting him slide them past your lips. You taste yourself atop the faint salt of his skin. Yunho’s eyes darken as you suck, tongue swirling around the digits still glimmering with evidence of what he does to you.

He slips them free, wet and shining, then leans forward, replacing them right back inside you with a single fluid thrust. The penetration knocks a cry loose from your chest. The sound makes him tremble. “God—this mouth, this pussy—so greedy,” he growls.

He sets a rhythm: fingers pumping into your heat, then withdrawing to feed into your mouth, then plunging back into you wetter than before. The cycle builds a dizzy circuit of pleasure. You don’t know where you’re wetter—between your legs or on your tongue. Your moans melt into his name like a prayer.

Soon two fingers aren’t enough. Yunho’s gaze drifts to your entrance, watching the way you swallow them. “Think you can take three?” he whispers. The baritone scrape of his voice vibrates through your entire frame.

“Y-yes,” you gasp, and that desperation cracks something inside him. He slides three fingers in, scissoring slowly. The stretch burns deliciously, pushing walls that flutter around him. He groans at the sensation. “So tight,” he mutters, thumb circling your clit with feather pressure. Sparks detonate behind your eyes.

He works you open meticulously, rolling his wrist so the heel of his palm grinds your clit on every inward push. Pleasure mounts sharp and fast. You cling to his forearm, nails digging into muscle.

“Yunho—close—” you warn.

“Hold on for me,” he instructs, voice iron. “Need you to come with my fingers in your mouth first.” He withdraws, and your walls spasm around nothing—loss keen as hunger. But he’s already bringing those slick fingers to your lips. You suck them in automatically, tasting your arousal mingled with his skin. He growls, hips jerking at the sight.

“Such a filthy girl,” he praises, thumb stroking your cheek. “Taking yourself off my hand like it’s candy.” You whimper around him, suck harder, hollowing your cheeks until he curses.

When he pulls out, a strand of saliva clings between finger and tongue. He guides that trio back to your core, thrusting deep. The obscene wet sound echoes off the apartment walls. It pushes you over the edge. Orgasm crashes through you—white-hot, clenching, a furnace consuming nerve endings. Crying out, you convulse around his fingers, thighs locking around his wrist as if your body can’t stand losing him even in climax.

Yunho’s stare is molten. He doesn’t stop until tremors subside, then gently withdraws, your slick coating his hand. He lifts his soaked fingers and sucks them himself, eyes fluttering shut at the taste you left. The sight prolongs aftershocks shivering through you.

When he opens his eyes again, resolve burns. He rises, sweatpants tenting like a promise. “My turn,” he rasps, voice raw…

[sunsetmade]

After Hours

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky finally agrees to spend the night at her house. However when she notices he’s uncomfortable on the couch she can’t help but offer her own bed.

The mission was over.

After nearly seventy-two relentless hours of chaos, bruises, and barely any sleep, it was finally done. The kind of done that settled deep in your bones, heavy and silent. Bucky hadn’t said much since they’d returned—just a few muttered confirmations, a nod here and there. He was running on fumes, and she could see it all over him.

So when they stood beside his motorcycle in the dim glow of the compound’s underground garage, she didn’t hesitate.

“Buck, please come and stay with me tonight,” she said softly, tugging the helmet strap beneath her chin. “I hate the idea of you crashing at some random motel again.”

She climbed onto the back of his bike without waiting for permission—like she ever needed it. As always, he turned around to check her helmet strap, his fingers adjusting it with care. It was routine now, though she still remembered the day he’d bought it. He’d claimed he already had an extra one, but she’d seen the brand-new box in his trunk the morning after their first ride.

He let out a low chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with his flesh hand. “Doll, I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”

Her gaze lingered on the cut above his brow, the fresh bruising along his jaw, the way his shoulders drooped like they carried the weight of more than just the mission. This one had hit hard. Harder than he’d ever admit out loud. She swallowed, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.

“Buck… please.”

She huffed when he didn’t answer—just turned forward and gripped the handlebars, a silent signal that the conversation was over. Her hands hesitated for a second before wrapping gently around his waist. The synthetic hum of the bike started up beneath them, but her mind was louder.

She exhaled, frustration curling in her stomach.

He was always doing this—keeping distance with silence, dancing around their connection like it wasn’t real. And she let him. Because every once in a while, he let his guard down, and in those fleeting seconds, she saw the version of him no one else got to.

“I just think you’d be more comfortable on an actual couch instead of a mystery mattress that squeaks every time you breathe,” she said, eyebrows raised. “And my place has snacks. And clean towels.”

Bucky glanced behind his shoulder looking at her, clearly fighting a smile. “You trying to bribe me with snacks now?”

“I’m just saying,” she said innocently resting her chin on his shoulder.

Their relationship was… undefined. Somewhere between teammates and something more. Something unspoken. She didn’t know what to call it. All she knew was that she hated the way he pulled away after every mission, hated the empty motel rooms and the way he pretended it didn’t matter.

All she wanted was him with her.

What she didn’t know—what he kept buried beneath every quiet smile and casual shrug—was that every time she asked him to stay, it took everything in him not to say yes on the spot. Not just a polite yes. A desperate one. The kind that wanted to drop everything, follow her home, and never leave.

Because God, he wanted to.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to kiss her like it meant something—like it had been building up inside him for longer than he could admit. He wanted to hold her face in his hands and finally let her see just how much space she took up in his thoughts.

But he couldn’t.

Because if she didn’t feel the same—if her kindness was just kindness, and not the quiet pull he hoped it was—then he’d ruin everything. And he couldn’t handle losing her. Not even a little. He’d rather sit with the ache, pretend he didn’t notice the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching, than risk a silence between them he couldn’t fix.

So he stayed quiet. Stayed cool. And hoped that one day, maybe, she’d be the one to close the space between them.

⸻

As her apartment building came into view, a strange heaviness settled in her chest. Not the exhaustion from the mission, not really. It was something else—something tighter, harder to ignore. Bucky’s motorcycle rumbled beneath them, slowing to a gentle purr as he eased it into a stop in front of her place.

She let out a soft sigh, hesitating before unwrapping her arms from around his waist. The night air felt colder without him. She climbed off the bike, smoothing her hands down her thighs while Bucky followed, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel as he stood up.

The walk to her door was quiet. Not awkward, not strained—just filled with things neither of them knew how to say.

When she reached the top step, she paused, hand hovering over the doorknob. She turned back to him, eyes soft.

“It’s not too late to change your mind…” she said, offering him a hopeful little smile.

Bucky met her gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was tempted. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip before he shook his head, amused, conflicted, something in between.

Then, with a low breath, he stepped forward and opened the door for her. His vibranium hand held it steady while his other motioned her inside in that quiet, old-fashioned way of his.

She walked in, beaming at him as she pointed dramatically toward the living room. “Look how comfy my couch looks,” she said, voice playful. “It’s practically begging to be slept on.”

And honestly? It was inviting. The couch was covered in mismatched fluffy pillows, a giant throw blanket draped over the back like a welcome hug. The lighting in her apartment was warm, cozy—safe. Like her.

You can’t. It’s going to ruin everything

He only raised his brows, a tight lipped smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he took a single step back onto the porch. “Night, doll,” he said, voice low.

She let out a dramatic huff, leaning her back against the doorframe the second he released it. The warmth from his hand still lingered in the wood behind her.

Bucky started down the steps, his boots thudding lightly against the worn boards, but he didn’t make it far before he heard her voice float after him—barely above a mutter, but loud enough to catch.

“So grumpy… never wants to do anything… whatever.”

His smile widened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, shaking his head to himself. She really was something else.

He swung one leg over the bike, the engine roaring back to life beneath him. The hum of it filled the quiet street, but before he pulled away, he turned slightly—just enough to glance back at her over his shoulder.

She was still there, arms crossed and lower lip poked out in a soft pout, the porch light casting a warm halo around her.

He raised his metal hand and gave her a quick, lazy wave.

She sighed, but lifted her hand anyway, waving back with a frown that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

And even though she pretended to be annoyed, she stayed at the door, watching until his taillight disappeared into the night. Only wishing he would open up to her more.

⸻

By the time Bucky made it back to his motel room, his mood had shifted completely.

The moment he stepped inside, the silence hit him like a wall. The place was dark, cold—not just in temperature, but in feeling. No soft lamp lighting the corner like hers, no faint scent of something sweet in the air, no cozy chaos of pillows scattered across a couch. Just stillness. Emptiness.

He stood in the doorway for a second, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob, staring into the dim room like maybe something would change if he waited long enough. But it didn’t. It never did when she wasn’t there.

Bucky wasn’t used to this.

Not to the hollow ache in his chest every time he walked away from her.

Not to missing someone the second they were out of sight.

He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as he kicked off his boots, each step echoing a little too loudly on the hardwood floor. He made his way to the fridge and yanked it open, the light inside casting a sterile glow over near-empty shelves. He grabbed a beer, popped the cap off with a soft hiss, and let the door swing shut behind him.

Instead of the couch, he dropped to the floor— like he usually did— in front of it with a groan, stretching his legs out and leaning his head back against the edge of the cushion. The beer bottle hung loosely from his fingers as he stared up at the ceiling.

It had been a long day. A long, brutal mission that left more bruises than answers. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and his thoughts refused to settle.

But when he was with her?

Somehow, she made it easier to forget.

Her voice, her warmth, that little smile she gave him when she teased him for being stubborn—it softened the sharp edges of the world. Being near her made everything feel lighter, even if just for a little while.

And now, without her…

The silence just reminded him of what he didn’t have.

He took a sip of his beer, jaw clenching slightly.

He sat there for another ten minutes—back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, the half-empty beer bottle resting on the floor by his side.

Ten minutes of silence.

Ten minutes of trying to convince himself he was fine.

But the longer he sat there, the louder his thoughts got. Every second that ticked by only reminded him of how quiet the apartment was. How cold. How not her.

He leaned his head back, jaw tight, eyes shut. He could still hear her voice in his head—soft, teasing, hopeful.

“Not too late to change your mind…”

A muscle in his cheek twitched.

Why the hell did he always do this? Push her away. Tell himself it was safer that way. That he didn’t deserve the comfort, the warmth she offered so easily. That if he got used to it, losing it would be worse.

But God, he missed her—and he hadn’t even been gone twenty minutes.

With a frustrated breath, he cursed under his breath, the sound echoing off the empty walls. His hand scrubbed down his face before he pushed himself up off the floor in one swift motion.

He grabbed his jacket from where he’d tossed it, pulling it on with rough, impatient movements. His boots thudded across the floor as he stormed toward the door. And then— slam.

The door shut behind him with a sharp bang, rattling in its frame.

He was already halfway down the hall before the echo faded, keys in hand, heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with her.

⸻

She let out a long sigh and let her head fall back against the couch, arms sprawled lazily at her sides. The cushions sank beneath her like they were trying to swallow her whole, and for once, she didn’t mind. She was exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally—but somehow still too restless to fall asleep.

And she missed Bucky.

Even though it had only been an hour. Maybe less.

Her eyes drifted toward the digital clock glowing from the corner of the room. 11:41.

With a groan, she finally peeled herself off the couch, feet dragging as she shuffled toward the bathroom. The floor was cold under her bare toes, and her limbs moved on autopilot as she pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail, letting the loose strands fall wherever they wanted. Then she swapped her mission attire for pajamas—her favorite soft, light blue shorts that barely reached mid-thigh and a worn-in T-shirt that hung loose on her frame.

It took her a second to realize whose shirt it was.

She smiled to herself, smoothing a hand down the faded fabric. Bucky’s. He’d left it behind weeks ago after a late-night movie marathon and never asked for it back. Probably didn’t even remember it was gone. She hadn’t meant to keep it, but it smelled like him for a while—clean laundry and cedar and something warm—and she just… never gave it back.

Still smiling to herself, she padded to the kitchen, reaching for a glass and heading to the fridge for some water. She had just wrapped her fingers around the handle when she was interrupted by someone knocking on the door.

She jumped slightly, blinking. Her head snapped toward the door.

Then, another knock. Firmer this time. Quicker.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she mumbled to herself, placing the glass down on the counter and padding toward the door, the hem of Bucky’s shirt swaying with each step.

She flipped the lock and pulled it open without thinking, still a little dazed from her groggy state.

And there he was.

Bucky.

Standing on her porch, jacket slightly rumpled, his hair a bit windswept from the ride. His eyes met hers, and he froze for a second—just long enough to take her in. The bare legs, the sleep-heavy eyes, the familiar shirt.

His shirt.

Her hand stayed on the doorframe, blinking at him like she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined him into existence.

“…Hi,” she said, voice soft with surprise.

Bucky stood on her porch like he wasn’t entirely sure how he got there. His shoulders were tense, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and his eyes were fixed on the ground like it might offer an explanation.

“I—” he started, then stopped, jaw tightening slightly.

This was stupid. He shouldn’t have come back. What was he doing? Showing up at nearly midnight in the middle of her quiet night just because he couldn’t stand the silence of his own place?

“Um…” he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly avoiding her gaze. “Sorry to bother you, doll. I don’t really know why I came back. I just— I was at my place but then I thought maybe—” he sighed, fumbling with words that didn’t feel right in his mouth. “I don’t know. I just wanted—”

But she was already smiling.

That soft, knowing smile that made his chest feel like it might cave in. Because she didn’t look annoyed or confused or even surprised. She just looked… happy.

And that alone made the tightness in his chest loosen just a bit.

Before he could say another word, her hand reached for his—warm and sure—and gently tugged him inside.

“I was just about to head to bed,” she said over her shoulder, her voice teasing as she led him into the soft glow of her living room. “You’re lucky I was still awake, Buck.”

He followed her in, glancing around like it might suddenly look different now that he was seeing it at midnight. But it didn’t. It still looked like her. Warm lighting, the soft pillows and cozy blanket still thrown across the couch—and not a single trace of discomfort on her face.

Still, his nerves buzzed just beneath his skin.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said again as he slowly sank down onto the couch, jacket still on, hands restless in his lap.

She didn’t sit. Instead, she studied him for a moment, her expression softening as if she could feel the tension still clinging to him.

Then, without a word, she stepped forward—between his knees—and leaned in, her gaze locking onto his.

“Hey,” she said quietly, reaching up to touch his face.

His breath caught.

Her palm rested gently against his cheek, her thumb brushing along the edge of his stubble with a care that made his chest ache. Her touch was warm, grounding. And her eyes—God, her eyes—were so sincere it made his mouth go dry.

“Bucky, baby,” she whispered, her voice slow and tender, “I want you to be here. I prefer it, actually. I’m really glad you came back.”

He didn’t say anything—couldn’t. He just stared at her like she’d said something he never thought he’d hear. And maybe she had.

“Make yourself at home,” she added, giving him one last gentle stroke of her thumb before stepping back. “Let me grab you one of your shirts—you left a couple here, remember?”

And then she was gone, practically skipping down the hallway with her ponytail bouncing behind her, her bare legs moving quickly across the floor. He could hear the light thump of her opening a drawer.

Bucky stayed frozen on the couch, jacket still on, brain still short-circuited.

She called him baby.

Her hand had lingered on his face longer than it needed to. And that smile—that soft, sleepy smile—was still etched into his memory like it belonged there.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand over his mouth.

He was falling hard.

And if he knew one thing it was that he didn’t want to leave again.

When she returned to the living room, Bucky was still sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together as he stared at the floor like it held answers to questions he hadn’t even figured out how to ask yet.

She padded toward him, her heart fluttering somewhere near her throat, the fabric of his shirt folded neatly in her hands. It smelled faintly like him—woodsy and clean, familiar in a way that felt too intimate now that he was actually here, staying the night.

She offered it to him with a slightly awkward smile, her voice coming out just a little too quick. “Here. Thought you might want something more comfortable.”

He looked up at her, taking the shirt from her hands, fingers brushing against hers briefly. His eyes lingered on her face for a second longer than necessary before he nodded, grateful but quiet.

Her hand fell to her side, and suddenly she realized she was fidgeting—tugging at the hem of her own shirt (his shirt) and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

She cleared her throat softly. “So, um… the couch is yours,” she said, her tone half-rehearsed, half-nervous. “I-I’ll grab you another blanket. It gets cold in here sometimes. And there’s an extra pillow in the linen closet, I think.”

It hit her, just then.

He was really sleeping over.

Bucky. In her apartment. For the night.

And not just after crashing from a mission or falling asleep during a movie. This felt different. This was him choosing to be here. Coming back on his own.

Her heart thudded a little faster.

“I mean, just make yourself comfortable,” she added, offering a quick, sheepish smile as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I know it’s not fancy, but the couch is actually pretty cozy. I fall asleep on it all the time.”

Bucky looked up at her again, his expression softer now—less guarded. He seemed to sense the shift in her, how her words were tumbling out a little faster now that the reality of the situation had sunk in.

“I’m already comfortable,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough, a little warmer than before.

Her breath caught for just a second, but she masked it with another nervous laugh. “Okay, well, I’ll still get the blanket,” she mumbled quickly, already turning toward the hallway in a flurry of bare feet and nerves.

Behind her, Bucky leaned back against the couch cushions, the shirt resting in his lap as he watched her disappear again.

And even though he hadn’t laid down yet, or changed, or touched a single pillow—he wasn’t lying.

He already felt more at home here than anywhere else.

⸻

She huffed, turning over in bed for what had to be the tenth time in the past hour. The sheets were cool, the pillow perfectly shaped to her head, and yet she couldn’t settle. No matter how many times she adjusted, how tightly she curled into herself, her mind refused to quiet down.

It wasn’t the late hour or the leftover adrenaline from the mission.

It was him.

Bucky. Out there on her couch.

Alone.

She’d said goodnight hours ago, offering a smile and a nervous pat to the back of the couch before disappearing into her bedroom and closing the door behind her. She thought it would feel normal. Casual. No big deal.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

The silence felt heavier than usual, and the bed—normally her haven—felt far too big. Too cold. Too empty.

She groaned softly and sat up, scrubbing a hand over her face.

It’s just water, she told herself as she slipped out of bed and tiptoed through the apartment. Not checking on him. Just thirsty. Completely innocent.

The soft pads of her bare feet barely made a sound against the floor as she crept through the dimly lit hallway. The living room was quiet, bathed in a sliver of moonlight spilling in through the window.

Her eyes landed on him immediately.

Bucky lay stretched across the couch, his body tense even in sleep. His brow was furrowed like he was in the middle of an intense dream, jaw clenched slightly, one arm twitching ever so often. The blanket she’d given him was now on the floor, kicked off in his sleep, leaving him exposed to the chill in the air.

She frowned, heart tightening at the sight. He looked… restless. Vulnerable in a way he never let himself be while awake.

Carefully, she walked over and picked up the blanket, fingers curling around the fabric as she stood over him. For a second, she didn’t move—just looked down at him, her gaze softening.

She hated seeing him like this. Hated knowing he still fought battles in his sleep.

A small part of her—okay, maybe a not so small part—really did consider dragging him to her bed. Or curling up right there on the couch beside him.

So she did.

She lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle him too much, settling into the small space in front of his curled-up form. The room felt warmer suddenly, the silence now filled with the slow rhythm of his breathing and the soft creak of the couch beneath her.

She reached out, hesitating just a second before her fingers grazed his arm. “Buck,” she whispered, the sound feather-light, like anything louder might shatter the calm.

No response.

So she leaned in a little more, letting her palm press gently against him, her thumb rubbing a slow, soothing arc. “Bucky…”

This time, he stirred—just slightly at first. His eyelashes fluttered, and then he blinked himself into consciousness, slow and disoriented. His eyes landed on her, glassy and unfocused, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or if she’d really come to find him.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep and a little scratchy, barely above a murmur. “You okay?”

She gave him a soft, sheepish smile, one that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I should be asking you that,” she said gently. “You were… twitching. And freezing.”

His gaze dropped, just now noticing the blanket wrapped around him. His brows pulled together slightly. He opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, to explain, but she cut in first, her voice just a notch above a whisper.

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her fingers lingered on his arm, thumb brushing back and forth absentmindedly. “And I didn’t want you out here alone.”

Bucky blinked again, slower this time. The shadows under his eyes looked deeper in the dim light, his exhaustion etched into every line on his face. But there was something else there now too—something softer. Like her words had reached a part of him no one usually saw.

“Come with me,” she said, quieter now, barely more than breath. “Just for a little while. Please?”

The silence stretched between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It just… hung there. Tender and a little tentative.

And then—without a word—he shifted. Sat up slowly, his movements heavy with sleep and hesitation. His blanket fell into his lap, and he looked at her like he was still trying to process the offer, or maybe the fact that she meant it.

Her hand was still on his arm, and when he didn’t pull away, she gave the lightest tug, just enough to let him know she wanted him to follow.

And he did.

Wordlessly, he followed.

When she rose from the couch and offered her hand, he didn’t hesitate. He took it—large, calloused fingers wrapping around hers with a quiet kind of need he didn’t voice. Her grip was light, a silent invitation more than a tug, and he let her lead him.

Down the dim hallway they went, bare feet padding softly against the cool floor. The air felt heavier here, quieter. Like even the walls were holding their breath. Her hand stayed in his, fingers laced loosely, swinging just slightly between them with each step. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was full, weighted with all the things they weren’t saying but somehow understood anyway.

When they reached her room, she pushed open the door and stepped inside without looking back. She padded to the bed, tugging the blanket back with a slow, sleepy sigh before crawling beneath it. The mattress dipped under her weight, the sheets cool against her skin as she scooted over to make room for him. Her heart pounded now, louder than it had in the quiet hallway. This wasn’t just a warm gesture anymore—it was happening. Real. Intimate in a way that felt brand new.

Bucky lingered at the edge of the room.

He didn’t move right away, just stood there in the soft darkness with moonlight cutting across his face from the window. His eyes were on her, unreadable. There was something vulnerable in the way his hands hovered near the hem of his jacket, as if he wasn’t sure if this was okay, if he was allowed to want this as much as he did.

She turned onto her side and propped herself up on one elbow. “I want you here, Buck,” she said softly, her voice warm, full of quiet assurance. “Really.”

That was all it took.

With a deep breath, he peeled off his jacket—slow, almost hesitant—and folded it neatly over the back of the chair by her desk. Then came his shirt, tugged over his head and placed beside the jacket with the same quiet care. She tried not to stare. She really did. But her gaze caught on the slope of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the faint scars that mapped across his skin like old stories left untold.

When he slid into bed beside her, the shift in the air was almost immediate. Everything felt quieter. Warmer. Closer.

At first, they didn’t touch. They just laid there, a few inches apart, staring at the ceiling or at nothing at all. The space between them wasn’t cold—it was charged. Like the air before a storm, or the pause before something shifts.

And then, under the blanket, her fingers found his.

Barely brushing at first. Testing. Wondering.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned slowly to face her, their legs brushing, knees knocking lightly under the covers. His breath warmed the space between them, and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You sure?” he asked, low and careful.

She nodded, her voice just as soft. “Yeah. Stay.”

Something in him melted at that. A wall he didn’t realize he was holding onto eased, and he reached for her, his hand rising to gently cradle her face. His thumb swept across her cheek, slow and reverent, like he couldn’t believe she was real, and here, and letting him be close.

“You’re dangerous when you ask nice,” he murmured, a faint, crooked smile pulling at his lips.

She smiled right back, eyes sleepy and a little sparkly. “And you’re a sucker when I do.”

Their laughter was barely sound—just breath and warmth and something safe between them. The kind of laughter that didn’t need to be heard to be felt.

And then, slowly, carefully, he leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. Their hands stayed tangled beneath the blanket, fingers curled together like they belonged that way. Their legs remained brushed and aligned, soft friction, steady comfort.

And just like that, the weight pressing on her chest all night began to lift.

Sleep didn’t feel so impossible anymore—not with him there. Not with the quiet warmth between them, and the steady rhythm of his breath mixing with hers in the dark.

[lilhughesy]

°•*⁀➷ YOU & LUKE — umich hockey au blurb

you missed

-> associated with this umich hockey gc leaked!

warnings! drunk!reader, mentions of underaged alcohol consumption, alcohol intoxication, slightly suggestive!

It wasn’t like you didn’t drink, because that would be a lie considering the large amounts of parties you attended. However, it had been a while since you’ve gotten this drunk. It was going to be a fun night at the frats with Mark, Ethan, and Dylan. But you lost count after 4 drinks, but something about the music playing at the party along with the sweet taste of the coolers seemed to be the perfect combination for the night.

Luke had gotten out from the drivers seat to meet Ethan, who had practically handed you to him before disappearing back to the party crowd. You giggled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, stumbling and nearly falling into him before he caught you,

“You came!” You exclaimed as Luke’s arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright.

“You asked me to,” Luke chuckled as he carefully opened the passenger door for you, “Ready to head out?”

You hummed as he helped you settle into your seat and your head dropped back against the headrest, “Mhm, I’m a bit drunk.”

Luke rolled his eyes in amusement while reaching over your lap to fasten your seatbelt, “I can tell.”

A smile drew upon your lips, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, my pretty girl,” He said softly before kissing your temple. He slowly retracted, getting ready to close your car door, “Watch your feet.”

You nodded as he shut the door and made his way to get back into the drivers seat. Luke started the car, putting on his open seat belt as he scrolled through his phone, trying to find the right song to play for the short car ride.

He glanced up to see a small frown on your face, “What’s wrong?” He asked with a slight grin etched on his own.

“You missed!” You told him, like the answer was obvious.

His eyebrows raised, “Missed… what?”

“You’re supposed to kiss me, not my hair,” You explained to him with your finger pointing to your lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry baby,” He chuckled before reaching over the centre console, “Let me fix that for you.”

His larger hand cupped your cheek before going to tilt your chin towards his face, “Hi,”

You giggled while staring at his blue eyes, “Hi,”

The smallest, yet sweetest, smile made its way on his face before he brought his face closer to yours. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. You melted into his touch as your hand ran through his curls, you figured that he must’ve just brushed his teeth with how his lips tasted like mint.

He pulled away ever so slightly, “Better?”

“Hmm,” You paused, “I think I might need another to make up for the one you messed up on.”

Luke let out a breathy laugh before leaning down to kiss you again, “Alright that’s enough for now, let’s go back to my place and we can do a lot more of that there.”

“Only kissing?” You teased as you settled back into your seat.

He pulled away from the curb and back onto the street, before giving you a quick yet knowing look, “You know that answer to that.”

Your cheeks turned a light shade of pink as another giggle slipped past your lips, “Thank you for getting me, Lukey.”

“You know that I’ll always come get you no matter what, baby.” He told you as his right hand rested on your upper thigh and the other staying on the wheel.

[rose24207]

I think he loves you more than me now

Summary: When Suho asks his sweet, introverted girlfriend who works in women’s clothing for her employee discount to help his friend Sieun, the unexpected kindness she shows earns her not just gratitude—but Sieun’s rare and heartfelt approval as someone truly good for Suho.

Ahn Suho x reader

Part one

A/N: y’all someone jinxed me. I was almost fired today for no reason help. I think it’s the authors curse. It’s finally out to get me help

Navigation

You’re still working on the first floor of the department store—women’s clothing, where nothing stays hung for more than ten minutes, and every compliment about the mess sounds more like a personal attack.

“Wow,” one lady muttered today, crinkling her nose at a blouse someone else had thrown on the floor. “You’d think someone worked here.”

You just smiled politely, the same way you always do. You’ve learned it’s not worth correcting them. Instead, you hang the blouse back up, smooth its sleeves, and continue folding shirts in the same gentle rhythm.

You’ve changed a little since Suho came into your life—well, not changed, more like grown into yourself. You’re still quiet, still introverted, still way too shy to make small talk unless it’s with someone over the age of sixty or a mannequin. But you’ve also learned to hold your head a little higher. You still hide behind your bangs sometimes, but now your lips twitch into a smile every time you remember Suho holding your hand behind the store and whispering:

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

You’d nearly combusted.

This afternoon, Suho comes into the store looking stressed, his dark brows pinched and his school bag barely hanging onto one shoulder.

He weaves through the perfume counters, then the purses, skips the escalator, and takes the stairs two at a time.

You spot him before he even notices you, and you straighten the display quickly so it looks like you weren’t just admiring his walk.

He finally finds you near the cardigans.

“Babe,” he breathes, all flustered. “Do you… do you have your discount card on you?”

You blink, confused. “Uh, yeah? It’s in my pouch—why?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking awkward for the first time since he met you. “It’s for Sieun. His shirt got ripped yesterday.”

Your eyes widen. “Ripped?”

“Bullies,” Suho mutters. “Some jerks at school. He didn’t want to tell me, but I saw the tear. Got it out of him. Then I told him we’re coming here, ‘cause you work here and you have that magic card of wonders.”

You chuckle softly. “It’s not magic, it’s a 30% employee discount.”

“Same thing,” he says with a smirk. Then, quieter: “You don’t mind, right?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. For you? For your friend? Anytime.”

He grins and kisses your forehead before dashing back upstairs. You watch him go, warmth curling in your chest.

A few minutes later, you spot them. Suho’s voice, animated and teasing, echoes down from the second floor. He’s pointing at something in the men’s section while another boy—shorter, quieter—stands with crossed arms, clearly unimpressed.

That must be Sieun.

You’ve never met him before, but Suho’s mentioned him lots of times.

"He doesn’t talk much."

"He’s insanely smart."

"He sees through everyone, like he’s reading your mind."

Also: "He never likes my girlfriends. But he will like you. I know it."

Sieun looks like someone who keeps his guard up by default. His expression is unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line. His uniform shirt is neatly ironed despite the tear Suho mentioned. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who asks for help.

But when they come down the escalator—with a couple of neatly folded shirts and a plain navy hoodie draped over his arm—you offer them your softest smile.

“Found everything?” you ask gently.

Suho nods and waves Sieun forward. “Go on.”

Sieun hesitates, then steps up and places the items on the counter. “Thank you,” he says, voice quiet but sincere. “I… appreciate this.”

You shake your head lightly. “No need to thank me. Suho told me what happened. I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

Sieun’s eyes flicker up to yours. You expect him to shut down, but instead, something in his expression softens. Maybe it’s the way you’re not making a big deal out of it.

Maybe it’s how your voice is calm, not pitiful. He watches you ring everything up, nimble fingers tapping on the register, checking tags and scanning like second nature.

“You’re fast,” he says suddenly.

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

“At this,” he says, nodding to the register. “You’re good at your job.”

It’s not flattery. It’s an observation. You smile a little, flustered. “Thank you.”

You hand him the final price—with your discount applied, of course—and bag the clothes neatly while Suho chats beside you about school, complaining about math. You catch Sieun watching you carefully, thoughtfully. Not in a creepy way, but more like… analyzing.

Later, after they leave, Suho texts you from the bus.

Suho 🤺: he likes u
Suho 🤺: he literally said “she’s not fake”
Suho 🤺: THATS A BIG DEAL
Suho 🤺: i think ur in the circle of trust now

You laugh so hard you nearly drop a stack of scarves.

A few days later, Sieun comes back. Alone. No Suho.

You spot him wandering the second floor and wave at him from across the balcony. He seems a little unsure of himself but eventually makes his way down.

“Suho had work,” he says as you approach. “But I needed another shirt. I didn’t want to go to another store.” I didn’t trust another worker with my cloths.

You smile at him, motioning for him to show you. “Want help finding it?”

He nods slowly. “If it’s not a bother.”

You lead him upstairs and help him check the racks. He’s surprisingly polite, following behind you like a quiet shadow.

You’re not sure what it is—maybe it’s his silence, or the way he watches things like he’s constantly solving a puzzle—but you find yourself talking a little more than usual.

“This one’s the same cut as the one you liked, but in black,” you say, holding a hanger up to the light. “I can check in the system to see if they still have the beige one, though.”

He nods, studying the shirt. “Black is fine. I trust your taste.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean that to be weird,” he adds quickly. “Just that Suho’s style is… chaotic. Yours is calm. Balanced.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, he’s a little all over the place.”

Sieun looks at you, and for the first time, you see the hint of a smile tug at his lips. “But it works for him. He’s happier now.”

You glance at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “He’s calmer. He jokes more. He used to get into fights all the time, not just with other kids, but with himself. Like he didn’t know where to put all the emotion. But ever since you… it’s like he found an anchor.”

Your throat tightens slightly. You weren’t expecting that.

“I didn’t do anything special,” you murmur.

“You did,” Sieun says, voice steady. “You’re kind. And consistent. He needed that.”

There’s a silence between you two—but it’s not awkward. It’s peaceful.

When you finish ringing up his items, he takes the bag with a short bow. “Thank you again.”

You smile softly. “Anytime, Sieun-ssi.”

As he turns to leave, he pauses. Then, without looking back, he adds, “For the record, I never liked any of his past girlfriends. But you…” He hesitates, then nods. “You’re different.”

Your cheeks burn with warmth as he disappears into the crowd.

That evening, Suho bursts into your messages again.

Suho 🤺: SIEUN TOLD ME WHAT HE SAID
Suho 🤺: do you know how BIG that is
Suho 🤺: he called you “consistent” 😭😭😭
Suho 🤺: I think he loves you more than me now

Wifey 🛍️: I just gave him a discount and helped him find shirts 💀
Wifey 🛍️: It’s not that deep

But deep down… it feels kind of amazing.

A week later, Sieun comes back again—this time with Suho. Suho‘s goofing off, nearly pushing Sieun into a rack near the escalator, but Suho stops to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“My girl,” he says proudly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You ready to discount us into fashion icons again?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile says everything.

Sieun shakes his head but smiles softly. “Honestly, I only come here now for the service.”

And you know, without question, you’re not just Suho’s girlfriend anymore. You’re part of the circle. Fully, finally, warmly in.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa