#reader onshot

[marvelstoriesepic]

Creamy or Crunchy

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky joins you grocery shopping to everyone’s surprise.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Bucky hovering; Bucky knowing his favorite people; little bit of protective!Bucky

Author’s Note: I don’t know what this is but I was in need of some silly fluff. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

He’s been trailing after you since you left the tower, stuck to your side.

Not in an obvious way, not in a manner that would draw stares or second glances, but in that ever-present way of his - like a second shadow or an old instinct that never really shuts off.

You’ve barely gone five blocks to the nearest grocery store, and Bucky has stuck close the whole time, keeping pace without a word.

It caught everyone off guard when he volunteered to come with you.

He had been slouched in his usual spot at the kitchen counter, cradling a cup of coffee he never seemed to finish, and looking like he had nowhere in particular to be. So when he had straightened, eyes trained on how you pulled on your shoes and muttered a gruff “I’ll come with you,” there was a moment of pause in the conversation between Natasha, Steve, Clint and Sam lounging on the couch in the common room.

Even you had blinked at him, thrown off by the suddenness of it.

Still, you didn’t argue.

Normally, grocery shopping isn’t something that interests anyone in the tower. It is a mundane, civilian thing - something of a life most of you had long since left behind.

There are people who handle it, services that deliver whatever you need at the touch of a button. But you aren’t looking for efficiency. You are looking for something real - something that can make you feel like a human being again.

You’d just gotten back yesterday from a month-long solo mission in Vorkuta, Russia. It was rather harsh. You spent those weeks in the cold, in silence, every step a deliberate calculation, every breath rationed as if you weren’t entirely sure when you’d be allowed another. You operated alone, only allowed to talk to Tony once a week for updates. It was the kind of quiet that made a person feel less like a person and more like an echo.

So you need something normal now. Something unremarkable.

No mission, no intel, no carefully rehearsed exit strategies.

Just a trip to the store, because you want to pick out your own food instead of eating whatever shows up in the tower’s stocked fridge. You want to grab things impulsively - maybe a bag of chips you don’t need or a carton of juice just because it looks good.

You want the simple, stupid pleasure of choosing something, just because. Of standing under the fluorescent hum of grocery store lights and deciding between brands of cereal and coffee creamers like it actually matters.

And Bucky, for all his presence, says nothing.

He just walks with you, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes darting between the sidewalk and the people passing by. He is relaxed, but only just. There is tension in the way he moves, like he is running an assessment every few steps, tracking details of things you don’t care about at the moment.

The doors to the store slide open with a mechanical hiss, spilling warm, artificial air onto the street.

Inside, there is that familiar smell of waxed floors and cold produce, the sounds of shoppers, the beeping of registers.

A cart squeaks somewhere to your left. A child giggles near the bakery section. A bored-looking cashier stares blankly at the register screen. A tired-locking employee is restocking shelves.

It’s nothing special. But it feels real and humane in a way you need.

Bucky steps in behind you, scanning the store out of habit, then looking at you as if waiting for direction.

You grab a basket and move forward.

He follows without a word.

You walk through fruits and vegetables in bright, and glassy colors, stacked in neat abundance. The air smells like citrus, earth, the scent of misted greens, and something fairly plastic all slightly overwhelming your senses after a month of smelling mostly cold air.

You extend a hand toward the lemons, fingers brushing the textured skin of one when you feel the weight of the basket shift.

Bucky’s hand curls around the handle, pulling it from your grip and holding it himself.

Your gaze snaps up to him, but he isn’t looking at you. Not directly. His eyes are fixed on the rows of produce in front of you, his brows drawn together just slightly, his mouth set in that endearing little frown.

He stands close. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. Close enough that, if you shifted just an inch, the fabric of his sleeve would brush against yours.

It’s not intentional, this proximity - it’s more like a habit. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it, doesn’t notice the way his presence expands to fill the space between you until there’s almost nothing left.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly, eyes sweeping the fruit display as if it’s something to be figured out rather than casually shopping through.

His metal fingers whir slightly as he flexes his grip around the basket handle.

“This is a lot,” he murmurs, almost absently.

You keep glancing at him. It takes you a second to realize he is speaking at all, his voice being so quiet, a thought that accidentally made its way out.

“What?” you ask softly.

His eyes fall to you briefly, then back to the fruit. His mouth tightens, jaw working, debating whether to explain it or just let it drop.

“Back then,” he says, still not quite looking at you. His eyes scan the apples, the oranges, the rows of neatly stacked avocados and kiwis and papayas flown in from places he never got to see. “You had your basics. Apples. Pears. Some oranges, if you were lucky. But this?” He tilts his head slightly. “This is a lot.”

He doesn’t say it with wonder. He says it with assessment, categorizing this excess, measuring it against whatever memory of the past lingers in the spaces of his mind. Like he is trying to decide if this abundance is a good thing or just another shift in the world that changed without him.

For a second you wonder, if he is talking to you at all - or just thinking out loud, caught between time periods, a man stretched across decades that won’t quite line up.

Your fingers brush the lemons again, grabbing one and carefully putting it in the basket Bucky is holding. “Well,” you mumble, keeping your voice light. “You should see the cereal aisle.”

Bucky huffs out something that’s almost a laugh, something genuine and his eyes land on you again.

You move and pluck what you need. Apples, zucchini, a handful of bright bell peppers. A bundle of fresh basil, its scent still on your fingertips - something Wanda has been asking for. Some mangoes, ripe and golden, the kind Sam offhandedly mentioned craving the other day.

Bucky watches.

He doesn’t reach for anything himself, just keeps his grip on the basket as you fill it and trails closely after you.

His eyes track every motion - the way your fingers test the hardness of an avocado, the way you turn a tomato in your palm, the way you pause just a second before deciding on a bunch of grapes.

He simply observes.

You step over to the plums.

Their deep purple skins glisten under the lights, some nearly black, some streaked with dusky red. You pick one up, pressing it lightly with your thumb, feeling the faint give beneath your touch. Satisfied, you reach for more, slipping them into a paper bag one by one.

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

But you feel him.

The attention he gives you.

His face is unreadable, expression carefully neutral, but there is something behind his eyes - something considering, something caught between memory and recognition.

You don’t know if he realizes you are getting them for him.

You don’t know if he remembers, or if it is just something subconscious, some buried instinct nudging at him in a way he can’t understand.

But you remember. You remember the way he stared at the heap of plums on the kitchen counter weeks ago, the way his fingers had twitched with a want to take one, but he hadn’t. And the way he watched Wanda as she used them to make a pie he didn’t end up eating.

“Do you want some more?” Your voice is casual, warm. And when you glance up at him, he is already looking at you.

Then, almost abruptly, he clears his throat, dropping his gaze. The fingers of his metal hand flex once around the basket handle. He shifts his stance slightly but does not move away from you. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost careful, almost bashful.

“S’ fine.”

But you catch the almost-question in the way his eyes move around, how his fingers tighten and release.

So you grab a handful more and drop them into the bag without a word. Then you fold the top down and place it into the basket.

Bucky doesn’t look away this time.

And he continues wandering along with you through the aisles.

The plums sit among other products and you catch him glancing at them once or twice.

You reach for a carton of eggs when there is a shift.

Not in the air, not in the store itself, but in Bucky.

His posture tightens, his grip on the basket adjusts slightly. You don’t immediately know why, but then you turn your head and see a man standing a few feet away, watching you.

It’s not overtly threatening, not enough to draw attention, but something about his gaze lingers too long, too deliberate. His eyes trace the shape of you, moving slow, assessing. He isn’t leering, isn’t smirking, but the way he looks makes your skin prickle.

He seems to debate if he should say something. Waiting for an opportunity.

You barely have time to move away before Bucky does.

He doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t say a word, just shifts seamlessly into place - between you and the man.

It’s not a dramatic gesture. No sudden motions, no confrontational stance. Just his presence - him planting himself in the way, broad shoulders squaring, jaw setting, scowling.

That man takes his brown eyes away from you and meets Bucky’s gaze, and whatever he sees there - whatever lives behind those icy blue eyes - is enough to make him rethink his interest. He looks away, scratching the back of his head, shuffling back a step, and seems suddenly far more interested in bread.

You exhale softly. Bucky doesn’t move.

He stays right where he is, a silent wall between you and whatever attention you haven’t wanted. His scowl lingers for a second longer before he glances back at you, eyes sweeping over your face as if he is making sure you are fine.

You tilt your head, offering a small, gentle smile. “Everything good?”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how to form those words.

“Yeah,” he mutters, swallowing.

But his stance is still slightly stiff, his fingers can’t stay calm around the basket handle. And he glances, just once, in the man’s direction - making sure he stays gone.

Something warm fills your chest.

You missed him, while you were gone.

He’s always such a grounding presence at your side.

You missed his dry, reluctant commentary whenever the team does something ridiculous.

You missed walking into the common area with him brooding in his usual chair, pretending not to listen to conversations he’d eventually grumble his way into.

He was there when you stepped off the jet yesterday.

It wasn’t necessary for him to be there, it was six in the morning, after all, but he was.

He hadn’t said much - he never says much - but his eyes ran over you in a way that told you he had been waiting. That there was something heavy underneath that furrowed brow and the almost too casual nod he gave you. Something like relief. Satisfaction. And something much more profound.

You remember how he was when you left.

Standing off to the side of the hangar, arms crossed, jaw pressed tight as you made your final checks. It also wasn’t necessary for him to be there, but, again, he was.

He said goodbye briefly, wished you luck, but in the way you felt him watch you board the jet it seemed there was more he wanted to tell you.

And when the engines had roared to life, when the ground beneath you had begun to shrink, you caught the last glimpse of him - standing stiff, pensive, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Now, he walks beside you, trailing just a half-step behind, his grip steady around the basket that should be in your hands, watching you more than anything you’re planning to buy.

Maybe that’s why he came with you.

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t strayed, why he hovers close, why his eyes find you like he is memorizing something he doesn’t want to lose track of again.

Maybe he missed you, too.

He is not grumpy, but there is still a tension in him. Something wound too tight in his shoulders, in the set of his jaw, in the way he glances at you like he wants to say something and then doesn’t.

You can’t have that.

Your eyes scan the shelves as you walk further along, knowing that Bucky will follow.

“What kind of soup does Steve eat?”

Bucky’s brows pull together at your casual question, as if he can’t believe that’s what you asked. “Soup?”

You nod, dead serious. “Yeah. I mean, does he have a favorite? Chicken noodle? Tomato? Something tragic, like plain broth?”

Bucky exhales sharply, almost a laugh and something in him relaxes ever so slightly. He tilts his head back a little as if this is the most absurd thing anyone has ever asked him, but he humors you.

“Steve doesn’t eat plain broth,” he says in that low rasp that sometimes sends a shiver down your spine. Now is sometimes. “He’s got more sense than that.”

You hum thoughtfully, reaching for a can on the shelf, inspecting it like it holds the answer to some great mystery.

“So what is it, then? Something classic? Or does he secretly go for the weird gourmet stuff?”

Bucky steps closer, peering over your shoulder. The fabric of his jacket brushes against your back.

You glance up at him, arching your brow.

“You don’t know, do you?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but his face is soft. The scowl has faded. There is a tug at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, I know.”

“Uh-huh.”

He huffs, reaching past you to grab a can from the shelf, fingers brushing yours briefly. “Clam chowder,” he utters. “There. Happy?”

You blink, genuinely caught off guard. “Wait. Really?”

Bucky smirks, just a little, just enough to be real.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a bit quieter. “Really.”

“Well, then,” you quip, taking the can off his hands and putting it in the basket. “He shall have it.”

Bucky huffs out an amused laugh.

You walk a little slower now, Bucky falls into step beside you. He seems lighter now, his face softened as he watches a little boy excitedly run off to a certain aisle while his mother calls out for him.

You plan on keeping him that way.

You spot a ridiculously, colorful display stacked high with an array of different kinds of peanut butter.

“Creamy or crunchy?”

Bucky blinks, turning to look at you. “What?”

You gesture toward the display like it’s obvious. “Steve. What kind of peanut butter does he eat? Creamy or crunchy?”

There is a beat of silence. Then, something seems to turn alive in Bucky’s expression. His lips twitch as if he suppresses a smirk and doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

“You serious?”

“Deadly.” You fold your arms, tilting your head. “I feel like he’s a creamy peanut butter guy, but I could be wrong.”

Bucky is hovering again, looking at the shelves like this is suddenly a debate worth considering. His arm brushes against your side, but he doesn’t move away.

“You’re wrong.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“He’s a crunchy guy,” Bucky says, reaching for a jar with his flesh hand and inspecting it like proof. “Says the creamy stuff’s got no texture. No character.”

You snort.

Bucky hums, still holding the jar, rolling it absently in his hand. He looks at ease. The basket dangles from his metal fingers as if it weighs nothing, even though it is filled with products.

You watch him.

The tension in his shoulders is practically gone and you know you should probably leave it there, but you don’t.

Because you want more.

More of this, more of him, more of that unguarded space where he forgets to be closed off.

So, you bite your lip and tilt your head at him before asking carefully. “What about you?”

Bucky glances at you, a small crease forming between his brows. “What about me?”

You gesture vaguely. “What kind of peanut butter do you like?”

For a moment, he just stares at you, like the question has never occurred to him before. Like no one’s ever bothered to ask.

You can almost see the gears turning in his head, his fingers tightening slightly around the jar. The hesitation is there. He doesn’t know how to answer. Perhaps he doesn’t know if he has a preference. Or it’s just been a long, long time since someone cared enough to ask.

You wait, patiently.

Finally, he lets out a cough, looking back at the display as if searching for an answer among the shelves. “…Crunchy,” he mutters. “I guess.”

You gin. “Yeah?”

He shifts his weight, looking rather uncomfortable but not in a bad way. Just unsure. This is unfamiliar ground for him, not knowing what to do with the attention.

You reach forward and pluck the jar from his hand before he can second-guess himself.

“Alright,” you say, dropping it into the basket with a decisive little thud. “Crunchy it is.”

Bucky observes you do it, something shimmering in his expression - something soft, a little hesitant, but warm. Like this tiny, seemingly meaningless choice holds a weight to him.

His jaw flexes slightly, as if he is about to say something, but he just exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

But there is no bite to it.

And this time, he is the one to start walking, making sure you come along, staying just a little closer than before.

You are nearing the checkout registers when Bucky suddenly stops walking. It’s so abrupt that you almost keep going, but the absence of him beside you makes you pause.

You turn, finding him standing in front of a shelf, scanning its contents with a strange kind of focus, considering something.

You wait, watching the way his eyes search the options, his brows furrowing slightly. There is no tension in his posture, no obvious reason for the sudden stop - just deliberation.

Then, without a word, he reaches out, grasps a familiar-looking package, and drops it into the basket.

A soft thud.

Your gaze falls down, and your stomach does something strange when you realize what it is.

Chocolate-covered almonds.

The ones you always grab when you’re wandering the tower’s kitchen late at night, mind still wired from a mission, too awake to sleep but too tired to focus on anything real.

The ones you mindlessly snack on when you’re curled up on the couch, half-listening to, half-joining a conversation, or watching a movie.

The ones you didn’t even realize you had a thing for until you see them sitting in the basket between his plums, Steve’s soup, and the peanut butter Bucky prefers.

Your lips part slightly, surprised, searching his face. “You- Why’d you grab these?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate.

“Because you like them.”

Matter-of-fact. Simple. As if it’s obvious.

Just a fact.

Like it’s something he has known all along, something he has cataloged somewhere deep in that careful, quiet mind of his without ever making a big deal of it.

The realization unsettles you - not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that makes your chest feel suddenly too full.

You swallow, the corners of your lips twitching slightly, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

“How do you know that?”

The words leave your lips lightly, bright with curiosity, playful in their demand. But beneath it, there is something you don’t quite let slip.

Something about the fact that he’s been watching.

That he’s noticed.

That he has paid attention in a way you didn’t think anyone has.

His grip on the basket adjusts for the hundredth time, but not because it’s heavy, he just seems to need something to do with his hands.

He schools his expression into something nonchalant, something careless, but it’s betrayed by the hint of warmth dusting across his cheekbones.

“You’re always munchin’ on ‘em,” he says, a teasing edge lacing his voice. He tries to sound smug, like it is an observation, just a simple fact, but there is something softer beneath it. Something like fondness.

You don’t even know if it’s been that obvious. If you truly eat these things out in the open that often.

Or if he just really is that observant.

That realization settles deep in your chest, warm and startling all at once.

So you just huff, pretending like your heart isn’t skipping beats, like his answer isn’t winding around something tender inside you.

“Well,” you remark, nudging his arm as you start walking again, “now I feel self-conscious about my snacking habits.”

Bucky lets out a soft chuckle. And when he falls into step beside you, he leans in slightly, voice just low enough for you to hear.

“Don’t.”

“The most sincere compliment we can pay is attention.”

- Walter Anderson

[riddlesbunny]

buckle bunny

summary: The new girl in town gives Topper a run for his money and Rafe meets his match.

pairing: Cowboy!Rafe x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: alcohol consumption, semi-public sex, p in v, squirting, creampie 18+ MDNI

note: tagging some moots I feel comfy with bc I feel like my Rafe posts get no traction 😅 @angelspitxx @rafescorpsebride @rafeysbangs @rafesheaven no pressure to read just trying to put myself out there *runs away*

It is a warm Friday night and the annual rodeo was the biggest event of the summer, according to your cousin, Kie. She made it clear you couldn’t miss it.

Being well-versed in rodeo yourself, you take her word for it and check it out. You’re not exactly sure how North Carolina will hold a candle to Texas rodeo, but you decide to go anyway. You pull on your boots, pair them with your tightest fitting denim shorts, and make your way to the fairgrounds. You show up late, but try to enjoy yourself anyway, you just wanted to get a taste, anyway.

The smell of hay and barbecue fill the air, blending with the sounds of laughter and the sharp crack of bullwhips — it reminds you of home.

You take it all in as you stroll past booths selling cowboy hats and fried food. You aren’t quite sure what to expect, but when you spot the bronc riders preparing for their turn, your curiosity gets the best of you.

The large crowd erupts into cheers as the announcer introduces the final rider of the night: Rafe Cameron, apparently a local legend. Your eyes were drawn to him immediately. Tall, broad-shouldered, confident. He climbs onto the massive bucking bronco as if it were nothing. His hat sits low over his piercing blue eyes, and his smirk is unforgettable.

When the gate swings open, the horse explodes into the arena, and Rafe moves with it like he was born for this. You catch herself gripping the railing, holding your breath as he stays on for the full eight seconds– you couldn’t deny you were impressed.

The buzzer sounds, and the crowd goes wild. He tips his hat to the audience before hopping off the bronc, completely unfazed.

After the show, you end up wandering over to the food trucks, hoping to grab something to eat before heading over to the local dive. To your surprise, the cowboy from earlier, Rafe, is there, leaning casually against a truck while talking to a few friends. You freeze for a moment, debating whether to approach him, but before you can make up your mind, one of Rafe’s friends—a loud, blond guy named Topper—spots you.

“Well, look at this,” Topper drawls, a sly smirk etched onto his face, “a little Buckle Bunny comin’ to meet the star of the show.”

Your cheeks burn with anger, "buckle bunny” isn’t exactly a compliment.

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe turns, his blue eyes locking onto yours. His smirk vanishing as his gaze moves to Topper, “knock it off, Top.”

Topper just laughs in response.

“What? I’m just saying—”

“You’re done,” Rafe cuts him off sharpy, stepping closer to you. “Sorry ‘bout that, he’s an idiot.”

You lift your chin, attempting to play it cool.

“S’alright, I can handle myself,” you purr, “just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Rafe’s eyes beam at you, “Well? What’d ya think?”

“Not bad,” you reply, letting a small smile slip through, “but this ain’t my first rodeo, I’ve seen better.”

The guys around him erupt into laughter, and even Rafe can’t help but chuckle at you.

“Alright, new girl,” he says, tipping his hat to you, “you’ve got my attention. What’s your name?”

“y/n,” you reply.

“Well, miss y/n,” he said, his voice softening, “I’ll make sure you get a proper tour—minus the idiots.”

He says this, shooting a look at Topper, who just rolls his eyes.

“We’re all headin’ over to the dive bar right down the road if you care to join.”

“Yeah, I was headin’ over that way anyway, I’ll hop in my truck and head out.”

Rafe raises an eyebrow at you.

“You got your own truck?”

“Mhm, I got my own horse too, and I’m a hell of a ride.”

✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧

The divebar is small, but extremely lively. From across the way you can see Rafe being congratulated, you watch him intently as you sip on your drink.

You can’t help but notice that the mechanical bull is starting up, and you figure this is your chance to show your skills off to Rafe and his friends.

You saunter up to the bull with a grin, making sure the boys, especially Rafe, see you throw your jacket off and pull your hair up into a ponytail.

The operator gives you a nod, cranking up the controls as you swing your leg over the make-shift saddle.

“Hold on tight, buckle bunny,” Topper calls, his voice laced with venom.

As the buzzer sounds, the bull lurches forward. Clenching your thighs and moving with it, you allow muscle memory and pure determination to take over. It spins, bucks, and attempts with all it’s might to to throw you off but you hold on for you dear life.

As your gaze meets Rafe’s you can’t shy away from thinking how it would feel to have him bucking underneath you. Rolling your hips in sync with the machine, wetness pools at your core.

Down girl, focus.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the crowd began to cheer, the bull beginning to slow down: you did it!

The cowboys all went quiet, their smirks fading as you swung off the bull with ease, landing successfully on your feet.

✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧ ⋆₊˚⊹♡ ✮⋆˙ ℧

After that, you find yourself in the grimy, dimly-lit bathroom catching your breath when you hear the door creak open.

“That was quite the show,” Rafe says as he comes in, locking the door behind him.

Your cheeks feel hot as you meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Told ya I knew how to ride,” you say with a smirk.

“You’re dangerous, y’know that?” He whispers, coming up behind you, pressing himself into you.

“Definitely not a ‘buckle bunny,’ you’re the real deal… but a little tease like you makes me wanna lose control.”

You can feel his ever-growing bulge beneath his jeans, taunting you with what’s to come.

His calloused fingers glide underneath your shirt and across the smooth skin of your stomach. Your body trembles, eagerly awaiting his next move. Rafe leans in close, his stubble grazing your cheek, “you want me to take for a real ride?”

“Mhm,” is all you’re able to get out as you bite harshly on your bottom lip.

Rafe’s hands grab your hair, tilting your head back, exposing your neck. His tongue tracing a path up from your jaw to your ear, sending a chill down your spine.

He eagerly spins you around and bends you over the sink countertop. You assist in unbuttoning your jeans as he slides them down your legs with experienced quickness, your panties following suit.

His hands caress your ass cheeks before delving into your soft pussy, coating his fingers with your arousal. You moan loudly, bracing yourself against the counter.

“Spread those legs wide for me, babydoll,” he orders, his breath hot on your neck. You comply eagerly, feeling the cool air hit your most sensitive spot.

Rafe takes no time undoing his belt, eagerly ripping his jeans down and pulling his already-hard cock out from the restraint of his boxer briefs.

He guides himself up to your entrance and slowly pushes the throbbing head of his cock inside of you. You gasp as he fills you inch by inch, until there’s nothing left to take.

A loud groan erupts from your chest as his thickness stretches your walls, making you bite your lip to keep from screaming. Rafe grips tightly at your hips as he begins to move, picking up speed with each thrust. He sets a punishing pace, slamming into you with such force that the counter digs into your flesh. He grunts with every thrust, breathing heavily through gritted teeth.

Your moans echo off the walls as he fucks you mercilessly, driving you closer to the edge with every stroke. Your cunt tightens around his pounding cock, squeezing him deeper as you feel pressure begin to build in your belly.

Within seconds you’re pushing Rafe out, squirting all over him and the floor.

He all but roars in response, in this moment in time his attraction to you is primal, animalistic.

“Fuck!!” he cries as he slams himself back inside of you, his pace quicker than before as he reaches his own release. With one final surge deep inside of you, he groans loudly as cum fills your pulsing pussy.

You feel so empty as pulls out, leaving you dripping, wet, and shaking. You look at each other for a moment, both catching your breath as a sly smile appears on Rafe’s face.

“Well, little bunny… I think I’ve finally met my match.”

[fawnnlvr]

miscommunication | spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader

masterlist

summary: in which reader mistakes penelope for fawning over spencer reid and accidently reveals her secret crush on the talkative doctor.

word count: 1.9k

author's note: hiiiii!!!! i have been thinking of this idea for weeks and thanks to summer, it was finally brought to life so enjoy my loves ♥︎

It was a fairly slow morning at the BAU.

Agents were steadily strolling in and settling into their spots to start the long day ahead of them. Placing your jacket on the back of your chair, and your bag on the open space of your desk, you walked towards the coffee bar where your fellow coworkers were talking.

Holding a coffee cup from the local café that was stained with the lipstick you wore, you walked into a conversation the tech analysis, Penelope Garcia, was having with fellow agent, Spencer Reid.

"Hi guys!" you softly greeted as you found your spot beside Penelope.

"Morning." Spencer spoke with a smile. Your hands fiddled with the cardboard around your hot coffee cup as her looked into your eyes with this gentleness that made your heart warm.

"Good morning my sweetness." Penelope greeted with a big smile, "We were just talking about how Hotch was being a meanie and making us finish yesterday's paperwork by this afternoon."

"Oh yeah, I already finished mine. Haven't you guys?" you looked at Penelope who had a guilty smile before your eyes flickered back to Spencer.

"Unfortunately not. I fell asleep as soon as I got home, but if I start now, I can probably finish it in an hour if I really pace myself." he answered your question and you felt yourself unable to meet his gaze once again, instead keeping your focus on either the ground or Penelope.

It really wasn't your fault, it was his. After he got his new haircut, you found it even harder to focus while he was in the room.

Being in a room full of profilers, it was hard fo keep this little secret of yours but you truly had no choice. It could be considered unprofessional and totally embarassing due to the things he made you feel from simply existing.

You have the hugest crush on Doctor Spencer Reid and he was consuming all your thoughts. You always had a thing for nerds— well, smart men who knew what they were talking about and made learning their life mission. You found his love for knowledge and statistics and facts so cute. Whenever he opened his mouth to speak about facts he had mesmorized, you could barely focus.

It was already hard to stop yourself from biting your lip or keeping your gaze off of him, but after his new haircut that perfectly enhanced all his perfect features, you were doomed for failure.

"Well you should get working on that. Hotch seems even more cranky ever since Strauss gave him a little visit yesterday." Penelope advised.

"Good idea. I'll see you guys later." Spencer stated before grabbing his coffee mug and walking back to his desk. He used his hand to brush down the bangs in front of his face, a habit he picked up ever since he got his new haircut.

You allowed your eyes to linger more than it should have on his retreating figure. Looking back towards Penelope, you were almost taken aback from the look on her face— well the look in her eyes.

It was the look of a lion that hadn't eaten anything in days and just spotted a pretty little gazelle. It was a look you were all too famaliar with ever since you caught yourself staring at Spencer and when he left, you caught yourself in the mirror he was previously standing in front of. You scared yourself at that unfortunate moment. You followed her line of vision and she was looking in the same direction you had, towards Spencer.

He was working at his desk, studiously doing what he said he was going to do. Penelope stayed quiet for a few moments and you hadn't mind since you were all too busy thinking about how Spencer's jaw was hand-crafted by angels.

"Man, ever since he got that new thingy, he has been looking even more yummy."

You felt yourself tense a bit. Penelope was always a girl to make flattering comments about everybody so you innocently agreed since she was right— Spencer's haircut did make him look good. "Yeah, he really does look nice with it."

"Ugh, and that way he just fills that shirt in." She took another sip of her coffee and your eyes flickered to her before going back to Spencer, trailing your eyes on the fitted dark plum purple button up.

"He looks good in it. That really is his color." Innocent comments so far.

Penelope hummed, "Sometimes it makes me mad. Like how can somebody look so good— don't even get me started on his voice. Everytime he talks, I can hardly focus."

You had a small laugh as you brought the coffee up to your lips. You really couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth but then again, it was Penelope— she had no filter. She was the type of woman to make anyone feel safe and seen, which is maybe part of the reason you kept agreeing with her and revealed more. "I thought I was the only one who thought that."

"Oh sweetie, I am positive everybody shares the same opinion. I mean look at him— even Hotch or Rossi can't deny his looks. The way he has the ability to command the room with his words alone." Penelope continued.

You did suppose there was a reason Morgan calls Spencer 'pretty boy' and no one bats an eye. "He does have a way with his words."

Penelope looked at you and saw this sort of softness in your eyes as you looked towards the desk area.

"Whenever he spurs out all this knowledge, it makes me feel safe. You know?" you looked towards Penelope, "He always knows what he's doing and what he's talking about. It's just nice to know you can always fall back on him."

"I hear you so much. I don't want to spoil the mood or whatever— I am all for women empowerment, but something about him being so dominating makes me so hot and bothered."

"Dominating?" you whispered under your breath, a little confused.

"You know, I didn't think you would be that into him. This is the first time you agreed with me about him." Penelope commented and you tilted your head.

You thought back to all the times she's mentioned Spencer and you believed you always held a somewhat indifferent view on him. Either that or you let it slip that you quite admired him. "Really? Well it isn't so suprising, I guess I am kind of secretive when it comes to the dating scene since not a lot of people get my type."

"Type? Honey, that man over there is everybody's type. I don't think there is a girl in the world who would pass up an opportunity with him."

You glanced back towards Spencer. She really did have a point. He truly looked like a model, but you supposed his personality sort of deterred people away, but you personally found that the most attractive thing about him.

"He really is a great guy isn't he?" You confessed to Penelope while looking in Spencer's direction and you heard a small gasp. She sets down her coffee cup before covering her mouth.

"My sweetie is that love in your eyes that I see."

You hummed in suprise, "W-What? No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh it so is and don't even try to deny it. The eyes do not lie. I thought there was something going on. You always seemed quiet during the briefings and your eyes were always kept on the ground. I may not be a profiler, but I too, noticd things."

You quietly tried to shush Penelope and she got the message and she pulled you further away from the target of affections.

"Please tell me how it all happened! I need to know! How did this crush start?"

"I-I don't know. It just did. I always found him quite cute—"

"Cute? Aw!" That wasn't how Penelope would personally describe the fox that is Derek Morgan, but to each their own.

"– and he was always just so nice to me and we shared the same interests — and I just really feel comfortable around him."

Penelope had the warmest smile on her face as you recounted the times where you felt the most safest and loved around Spencer. You tucked a hair behind your ear to try to give yourself some time to stop the cheek hurting smile on your face.

"Who would've known that you would have a crush on the muscular—" Hm? "Mister playboy bunny himself–" Excuse me? "—Derek Morgan."

Silence.

"What?" you almost dropped your coffee cup and your eyes quickly flickered back to Spencer and his general direction. There it was.

Whenever you looked at Spencer, there would often be moments where he was the sole focus of your eye and everything around him became blurry and unimportant. Not to say that your fellow coworker was unimportant, but he wasn't exactly a priority in your mind.

There sat Spencer at his desk and behind his figure, was Agent Derek Morgan, laughing on his phone as he caught your eye and waved. You were too shocked — too horrified to even wave back. Derek sort of flinched back in his seat by the look you were giving him. He had never seen you stared at him like that before. You looked at him as if he was a ghost or had a huge bug on his head which caused him to look around. Was he the only you were giving these crazy eyes too?

Penelope was taken aback by your shocked expression and redirected her eyes to the same direction. The wires had connected and a lightbulb of pure chaos had sparked inside her head.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God." Penelope repeated these words as she whisper shouted, slowly increasing her voice.

"Shhh! No!"

"Earlier— the new thingy and him looking attractive. I was talking about Derek's giant new watch— you thought I was talking about Reid's new haircut. Oh and his voice– oh my dear you are getting turned on by Spencer's constant yapping on statistics and facts. You naughty naughty—"

"Okay! Penelope stop!" you practically shrieked, "You didn't hear a word. This didn't happen."

Horrified, you placed your coffee cup down and began to walk backwards, placing a finger against your glossed lips while staring into Penelope's soul.

You inched back further as Penelope had to refrain herself from bursting out laughing. She knew you must be feeling so embarassed at that moment so she did her best to compose herself... until you were out of sight.

You yelped as you had accidently bumped into somebody.

"Are you alright?" Emily Prentiss asked as she steadied you by the shoulders and got you balanced, "And why does Penelope look like she just hacked into the winning lottery numbers."

"Nothing!" you whispered shouted, very loudly, "You both heard and saw nothing!" your fingers threatlessly threatened your fellow older coworkers; one who knew exactly what had transpired and the other being an innocent bystander who walked in at the wrong moment at the wrong time.

Emily and Penelope watched your retreating figure as you ran down the hall, towards the bathrooms.

"What's up with her?" Emily inquired, eyes furrowed with concern.

"Oh, just the sweet illness and craziness of love." Penelope spoke, she then looked at Emily's confused face before bursting out laughing. The loudest laughter she thinks she has ever laughed. Everybody looked at Penelope who was gripping onto the coffee bar table, doubling down on laughter.

The laughter echoed all the way to the bathroom in which you were trying not to drown yourself in the toilet from embrassment.

Hotch came outside his office and took one glance after Penelope before turning to Rossi, "Remind me to get her drug tested later."

Emily quickly fled the scene, not bothering to look back until she was in the safety of her own desk surrounded by her fellow agents who were armed. Spencer paused in his work to find Penelope slowly calming down but still shaking with laughter as she trudged back to her little computer den.

The slow and quiet morning of the BAU turned into a loud mystery of a case the agents weren't sure they wanted to solve.

[rosecoloredsunshine]

wired interview — evan peters

masterlist

PAIRINGS: evan peters x female!reader

SUMMARY: you and evan had been invited to wired to answer some of the web's most googled questions.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, background info for reader had been provided, established relationship, fluff, google translated french, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i just have the need to post this one lol hope you'll enjoy this one! :)

The studio lights were bright, but you were used to it by now. The WIRED setup was familiar—crisp white background, black chairs, and the infamous search board waiting to reveal the internet’s most pressing, bizzare, and occasionally ridiculous curiosities. You glanced at Evan beside you, who was shifting excitedly in his chair. He shot you a smile, eyes crinkling the way they always did when he was genuinely happy.

“Ready to expose our deepest, darkest secrets?” he teased.

“Oh, absolutely. I came prepared to be utterly humiliated,” you quipped, adjusting in your seat.

The crew had given you and evan a thumbs-up, cameras now already rolling, and the crew’s voice drifted from off-screen.

“Alright, we’ll start with Evan reading questions about you, then we’ll switch.” The crew had instructed.

“Got it,” Evan said, rubbing his hands together dramatically. “This is gonna be good.”

Another crew handed Evan the board, the classic white rectangle with strips of paper concealing the questions.

He lifted it with a flourish. “Okay, question one! How old are you?” he peeled away the first strip, and looked at you, eyebrow raised before smirking. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“Timeless,” you replied smoothly, leaning back with a smug smile.

Evan snorted. “Yeah, yeah, immortal, ageless, basically a vampire. Noted.”

“Pretty much.”

He moved to the next strip. “Where—” he paused, “where are you from?”

“I was born and raised in Monaco, but I moved to Boston when I was six.”

Evan glanced at you, mock-impressed. “Ooh, fancy.”

“Oh, incredibly fancy,” you joked. “I had the whole Grace Kelly aesthetic going on. Swans, palace gardens, and maybe even a tiara.”

He let out a soft laugh before ripping off the next strip. “How tall are you? Oh, I know this one. You’re like, five-foot-two, right?”

“Haha,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes, feigning annoyance. “I am five-seven, thank you very much.”

“Really?” he deadpanned, leaning closer with wide eyes. “Because I could've sworn—”

“Keep making fun of my height and I’ll hide all your sneakers before our next press event.”

“Threats already? We’re only three questions in!” he grinned and moved on. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Three,” you said as you put up three fingers. “English, French, and Italian.”

“Show off,” he teased.

“Tu as de très beaux yeux,” your voice was soft, the French rolling off your tongue smoothly as you leaned closer to him.

Evan flushed, laughing nervously. “I have no idea what you just said, but I feel both flattered and mildly threatened.”

“Good,” you laughed softly. “I just said that you have very beautiful eyes.”

“Oh,” he said, cheeks turning beet red. “Yeah, I mean—thanks.”

You watched him flounder, smiling widely and thoroughly amused at the same time.

Evan then ripped off the next strip. “Okay, next up. What is your favorite song?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “If we’re talking about my current favorite, it’s probably ‘You’re So Vain’ by the one and only, Carly Simon.” you couldn't resist breaking into a song. “You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you…”

Evan decided to join in, voice terrible but enthusiastic. “Don’t you? Don’t you?”

You both dissolved into laughter, with the crew chuckling behind the cameras.

“Alright, next one,” Evan said, wiping a tear from his eye. He tore off another strip, then burst out laughing. “Oh, wow. The internet’s bold, huh. Are we dating?”

You grinned, leaning back with folded arms. “I’ll let you handle that one.”

Evan’s cheeks turned pink, but he rolled his eyes playfully. “Well, considering we’ve been promoting our rom-com movie together for months, I think it’s safe to say that the internet’s just invested.”

He looked at you, expression softening. “But, I mean, if they’re asking if we’re, like, officially together? I dunno. Should we make it a mystery? Keep the suspense alive?”

You laughed. “And keep the tabloids working overtime? Oh absolutely.”

Evan shook his head with amusement, moving on. “What is your zodiac sign?”

“(your sign),” you answered quickly. “Which basically means I’m emotional, imaginative, and probably crying over dog videos when I should be doing something important.”

“That tracks,” Evan said with a grin. “I’ve definitely caught you sniffly-eyed over a random cat rescue video more than once.”

“They’re heroic little guys!” you defended, crossing your arms.

“Alright, next question…” Evan trailed off as he peeled another strip. “Do you actually like Evan Peters or are you just pretending for the movie?”

You scoffed, overplaying your offense. “Oh, I can’t stand him guys. The absolute worst. Have you heard his laugh?”

He cracked up immediately, laughing loudly and uninhabited. “Oh, well played.”

You giggled softly. “But in all seriousness, he’s alright. Decent co-star. I guess I’d recommend him if anyone’s hiring.”

“Wow, heartwarming, truly.” Evan shook his head, still grinning. “Alright, switching boards now. Ready to be roasted?”

“Oh, born ready,” you challenged.

The crew handed you the board of Evan-related questions, and you eyed him, smiling mischievously.

“Okay, first question,” you peeled the paper away. “How old is Evan Peters?”

He gave you a side-eye. “Considering you’re timeless, I should be, like, ancient, right?”

“You’re practically a fossil,” you teased. “But if I recall, you’re…thirty-eight?”

“Ding ding ding!” he cheered, pretending to throw confetti in the air. “Next!”

You tore off another strip. “Where is Evan Peters from?”

“St. Louis, Missouri. You know, the land of gooey butter cake and toasted ravioli?”

Evan’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you remembered the ravioli thing!”

“Yeah, mostly because you wouldn't shut up about it when we first met.”

He chuckled. “It’s that good.”

The questions kept coming, ranging from silly ones like ‘what is Evan Peters’ shoe size?’ which you guessed wrong, of course, much to his delight—to downright absurd ones like ‘does Evan Peters own a raccoon?’

“I don’t!” Evan said, looking genuinely confused. “Why would anyone—”

“I mean, I can see the vision,” you countered, barely holding back your laughter. “Naming it bandit, dressing it in a tiny leather jacket.”

Evan pretended to consider it. “Actually, that sounds incredible.”

“Great! Now, someone’s going to gift you a cute raccoon during our promotion, or comic con.”

“Oh god,” he groaned, but still smiling.

The entire shoot was chaos and laughter, with both of you going off-track multiple times. By the end of the filming, your cheeks are hurting from grinning so much.

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” one of the crew members called, but the camera’s were still rolling.

Evan turned to you, eyes shining. “We should do this kind of stuff more often.”

“Yeah! It’s a really fun experience,” you smiled at him softly, and put up your hand for a high-five. “Put it there, partner!”

When his palm met yours, he caught your fingers, intertwining them with his own, and tugged your chair closer to his.

“C’mere,” he whispered, voice soft as he pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your temple.

You turned to look at the camera, smiling, and Evan sent a playfully wink.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[faithschaoschronicles]

Fire and Ice||Ridoc Gamyln x GN!Reader

Summary — Ridoc and Y/n love to tease Xaden and Violet while ignoring their own feelings until Xaden calls them both out.

Reader is a fire wielder and their dragons name is Cináed and he’s a green dagger tail.

Word count — 954

No Spoilers in this!!

The flight field buzzed with the usual post-training chaos. Dragons stretched out on the scorched ground, riders sparred, and the low hum of casual banter filled the air. Ridoc sat perched on the edge of a rock , juggling a chunk of ice between his hands like he had all the time in the world.

“You know,” he drawled, tilting his head toward Xaden and Violet, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear the two of you are this close to announcing your engagement.” He held up his fingers a hair’s width apart.

Violet’s head snapped up from where she was adjusting her riding straps, her eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about, Ridoc?”

“Oh, come on,” Ridoc replied, his grin widening. “The constant bickering, the broody stares, the way you always stand just close enough that if someone accidentally pushed you, you’d fall into his arms—it’s like watching the opening act of a bad romance novel.”

Y/N, standing beside him, stifled a laugh. Ridoc was relentless, but he wasn’t wrong. “He’s got a point. The dramatic tension alone is exhausting to witness.”

Violet’s mouth opened, but Xaden cut her off, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, right, because you and Ridoc are the picture of self-awareness. Good to know you’ve got such a handle on relationships.”

Ridoc’s smirk didn’t falter, though his stomach twisted at the dig. “Touche, Riorson, but I don’t recall this being about me. Maybe I should keep track of your bickering for research purposes —Riorson and Sorrengail: A Study in sexual tension and bickering Violet turned fully to face him, her arms crossed. “We do not bicker!”

Ridoc raised his eyebrows, leaning slightly toward Y/N. “You hear this, too? Are we both hallucinating the daily arguments? Is it something in the water?”

Y/N snorted, shaking their head. “No hallucinations. I distinctly remember Violet calling Xaden a ‘condescending tyrant’ this morning. Very poetic, by the way.”

Xaden scowled, crossing his arms. “I wasn’t being condescending. I was being logical, which is a foreign concept to some people.”

“Oh, please,” Violet shot back, her face flushing. “You just hate when anyone disagrees with you. Admit it.”

“Me? Disagree? You’re the one who—”

Ridoc groaned loudly, cutting Xaden off. “Gods above, stop flirting in front of us! It’s unbearable.”

Xaden’s dark gaze swung to him. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Gamlyn. Considering…” He trailed off, his tone going from sharp to smug in an instant.

Ridoc froze, the sarcastic comeback dying on his lips. “…Considering what?”

Xaden leaned casually against the railing, his smirk more lethal than usual. “Considering that you and Y/N are just as bad, if not worse. At least Violet and I aren’t in denial about our feelings.”

Y/N blinked, heat creeping up their neck. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Violet, clearly enjoying this turn of events, chimed in with a laugh. “Oh, I love this. Please continue, Xaden.”

Xaden didn’t need further prompting. “It means that every time you’re around each other, it’s like watching a storm trying to figure out if it’s going to snow or catch fire. And it’s loud—mentally speaking.” He tapped his temple. “The constant internal monologues are deafening.”

Ridoc coughed, the air around him cooling significantly. “I don’t know what you think you’re hearing, but I’m pretty sure you’ve hit your head one too many times, Riorson.”

“Really?” Xaden’s smirk grew sharper. “Because I distinctly remember hearing you mentally workshop a terrible pun ‘no wonder y/n is a fire wielder they are so hot’’ this morning.”

Y/N whipped around, their faces burning hotter than their flames. “You what?”

Ridoc opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Great. Just fantastic. Thank you, Riorson. Appreciate you airing my internal cringe for everyone to hear.

Xaden wasn’t done. “And Y/N? You’re not much better. ‘Why does his stupid smirk have to be so distracting?’ ‘Why does he have to look so good when he’s being annoying?’ Shall I go on?”

Ridoc tried to laugh it off, though his heart was pounding. “Wow, Xaden, ever think about a comedy career? Killing it with this routine.”

Y/N crossed their arms, glaring at Ridoc. “Is he right? Did you think that?”

Ridoc faltered, his usual sarcasm nowhere to be found. “Okay, look. Maybe Xaden’s not entirely wrong, but—”

“But what?” Y/N pressed, stepping closer.

Ridoc sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt the air grow warmer as Y/N’s body heat flared faintly. “But you don’t get it, Y/N. You’re… you. Smart, sharp, stubborn as hell. And me? I’m just the class clown. I didn’t think I even had a chance.”

Y/N’s heart skipped at the admission. For all of Ridoc’s jokes and teasing, there was something achingly sincere in his voice. “Ridoc, you idiot,” they said softly. “I’ve been trying to hide it, too.”

Ridoc blinked, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Wait. Are you saying…?”

Y/N rolled their eyes, stepping even closer until their warmth clashed with his chill. “Yes, Ice Boy. I like you. Are you going to do something about it, or should I?”

Ridoc’s grin turned playful, though his eyes were softer than usual. “I’d hate to step on your dramatic moment, Firefly, but…” He reached out, frost curling lightly over his fingertips.

Y/N grabbed his hand, the warmth melting the ice instantly. The spark that passed between them was undeniable.

Ridoc’s dragon Aetrom sighed heavily. “Finally. I was starting to think they’d combust from sheer tension.”

Y/N’s dragon Cináed rumbled in agreement. “Humans are so slow when it comes to their feelings”

Aetrom lets out a huff “painfully slow.”

[littlemissaddict]

So I've just come across a post with the head cannon that Eddie fake fucks his friends anytime they bend over (If this was your post I agree I can totally see this happening) but hear me out here...

What if fem!reader is the only one he doesn't do it to, out of respect for her and because he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable. Then one day they're at his trailer maybe smoking a little, the older ones that is none of the kids as Eddie/Steve would never allow it, they're not completely high but just so that they're brains are slightly hazy and they're looser than usual in the way they act.

She leans across the arm of the couch to pass something to Robin just as Eddie is passing and he sees and just as he does to the guys when they do this he grabs her hips and just thrusts his hips against her ass and she unexpectedly moans in response, the weed lowering her guard so that she's unable to control the moan. Everyone, including the two of them freeze, all eyes on them in their awkward position. She can feel her cheeks heat in embarrassment and she tries to pull away from Eddie, ready to explain herself as when she turns to him she fully expects him to be disgusted with her but as she brushes against him she can feel that he's half hard and his face shows a mixture of shock and arousal.

"Well that is an awkward conversation none of us want to be here for" Steve announces standing us, Robin following and Steve ushes Jeff and Gareth out of the door telling them he'll drop them off.

It's quiet when it's just left to the two of them, a tense silence rather than the usual comfortable one that they occasionally drift off into. Until it leads to both of them awkwardly revealing their crushes on the other as they try to figure out what now?

[make-me-imagine]

Headcanons + One Shot: Crush {R.Z}

Scenarios/Headcanons + One Shot: What Zoro is like when he has a crush on you

Pairing: OPLA Roronoa Zoro x Gn!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Words: 1.5k (Headcanons ~400 ; One Shot 1.1k)

Zoro is well aware of his feelings, BUT he does not portray them in the way he thinks he does.

When he realized he had feelings for you, and that they were not going to go away anytime soon, he decided to embrace them.

You noticed a slight change in his behavior towards you.

He would talk to you more often, listen to you more closely than before.

He could compliment or encourage you more often, even if it was in a 'Zoro' kind of way.

'Hey at least you didn't fall off the ship this time.' 'Good job, next time you might actually succeed.' 'That was an improvement from last time at least.'

Though you noticed the way he changed, you were not aware it was because he had feelings for you. You assumed he had just accepted you as a friend.

Not that you were complaining, you weren't. You had a crush on the green haired swordsman from the beginning.

So any improvement was great.

In Zoro's mind, the meaning behind his actions were obvious.

So when you did not reciprocate, or seem to acknowledge them, he was afraid you did not feel the same.

His nonchalant behavior, slowly became more desperate.

Especially when you seemed to be growing closer to Sanji.

Zoro hated the idea of not receiving your affections, but not receiving them because of him, almost infuriated him.

And just as quickly as Zoro acted more friendly towards you, he was suddenly more withdrawn, though, you noticed the way he would silently hang round you.

Now you were even more confused.

There were no more compliments, no more casual conversations. But he always went with you wherever you went.

If you split up on an island, he would go with you. If you were hanging out in the kitchen with Sanji, Zoro would be sitting at the table, often glaring at Sanji, though this was no different than before. During a fight Zoro would remain close to your side.

His behavior constantly threw you through a loop and you weren't sure what to do about it.

"So what did you do to Zoro this time?" You asked Sanji as you leaned against the railing of the ship.

Sanji huffed as he reeled in his fishing line.

You glanced over to Zoro, who was lying on the railing of the ship across from you, his eyes glaring at Sanji as if he was trying to push him into the water with just his mind.

"I don't think it's me who did something."

You gave him a quizzical stare and he smirked. You pointed at yourself "Me?"

He nodded as he chuckled. "He only glares at me like that when you are around. Otherwise he usually leaves me alone."

You furrowed your brow as you looked back over at Zoro, catching him looking away like he had been caught.

"I don't get it, what does he think is happening?"

"Maybe he thinks I am harassing you. He does seem particularly protective over you."

It was your turn to laugh. "Protective of me? Zoro?"

Sanji nodded with a wide smile, "Don't tell me you didn't notice how he follows you around everywhere."

"Wh- well yeah but...I didn't really think much of it I guess."

"Well you should start."

Sanji's words lingered with you throughout the day, and more and more, you noticed Zoro's attention on you. You had noticed it before, but never to its actual extent.

Even though he had withdrawn from talking to you as much, his eyes followed you everywhere, and he was always within earshot of you. Anywhere you looked, he was nearby, napping, drinking, sharpening his swords, lounging.

And now, as you were fixing a tear in one of the sails, he was lying about ten feet away, appearing as though he was asleep, though you knew better now.

Distracted by your gaze on him, you let out a hiss as you stabbed yourself with your needle. Zoro's eyes shot open at the sound as he looked over at you.

As you looked at the small hole in your finger, a shadow crossed over you. Looking up you saw Zoro staring down at you and your heart skipped a beat.

Crouching down, Zoro took your hand as he looked at your finger. Butterflies swirled through your stomach, "It's just a small poke."

Zoro looked up and met your eyes, "You should still be careful."

You nodded silently, your eyes locked with his. Clearing his throat, he let go of your hand and rose to leave.

"Zoro."

He stopped in his tracks before looking back down at you. Your gaze made his heart flip.

"Did I do something?"

He frowned as he looked down at you, wracking his own brain to understand what you meant.

"What?"

You swallowed nervously, "Well, before, you were so talkative to me, and nice, and then suddenly you stopped. I was just wondering if I did something."

Zoro hadn't realized you noticed he withdrew from you and guilt washed over him. "You didn't do anything."

"Then why? I thought we had finally gotten closer."

He let out a soft sigh before he stepped forward and knelt back down in front of you. He tilted his head to the side as he gazed at you, making your ears and neck grow hot.

"I-" as he hesitated, uncertain of what to say, you gaze patiently at him, only making him feel more nervous.

He let out a sigh as he hung his head, "I don't know what to say."

You smiled softly, "You've never really been good with words. So let me help."

Looking up, his heart flipped at the sight of the soft smile on your lips.

"You started treating me differently, more friendly than before. Then, all of a sudden you stopped. Yet you still seem to always be around me."

The more you spoke, the more unevenly his heart raced.

"And, any time I'm with Sanji, you look as though you could throw him overboard. Though, that is not entirely out of character, it seems to be for a different reason then usual."

Zoro swallowed nervously as he looked around, glad it was still just the two of you on deck.

"Zoro."

His eyes shot back to yours and he could see you repressing a smile.

"Why is it so hard to tell me you like me?"

Zoro seemed to freeze for a moment as he took in your words. Why was it so hard? You obviously figured it out, and you didn't seem to be repulsed by it. So, would it be okay?

"I- I don't know."

His comment was an admittance in itself and your heart raced painfully fast. You bit the inside of your lip, waiting for him to say more, hoping he would.

"I've never felt this before."

You saw the way he was wringing his hands nervously.

"This?"

He let out a soft sigh, you really weren't gonna give up till he said it clearly huh? His lips curled as he met your eyes again.

"When I see you my heart races, quicker, more painful than even when I'm in the middle of a fight. My hands get sweaty, I forget my words. When you enter the room I feel my breath vanish, and when you leave the room I feel the overwhelming urge to follow you. I want to be around you all the time, I want to watch over you, protect you, keep you safe and sound. I want to see you smile and hear you laugh, and I want to be the cause of it. I want-"

Realizing the bright look in your eyes and the way you were repressing a grin, his chest tightened and a smile spread across his own face.

He let out a soft sigh. "I want to keep feeling these things. They scared me at first, but I want to keep feeling them. I want this. I want-... I want you."

Allowing the grin you had been repressing to stretch across your face your eyes were shining with excitement and emotion. "If you were feeling all of those things why did you distance yourself?"

He sighed, "You seemed to be getting close to the waiter."

You giggled softly, "We're friends, crew-mates, but I don't have feelings for him if that's what you were worried about."

"You don't?" You shook your head, "Any?"

You shook your head again with a soft chuckle, "None at all. Any feelings like that are reserved for someone else."

Zoro swallowed as he cleared his throat. "Anyone I know?"

"You might! Tall, swordsman, green hair, quiet, not great with words or emotions."

Zoro chuckled, "Sounds like a catch."

"I think so."

Zoro moved closer to you, his eyes scanning your face, "And if this guy finally get's his head out of his ass and asks you out?"

You grinned at him, "Then I would gladly say yes."

"Well it's a good thing he has then."

"Yes, it is."

xx End xx

Kind of an odd ending, but whatever lol its my first time writing anything on this blog for a while.

General Taglist:  @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry, 

One Piece Taglist: @fangirlextraordinaire, @smileykiddie08 Zoro: @murnsondock,

-Taglist Form-

[simping-writting-mess]

Furina is the type of friend who helps you run through all your closet in order to find the best outfit for a date. After all, she knows what would make Neuvillette speechless.

[itsabea]

March x Reader - Oneshot: Secret Whispers

Description: You and March haven't been dating for long, and lately he seems a bit withdrawn. You don't know what's going on or what to think at first, and no one else seems to know either. While you aren't suspicious of him cheating or anything, you are sure that he's hiding something..

Warnings: slight angst, swearing, March is a softie, a bit long,

i was out of ideas and did a prompt generator when 'secret whispers' came up and i had this idea and i just couldn't not-

Your boyfriend was the only person you knew who could zone in on things so expertly. Whether it be a work request for anything but nails, you, or even when he's curious or interested in something. He would zone in like there was no tomorrow.

And while you found that fact amazing, and so dang cute to witness, right now March was fully zoned in on something - but you had no idea what it was. You had asked Olric and Ryis about what he seemed so busy with lately, but neither were aware of what he was doing.

It wasn't that March was ignoring you either, since he'd always give you a kiss on the cheek when passing each other, and would still spend time with you. But the fact still stood that you felt March was.. Brushing you off. Like he was doing something that he felt was very important. It had you feeling left out is all.

Of course, the thought of March cheating had never stayed long, or had even been humoured in your mind. He just wasn't the type to be able to: one, socialise with other people easily, and two: be able to make a bond with other people easily. March really just wasn't built that way.

One thing you did entertain was that he might simply be doing some work for out of town buyers. It was probable enough, but still left you confused about the state it had put March in. I mean- He was in the zone. So zoned in and focused on.. Whatever he was doing, that he even missed joining the latest Friday night get-together at the Inn.

You hadn't yet confronted March about what he was doing, but figured it was about time you got an answer- Or at least a hint at what he was up to. Which lead to this very moment of you approaching March as he worked away at the Forge.

"Hey, March?" You asked, stretching your head up and out on a slight angle as you spoke, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he was working away at. "Yeah? I'm a bit busy with this stupid nail order.. But what's up?" March said back, ceasing his clanging for a moment as he turned his head to the side and gave you more of his attention.

"Oh, I've just been wondering if you got a commission lately. You've been really.." You paused for a moment, not wanting to mention that he was 'in the zone'. "You've just seemed really busy lately." You finished, smiling as he looked back at you with questioningly.

"What are you-" His slight squinting and frown disappeared when March cut himself off. It was a mere beat of silence before he spoke up again, prompting you to notice the slight tinge of colour on his ears when he turned his head from you and focused back on the nails he was making.

"Don't worry, it's nothing." March said, although a bit too quickly, before elaborating slightly. "I won't be busy for much longer.. Don't worry- Oh, and make sure you're not busy this Wednesday, okay?" March said before hammering away at the soon to be nails again. Thankfully, you weren't busy Wednesday, but you still didn't know much about what March had been doing lately, let alone the new mystery of why he wanted you free that Wednesday.

While on your way home, you ended up passing Olric and Errol in the Town Square, and caught part of their conversation before leaving earshot. "I swear I saw March doing some kind of.. Jumping dance a few nights ago in the Narrows. It was such a strange sight." Errol said as Olric spoke up after. "Hmm.. I'll have to ask him. But that reminds me that I noticed him using a new temperature at the Forge last week.."

The conversation they had kept with you all throughout the days leading up to Wednesday, where you now sat at your spot by Caldarus. He wasn't the biggest fan of March, but Caldarus was still willing to listen to your ramblings about said boyfriend, and today was no different.

"So, do you know when he'll get here?" Caldarus asked you, prompting you to sigh out with a very visible pout. "No.... I forgot to ask.. And I've been so busy trying to figure out what he's up to that it slipped my mind.." You admitted, slumping into your now propped up hand as you waited next to Caldarus for most of the late morning.

You had quickly fed your animals before you started waiting, but now you had watered your crops, pat your animals, and fished a bit in the river by your farm. And March still hadn't shown up.

The sun was starting to set now, and a pool of sadness began to sit in your stomach. Just as you started your walk back to Caldarus, wanting to confide in him about March not showing up today, you heard the familiar tune of March calling your name.

"Hey, you ready? Sorry I'm a bit late, I-" "Wha- I've been waiting all day!" You said in exasperation as you made your way towards him in a huff. "What do you mean? I mailed you the time of our date." March said with a frown as he looked over at your mailbox. "No you-" Turning, you found a letter half sticking out of said box, prompting your face to go beat red in shame.

How could you have missed that all day? To be fair, you had gotten a bit excited about what March might have wanted you free on Wednesday for.. Only to get mad when he didn't show up.... The slight chuckle that escaped your boyfriend didn't go unnoticed by you, having you look up at him with tired, watery eyes.

"Hey- Wh-" March started after receiving the look you sent him, full of exhaustion that combined with sadness. "I-" You took a moment to gather your words. "I'm tired.. I'm upset with you.. And I need a shower." You said, still slightly muddy and sweaty from your work, despite having not done too much due to the nice clothes you had put on for today.

"Ah.... I guess that's partially my fault.." March admitted, turning to look away from you for a moment, only to look back and swiftly pick you up. "March! What-" "Let's get you cleaned up, and then I'm carrying you to our date. Unless you don't feel like it, then.. I guess I'll try to reschedule somehow." March said, taking you straight to your house and helping with what he could of getting you cleaned up.

You started feeling better as March helped take care of you. He was showing you so much care and attention that the past while of him being busy seemed to melt away. Of course, you hadn't forgotten your curiosity of what he's been up to, but you only decided to raise the question once your energy had mostly returned, and once you agreed and were being carried off to the date he had planned.

"So.. Why have you been so busy lately?" You asked while cradled in his arms, on your way to the Eastern area across from you and Celine's. "You'll find out." March replied with, a slight smiled attempting it's way onto his face as you frowned at him. But when you turned back forward as you entered the Eastern Road side of Town, you were at a loss for words.

Jars filled with fireflies were littered about the area around the ponds, lighting up the ground in a magical way that had you astounded. March was slowly putting you down, allowing you to walk before taking your hand and slowly leading you across the bridge and towards spot with the lone bench and pear tree.

You continued looking around breathlessly, watching the jars you'd get closer to with great interest as the fireflies would twinkled about inside. Before you knew it, you were already at the bench by the larger pond, still staring in awe as March finally spoke up beside you. "I take it you like my surprise? Just so you know, those fuckers were real hard to catch." He said, knowing pride already set in his voice as you had to ask for solid confirmation.

"You did this?" You asked, turning from the breath taking scene before you to look at March beside you, who was still holding your hand. His eyes softened as he looked from you to your hand and back, slowly bringing you hand up towards him as he bowed his head and softly kissed the top of it with a smirk. "You answer me first; do you like it?"

You could only breathe out your reply as you tore your gaze away from March and back out at the display he had done for you. "Yes.." You said, barely above a whisper as you felt March straighten up slightly, only to lean in next to your ear.

"Good." He whispered back, the satisfied smile showing through his words. "I love you." March added after a second of silence, leaning down to kiss your hand again as your face erupted with a deep hue.

[writersblockedx]

Something Inappropriate: Chapter Three

Pairing - Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary - Spencer takes Y/n in, doing anything in his power to offer her comfort while she seeks safety in his apartment. Warnings - Mentions of toxic relationship, i think that's it x Words - 2.1K

Masterlist

Spencer Reid's apartment was exactly what Y/n expected but also not at the same time. Of course, his living room/kitchen area was lined with bookshelves, literature ranging from philosophy to quantum physics. All of the spines broken in. He had a leather couch, exactly like the one in his office only bigger and filled with a couple of plush cushions. He had spots filled with plants which were dying for some water but no other sign of life.

Y/n didn't know much about her professor's personal life. Only the information he spoke about in lectures - which barely ever exceeded his past workings alongside the BAU. However, she expected something more to him than well, himself. She first imagined him with at least a girlfriend, wife maybe. But, whenever she had been in his office, all that sat at his desk was a frame pictured of his team and another of him and, who she assumed was, his mother.

He wasn't a recluse, but he certainly seemed introverted. At the very least, Y/n had almost expected a dog or some small pet coming up and greeting her. But, within one glance, she came to realise the only other living thing in this apartment was the withering plants.

"I hope you don't mind the mess," Y/n gazed back around the room; on her terms, this was tidy. "I didn't realise I'd have company."

Y/n shrugged, still shaken from the events of the day, "Dont worry about it." Maybe she needed to clean her own flat if this was what the man considered a mess.

Suddenly, Spencer became very aware of himself. His hands fidgeted at the top of his trousers as he spoke, "Do you want anything? Food? Drink? I have erm-" He was already moving towards the wooden cupboard above the stove, "I have this tea," He graspped a small, unopened box of British tea that the girl didn't recognise. "One of my co-worker likes to try all of them, they're not really my thing." He rambled.

Y/n only shrugged once more, "Sure, I'll try it."

Spencer grabbed two cups, brewing himself a pot of coffee and attempting to make the tea which Penelope had given him. Within five minutes, he wandered over to the sofa and passed the girl her drink. "One of my team members worked in London for a little while, so," He offered an awkward smile.

"Is she the one for gave you the tea?" Y/n questioned as her knees found her chest and she blew against the boiling drink.

The boy laughed in a whisper, "No, no. Our technical analyst visited her once and demanded we all try the different types of teas from over there." He explained.

"I'm guessing you didn't like it then?" She asked.

He shook his head, "Not my thing." And Y/n looked back to the tea, letting it's scent fill her nose; surely it wasn't so bad. She sipped at it, the warmth of the tea filling through her lungs. It wasn't as bad as Spencer made it out to be. A similar taste as coffee: acquired. And, in her current state, she didn't care what she was drinking. All Y/n cared for was whether she was safe or not. When she glanced over at Spencer she felt safe, she felt comforted. Two things which had been rare for her in the past year.

"Could I ask you something?" Y/n speaks up after a moment of quiet, the only sound being the news channel which was lulling in the background of both of their thoughts. Spencer had looked over and nodded instantly, feeling a pull towards her, towards whatever it was which was swirling around in that marvellous mind of hers. "Do you think I could make it? In the BAU I mean. I like to think I'd be able to, but sometimes you talk about cases and all I can compare it to is horror stories."

It was a worry of which lots of students possessed. And it was true for some students, the very smell of a corpse had made several students whom believed they were ready, hurled over and vomiting. There was lots to it. And even now, after all the cases Spencer and his team had gone through, some hit hard. That was always going to be the case - it was just whether you could compartmentalise it or not.

"You're an excellent student, Y/n." Spencer commented, "Being in the field is different but you get used to it and you'll soon learn to draw a line between what happens in the field and what happens at home." The boy continued to explain.

She nodded along and glanced back at her tea, "Is that why you went back to teaching instead?" The girl wasn't certain as to whether she was overstepping. There was line. They had to maintain the relationship of student and teacher. Yet, she was here in his apartment, drinking his tea, sat on his couch. Maybe that line had already been crossed.

Spencer had shrugged, "Partly, I suppose." He answered, giving the girl a small smile.

After that, the girl became quiet. She sipped on her tea and mindlessly watched the brain-numbing tv show that had been playing in the background. Here felt safe. It felt better than had she dared go home, awaiting the sound of the buzzer, of the man she dreaded at her accommodation door. Or even in a motel, staring up at the ceiling, wishing she was somewhere she could call home - of even safe.

But here, here, was safe. He was safe - dare she come to admit such.

And when her eyes became heavy, she didn't stop herself. Not like she normally would. Sleep was scary when that certain ex-boyfriend was on her mind. Y/n's mind never felt safe enough to let her sleep. Not until she was sat across from her professor. In his locked apartment where no one could ever find her.

When Spencer glanced back at her, the girl lulled into her dreams, he slowly stood. He crouched before her, a gentle hand pressing at her shoulder, "Y/n-" He whispered.

The man was met with her jumping awake, a breath sucked right into her lungs like she had been drowning in her sleep. "Hey, hey," He rushed out, "You're okay, you fell asleep, it's okay." He soothed.

Spencer's hand had never left her shoulder and she was grateful for such. His touch was real. This was real - unlike what she thought. Without even thinking, her own hand moved up, grazing against his own, her eyes shutting as to give herself a moment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to jump." She muttered back before her eye fluttered back open.

His eyes explored her own. His hazel hues stared into her like he was reading her very thoughts. The girl wondered if he knew that she wanted him, that she was imagining his arms around her like a protective shield. When Y/n came to realise how inappropriate her own thoughts were, her hand fell. "How about you go to sleep?" Spencer suggested as he too pulled his touch away. "I'll get you some clothes, is that alright?"

Y/n nodded but the very thought of his material on her skin made her shiver. Still she waited in his spare room until he returned. It was like any guest room; bare of much personality. A bed that seemed to not have been slept in since it had been made. A dresser which was home to Spencer's Summer clothes he never wore and some books which weren't impressive enough to lay in his living area.

"Are these alright for you?" He questioned, passing over some joggers and a plain white t-shirt. "I don't know if they'll fit but you know-"

The girl glanced down at the clothes and simply shrugged, "They're perfect, thank you." She offered him a grin as a wave of awkward silence passed over the room; maybe she shouldn't have called his clothes perfect. They were just joggers and a top. Nothing special.

Spencer fidgeted and rolled on the balls of his feet, "Well then I'll erm- I'll let you get some rest." He spoke, already heading to escape what had become an awkward situation.

Once his back was turned, Y/n spoke up; a pathetic attempt to voice the true appreciation she felt for her professor, "Doctor Reid?" She called before the man slowly glanced back at her.

His face softened, his stiff shoulders relaxed, "Please, just call me Spencer."

Y/n's face bobbed down as her smile fought to the surface, "I erm- thank you, again, I mean it. I don't know what I would have done without you." The girl truly meant her words. It was rare she had anyone step in the way Spencer had done, offering her anything and everything. All to ensure her very safety.

"I'm here for you, Y/n." The man assured, "I'm not just your professor, I want to make sure you're okay." He said such so easily. Like he hadn't just maybe said something he shouldn't have done.

Spencer was just her professor. The professor who was looking out for his student's wellbeing. Nothing more - nothing less. Or at least that's what he would be telling himself.

For that night, the two slept in different beds, in different rooms. Yet they were barely meters apart. The comfort of safety made the bed feel like clouds as Y/n finally had the rest she was in such desperate need of. But when morning came, the daunting idea of going into the police station suddenly suffocated her.

She wandered out of the guest bedroom, dressed in nothing but Spencer's t-shirt and her own pants. The man was already there, dressed in bed-head and lazy pyjamas as he leaned over the kitchen stove. It was the scent which met Y/n's senses first; the crisp, burning smell of what she assumed was bacon. "Jesus, what are you cooking?" She winced at the smell, daring to move further into the kitchen.

Spencer glanced back, spatula in hand, "Bacon and eggs." He was gazing back with a harsh shrug, "I don't normally have guests so I'm erm- I'm-"

"Struggling?" Y/n finished his sentence for him. When he nodded, the girl slipped into view of the food. She chucked away the charred bacon pieces, slipped some more oil over the pan and placed fresh rations into the pan. "You had it on too high," She informed as she turned the fire on the stove down, "Hopefully it's better now."

When Y/n looked back to Spencer, she found his eyes already on her, like he was staring into her soul, seeing something in her that he hadn't before. Maybe it was this feeling of a domestic atmosphere. Making breakfast in their pjs, not caring for the fact they weren't ready, the care, the urge to have her here every morning. That was something of which Spencer couldn't shake.

"Right, of course." He mumbled before returning to stare at the meat.

An hour of so later and the two had something which wasn't burnt for breakfast. They were dressed and ready. Or as ready as Y/n could be for something like this. Talking about her ex-boyfriend, even thinking about her, caused her a wave of nerves she couldn't quite escape. And when Spencer's hand reached the door nob of his apartment, he came to realise the girl wasn't following after him.

With it open a jar, he glanced back, "Everything okay?" She simply swallowed the lump which had grown in her throat and Spencer knew. He took a few steps closer to her, "I know this is scary, but it will be worth it. An hour of anxiety, is worth being free of it forever."

The man then extended his hand for her to take, an offer of support. And when Y/n interlocked her fingers with his, she felt more ready than ever. "Yeah, yeah." She nodded before the two exited his home.

She preyed this was the start of the end. No more fighting in the beer gardening, no more panic attacks, no more sleepovers at her professor's apartment....no more security. Maybe it was wrong for her to yearn for this to continue. Not the stalker ex, but these nights, these mornings. Maybe it was wrong for her to long for something so inappropriate. Yet she couldn't seem to help herself and neither could he.

--

Taglist: - @tonystankhere @ilikw @abbiesxox Let me know if you'd liked to be added!

[bangtanfanfiction]

support system → jhs (M)

Based on Hobi’s appearance at the 2022 MAMA awards bcs I’m missing him. 

M.List

♢ Pairing: Idol!Hoseok x Idol female!Reader

♢ Word count: 4.6k

♢ Genre: Idol AU, fluff, smut, comfort, established relationship     - Warnings: swearing, male oral sex, sub/dom tones, dirty talk 

⌲ Description: You’re the support system Hoseok needs in times of uncertainty without his members. And you make sure he knows it. 

not proof read. 

Hoseok felt out of place. 

He was alone where he would usually be surrounded by his six members, each with their own ways of comforting him and making it more bearable, and it was an awkward and anxious feeling alone. The only helpful part was that he wasn’t the only solo artist attending and had someone familiar to speak to.  

But other than being the 5%, the rest were all the hottest and youngest groups to grace the current K-pop industry. And where he knew most of them by name out of courtesy, it didn’t go any further than that. 

As his stomach continued to flutter, there was a moment he thought he would need to get off the stage and just take a moment to himself until he saw his saving grace. You. 

You were walking up the steps to the seating area, your tight sitting and sparkling dress with the exposed leg drawing all the attention as you were oblivious to it, concentrating on talking to a staff member explaining the seating plan as you nodded along. 

His eyes dragged down your body slowly and appreciatively, grateful for the glasses hiding his suddenly impure thoughts. 

There was no doubt you were beautiful. You always were to him. But it was the oozing confidence that you owned in your own skin. Hoseok met female idols on a daily, it came with the job, and as beautiful as all of them were with how the standards were set, you were a shining diamond among them all. 

You had always been outspoken and fearless against the restrictions of a patriarchal and man-dominated culture such as South Korea. You refused to bow down to the sneers of the general public when it came to your state of dress, body image, and the color of your natural skin without being assisted by whitening products. 

His butterflies calmed down as he straightened out his blazer and stood up, making his way surely towards you, ignoring the piercing stares of curiosity from his fellow idols, as they tried to act nonchalantly. 

It was adorable, Hoseok thought. Many of them were nearly ten years his junior either in age or as new rookies, and were rigidly reminded about the strict rules about idols of the different sex interacting. And here he was showcasing the absolute opposite with no shits to give to the higher-ups.

As if they could touch him anyway. 

Your fleeting, yet bright smile met his eyes in acknowledgment as he stopped beside you, hand finding its natural place low on your back as you turned your attention back to the conversation and he waited patiently. 

“Hey,” you finally turned to him, eyes crinkling in the corners as your attention was solely on him. 

“Hey,” Hoseok tried his best to not shut the rest of the world out as he looked down. “You look breathtaking.”

The way your nose scrunched up was the only indication you gave away of your shyness at the compliment. 

Wordlessly he led you towards the couch, as you greeted the rest of the artists already seated with polite bows along the way. With Hoseok seated on the end, you settled down beside him, thighs pressing against each other as you crossed your legs. 

His arm settled on the back of the hardened seat, close enough for his hand to brush against your bare skin on purpose. A habit he did often to simply touch you without crossing the line in public. 

You leaned into his side without fear nor shame, with your relationship public for quite a while now despite appearances together being rare, Hoseok had never been shy to showcase his love for you on Instagram with cute daily stories of your dates and dedicated posts of candid photos. 

“Babe.”

“Hm?” Hoseok’s hum was distracted as your smirk widened, eyes never straying away from watching the staff prepare last-minute details before the show started. 

“Stop staring at my boobs, there are minors here,” your words were only heard by the two of you. 

The way he huffed out a small laugh confirmed your suspicions. He couldn’t help the fact that your dress gave your bosom a generous cleavage which he had full advantage of admiring from his taller perspective with you leaning against him. 

“Minors who are old enough to understand the sight of a man admiring his significant other,” he shrugged shamelessly. “It’s not like I’m doing anything illegal.”

With those words, he took your hand in his own and lifted it to press a quick kiss against the back of it as proof. As much as you wanted to, there was no way you were able to ignore the gasps and shrieks of the audience that was watching the artist section with rapid attention. All you could do was pretend not to notice as you gave him a mock glare and light reprimanded slap against his chest. 

“You own no fear, Jung Hoseok,” you shook your head. 

“Says Miss Fuck-The-Patriarchy.”

The proud tug of your lips was poorly hidden as both of you shared a small laugh at the memories of one of your most well-known quotes from a live stream. 

“Hmm. They had it coming,” was your nonchalant answer. “When’s your performance scheduled for again?” 

“Near the end.”

“Biggest for last, huh.”

His nudge against your side made you both chuckle to yourselves. It was always your favorite pastime to tease him and the other members of their superstar status. You had done it when they first debuted in America when it still seemed like a farfetched joke. Now it had become a reality.

You had never expected anything to come out of your long-time friendship with each other. But then one day it just did. Neither of you had planned or initiated feelings first. It just naturally blossomed into something more and was readily accepted during your usual night walks together to escape the crazy life of entertainment. 

Both of you couldn’t be happier if you asked.

Fame and public scrutiny were already tiring to begin with. But with each other, there was understanding for things normal people might not have understood. So there was a comfort in being in the same industry together and not getting mad about the crazy work hours each had to endure.

“It feels weird,” Hoseok’s low mutter admitted to you as he glanced around.

“It does.” You easily agreed, a comforting hand placed on his thigh. “It’s a new era.”

“Who would have thought?” He chuckled, but you heard the sad bitterness in it. “It seemed like forever away not long ago.”

You knew his feelings didn’t come from jealousy or malicious intent. With Jin’s upcoming enlistment only days away and each of the members preparing for their own in different ways, Hoseok had felt like it was a certain goodbye. To you and his family and friends. 

You silently supported him through it. Because despite it all, this was a journey you couldn’t help him with, only being by his side whenever he needed you to. 

This is also why you made sure to attend all the same events together for extra measure. 

“At least we bring the fun,” Your lips tug up into a slight smirk.

“You mean the scandal?” He returned the look with a tilt of his brow.

“How can it be a scandal if everyone already knows, my love?” You stated, hand coming up to scrape a nail teasingly down his jaw before patting his chest as you felt him give a shiver.

“It might turn into one if you don’t stop teasing me,” He mutters as you giggle.

“Lighten up, okay?” You finally said, this time a genuine softness to your words to put him at ease. It worked, his tense shoulders easing a bit against you.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to bring down the mood today. I guess it’s just weird without the others here.”

“I get it,” Smiling you treaded your fingers through his, resting it on his lap. “They’re your family.”

“So are you.”

Although your heart swelled at his declaration, you only squeezed his hand in gratitude. “But I haven’t been with you since the beginning. That’s a deep bond you can never change.”

Hoseok sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

With that, his need for intimacy and comforting touches clearly rose as the arm resting behind your shoulders tightened, pulling you even closer to him if possible. A little more and you would end up on his lap. Not that you doubted he would care. 

All the boys had come to a point in their career where they longer gave a fuck about what the public had to say about them. Fans and company included. Some of them were still strict on the privacy of their love lives, but Hoseok had caved in quite early on - his excuse being the need to show you off for everyone without shame. 

How could one say no after that?

It wasn’t until after his performance that you noticed his tension returned gradually, and you were well aware of why. The biggest awards were swept clean by BTS, with two of them being for just Hoseok himself. 

Award after award, you watched with a grin as he thanked the audience, fans, company and fellow artists for all the support. You both thought the last of it with the Artist of Year award usually closing up the show, but then were surprised yet again with a new award made just for your favorite seven boys. 

Your keen eyes noticed quickly during the last Daesang introduction that your boyfriend was getting emotional, or at least feeling the immense pressure of their status as BTS. 

That was why the moment BTS was called up as expected, you watched proudly as Hoseok took a second in his seat to take it all in before standing up. 

His eyes flickered to yours and before he chickened out from all the attention, he pulled you into an intimate hug in front of everyone, hands low on your waist as your own wrapped themselves around his neck for a short, loving moment. At the last moment, he leaned in to place a peck on the corner of your mouth before stepping away towards the main stage. 

Several eyes had widened, some squeals as well as hollers of encouragement from the younger artists. 

You continued to act as if nothing happened, trying to at least. But the flush that was spreading across your face was hardly hidden from anyone who paid attention. 

You thought that was the end of any attention on you. 

“I want to thank one more person.” 

You felt the stares burning into your skin, cameras turning as the blush came anew. 

“Where BTS and ARMY have been my mountain of support, this person has been my anchor. The one to keep me afloat whenever I felt like drowning. The one to love and support me through all my anger, stress, and sadness. But also the one to always keep me on my toes.” He added the last one with a teasing tilt as light laughter rang out. 

Your eyes were watering. Doing your damn best to keep the waterfall back as your listened to his heartfelt devotion to you. 

“Y/N, some might call us young and stupid no matter how old we are. But I know for certain you are the one for me, you have been since day 1. I love you so much, I don’t even have the right words to tell you right now. Thank you.”

Your face showed up on camera just as you blew a kiss with your hands in his direction, cheeks slightly blotchy and watering eyes, mouthing a soundless ‘I Love You’ as his grin widened. 

It felt like forever before you found yourself in Hoseok’s arms again, this behind the stage as both of you were ushered away while the encore was ongoing. You nearly bowled him over in your haste to simply touch him as he stumbled back a step before balancing himself with a low chuckle. 

“I love you so much, baby,” Your whisper was croaking with emotion just as he caught your lips into a slow, loving caress. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

+

“Baby, are you hungry?” Hoseok welcomed the feeling of pure relief as he took off all his accessories and the heavy leather coat, organizing them carefully on the table and hanging up the clothing on a hanger to give it back to the styling team tomorrow. 

He had noticed your quick retreat into the bathroom, probably to scrub away all the makeup and grime which he knew was your favorite part to the end of a long day such as these.

“I can order some room service if you want to,” He continued talking, unbuckling his belt while carefully slipping off his designer shoes. “Maybe some pasta or dessert? I’m craving something sweet after that performance.”

“Yeah, I could do with some dessert.” Your reply came softly from behind him, although lacking the fervor you usually had when he suggested to get some sweets late at night.  

“Ugh, thank god, I think my body needs some sugar after today,” Hoseok laughed, turning around only to choke on it as he coughed.

Fuck. 

Shit. He must be in heaven. Or hell. 

Because you were looking like you were sent from the heavens to torture him.

A black lacy ensemble of lingerie encasing your curves must have been laced with the devil’s poison itself with how transfixed he was taking it all in.

A lace bralette softly covering your chest with a matching thong and garter belt encasing your waist. The stockings running up your legs and strapped firmly by your thighs making his throat dry as he took in the same heels you still wore from earlier. 

You were a wet dream come true. 

And you damn well knew it with the smirk on your face as you stepped towards him. “Cat got your tongue, baby?” 

“What?”

The smirk widened at his nonsense answer. His eyes never strayed from your body as he tried to imprint the image in his brain.

You were right in front of him now, fingers playing with the lapels of his now unbuttoned shirt and hanging loosely down his frame, the belt still hanging on his hips. 

“I’m still in the mood for some dessert, aren’t you?” 

“Whatever you say, baby,” His dazed muttering made you let out an airy laugh, giving him one firm push as he stumbled back a step only to meet the edge of the bed and stumbling down, elbows pushing him up to never lose sight of you. 

"Aren’t you gonna ask me what kind of dessert?” You damn well near purred, slowly creeping your way up along his body, hand teasing his expanse of exposed skin raising goosebumps along the way until your face was hovering inches above his.

“What kind of dessert?” He murmured, dark brown eyes locking with your own, flickering down to your lips. 

“My favorite kind.” 

With that you pressed a firm yet teasing kiss against his lips, leaving him to chase after you as you put a stern hand on his shoulder to push him back down before stepping off the bed and down on your knees between his spread legs. 

He had already done half the job by unbuckling the belt. Distracting him with the press of your lips against the soft surface of his stomach, his abs tensed along with the deep breaths he took before relaxing. 

Hoseok was already half hard as you palmed him, his silent groan vibrating through his whole body before pulling down his underwear for enough access to his whole cock. 

Without hesitation you started at the base, wrapping your hand around his length and rubbing him firmly as he sighed above you, fingers curling into fists by his sides. 

Keeping an eye on his face, you watched while leaning in, sucking the tip of his cock into your mouth, tongue swirling against the slit as Hoseok’s head fell back with a soft moan. Slim, large hands automatically found leverage on your head as you took him deeper, gently moving up and down as your own hands moved to palm his balls - causing his soft moans to turn into guttural groans, veins in his neck straining. 

Feeling the tenseness of his whole body you pulled away, as his eyes snapped open, neck craning to look at you, protest clear in his mouth. 

“Relax, baby” You grinned at him. “This is my gift for you, so enjoy it.”

“You’re gonna be death of me.” Hoseok huffed out a laugh, voice slightly choked as your hand never stopped moving on his length. 

“Wait,” his voice was deliciously hoarse, a darker rumble that went straight down to your own throbbing pussy. You watched fondly as he stretched backward to grab the closest hotel pillow and handed it to you. 

He had barely settled back on the bed before you gripped him tighter, tongue already making a path down his veins and swallowing him deeper without preparation. 

Hoseok nearly lurched up, fingers digging into your scalp with a hissed curse.  

“Jesus Fuck, Y/N.” His moan of your name did ridiculous to your body, eagerness to please your hardworking boyfriend increasing until his knees were shaking. 

Bobbing your head, you sucked enthusiastically, following the motions of his own hands whether he noticed it or not.

Hoseok had somehow managed to push himself up into a sitting position, the need to watch you closer as you pleased him controlling his body. 

Your intentions had been obvious to him early on. You wanted to spoil him to completion, but at the same time torturing his senses through the journey - just because he knew you could. He had learned fairly quick in the relationship that you had a thing for seeing him come apart beneath your touch, controlling his pleasure and seeing him beg you to let him come. 

His half-lidded gaze never left the perfect-picture vision of your pretty pink lips around his cock, swollen and drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth as you moaned softly to his harsh pants, eyes fluttering shut. The vibrations of it sent tingles down his legs and spine, coaxing another moan from him. 

“You’re so fucking good, baby.” Hoseok managed to breathe out. Praise only spurring you on if that was possible. 

The love of his life was sucking his cock like it was the best damn lollipop in town, and the sight of it would always be one of the most arousing scenes he would ever see. 

He was pretty certain he could die in this position without regrets. 

“That’s it.” Murmuring he eased his hold on your hair, the other supporting him on the bed, fingers curling into the sheet as he watched you spellbound. 

Shit, you were loving it between his legs. Sounding and looking like Hoseok was already pounding your brains out. He was basically yours to own at the moment.  

“Spell your fucking name on it.”

Your broken moans at his words caused a knowing smirk to play at his lips for a single moment until he nearly fell apart again the very next, eyes falling shut at the mindblowing sensations your tongue could give him. 

You hummed, deep in your throat, drawing the most panth-worthy moans from Hoseok’s lips, his usual decorum of trying to keep it down evaporating. His moans were some of your favorite sounds in the world - going from soft high pitches whenever he got close before falling back down to the low tones as he tried to catch his breath. 

His thighs tensed, fingers gripping the strands of your hair nearly frighteningly tight with a mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m-I’m gonna cum–”

Hoseok knew you had heard him. His moans turned desperate, breaking up into near frantic stutters as he got closer to his high, just for you to pull back slowly with a pop - a knowing, almost vindictive smile on your face. 

“Baby!” If you didn’t know better, you would almost say that was a sob coming from him as you left him high and dry. 

Your cunt was throbbing almost painfully at this point, craving any touch for relief, but you held it back for favoring your boyfriend’s pleasure. 

“Patience, my love,” You murmured as your rose up, gently pushing him back down on the bed as you pulled off his underwear and pants off, kicking them to the side, leaving only the open shirt on his otherwise sweating, naked body. 

And what a glorious body that was. 

Lean and tan with smooth expanses of skin you wanted to lick all over, the lines of a dancer’s firm muscles lining every part of him. 

Fuck, Jung Hoseok was fucking delicious, and all yours. 

Making sure that he was watching, you slipped off the thong down your legs, watching as his throat bobbed in anticipation. You left the bralette on and the strategically worn garter and stockings to not be in the way of your underwear. 

Easily taking off your heels too, you crawled over his body on all fours, settling just on his slim hips and giving a teasing roll of your own, his bare cock sliding against the evident arousal of your own as he gave a breathy curse. 

“You’re so wet, baby,” Hoseok said almost fascinated, despite your years together. And he supposed he wasn’t wrong. You were going a bit wild tonight compared to the usual sex the two of you had. 

“All because of you,” Leaning forward again, you kissed him softly, but Hoseok was done playing nice and giving into your demands.

His hand curled around the back of your neck, forcing you completely down against his chest, bodies lining up against each other, mouth licking into your own harshly, catching your breath with a sigh. 

Your hips had a mind of their own at this point, slowly grinding against his hard cock, covering his length with your wetness as Hoseok moaned, the sound caught by your lips as you gave a firmer roll. 

Wordlessly reaching down between your bodies, you gripped his length in your hand lining him up and slowly pushed down with a breathy moan, his fingers digging into your hips as you both shuddered when he bottomed out. His whole body trembled in near relief, and you knew he wasn’t going to last long with the amount of teasing you had already put him through. 

“Fuuuuck…”

Your nerves felt like they were on fire. Every single movement sending zips of bliss through you as you breathed in deeply to take control of your sanity. With a loving smile, you firmly placed both hands on Hoseok’s chest for support before lifting your hips only to slam them down with a shuddering moan. 

Hoseok was sure he was going to come within the next five seconds with the way you were moving your hips above him, obviously trying your damn best to send him into oblivion. 

The sound of your wet cunt was almost obnoxious, squelching for every single lift and drop of your thighs. Through his pleasure glazed haze, he could see the inside of your delicious thighs glistening with the evidence. 

He thought he already knew of the best feelings in the world; the adrenalin before getting on stage, hearing his fans scream his name or sing to their songs as he basked in their cheers. 

But his personal, and secret favorite would always be the complete bliss that spread through his entire body from your pussy clenching down on him.    

You were getting tired, Hoseok noticed. Your rhythm slowing and pleasure tenfolding as you started to grind down with airy moans, trying to find relief for your throbbing clit. 

Despite being rock hard and ready to burst, he couldn’t help but coo at you as he pulled you back down against his chest. “Is my princess getting tired?”

You whimpered, fingers traveling up to grip his hair, your grinding starting to loose its control. 

Tracing a hand down your sweating back, he gripped your ass with a rough tug, pushing his cock further against your walls as your breath hitched. 

“What do you want, baby?” He whispered into your ear, giving it a nip and soothing it with his tongue. “Use your words, princess.”

“Please fuck me, Hoseok,” It was your turn to beg now. “I need you to fuck me. Make me cum on your cock, please.”

Just your words were ready to end him. 

With an almost chaste kiss against your temple, an opposite action to what the two of you were doing, he granted your wish. Changing his position, he put both feet on the bed for support and then he truly fucked you. 

Nearly pistoning upwards to meet your shallow thrusts, with your high pitched moans and nails raking down his arms spurring him on like a madman chasing after gold. 

His moans mixed with your own, both craving release at this point, your skin slapping against each other without abandon. With half a mind, Hoseok managed to push his hand between your sweat slicked bodies, long fingers finding your soft, swollen clit as he circled the sensitive nub. 

You came with a silent scream, mouth open and body tensing like a log, the pleasure zipping through you like fucking lightning, toes curling as your pussy clenched down so hard, he followed you shortly with a muffled groan against the curve of your neck. 

His fingers didn’t stop, only slowing down and gently guiding you through your high. 

Just as the sensitivity was starting to kick in, his cock still firmly nestled inside you throughly emptied, you whined at him. 

“Too much,” Your voice was a hoarse whimper, trying to swat at his still moving hand. 

But his next stern words grunted out, made your throat dry. 

“I’m not done with you yet.”

“I-I can’t,” You whispered, but voice shaking in anticipation.

“Yes, you can. One more, sweetheart. Just for me.”

“Baby, I-” 

Whatever it was you wanted to say cut off with a sob as his fingers sped back up from their gentleness, pressing down more firmly on your clit as your hold on him turned damn near painful.

“Come on, just one more.”

What was supposed to be him falling apart had now turned - Hoseok having you at his mercy as his movements didn’t stop. 

Despite your begging, you could feel it again. That addicting pleasure building within you as your resistance turned into compliance, hips starting to move again, grinding against his touch. Your orgasm came slowly this time around, heat coating your senses like a caress - with you almost sobbing softly as your high came, body trembling and twitching as his fingers finally stopped. 

Neither knew how many minutes you simply lay in each others arms in silence. Soaking each other in, his soft cock still inside you as your skin cooled down to the point of goosebumps as the air was no longer stuffy. 

“We need to shower,” Hoseok whispered gently, hands slowly caressing up and down your spine lovingly. 

“Just a little longer…”

Chuckling at your drowsiness, you managed to lift your head up from his shoulder only to grin. “I love you.”

His eyes were sparkling. “I love you too.”

This has been in the drafts since last year. So yeah. 

[marvelstoriesepic]

In too deep

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

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

Word Count: 7.4k

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

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

Part Two

Masterlist

You are bleeding.

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

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

Your breath is shallow.

The bleeding won’t stop.

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

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

A breath shudders out of you at the pulsing pain.

Bucky is still in his bedroom.

Probably waiting for you to come out and leave.

That’s how it’s always been.

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

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

But you still keep running. Every time.

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

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

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

But fuck, it hurts.

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

Squeezing your eyes shut, you exhale slowly.

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

The thought is a sour taste on your tongue.

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

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

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

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

You press your hands to the cool porcelain.

One more breath.

Then another.

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

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

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

Bucky is always nice.

You were friends first, after all.

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

Things had been easy, light, and simple.

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

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

It was an accident. Or maybe it was inevitable.

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

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

Because there was no stopping from then on.

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

But you keep coming back when he calls.

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

But today was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fucked you like it’s you he craved.

He fucked you like it was making him blind.

It did.

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

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

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

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

But it wasn’t today.

Because the pain only grew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know you should have said something.

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

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

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

And you let him.

Because you didn’t want to ruin this.

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

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

You still don’t stop bleeding.

It’s not your period.

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

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

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

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

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

And now, here you are, bleeding anyway.

God, you hate this.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you alright in there?”

Your stomach drops. Shit, you took too long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is a beat of silence.

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

“You don’t gotta leave, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you hurt?”

Your breath stays caught in your throat.

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

You open your mouth, but he still continues talking.

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

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

You should have known, but somehow you keep lying.

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

The door handle rattles.

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

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

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

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

You don’t move. Your knees are weak.

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

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

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

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

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

The door handle tugs again.

“I need to see you.”

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

“Bucky-”

“Please.”

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

“Buck, I need a second, okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky’s breath shudders out.

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

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

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

Your legs give out.

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

The impact rattles the whole thing.

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

“Alright, I'm coming in.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for permission.

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

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

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

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

“What’s goin’ on? Doll, what is it?”

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

Your chest tightens. Your throat locks.

“Shit, Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

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

But Bucky doesn’t even seem to hear you.

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

His eyes are on you.

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky’s jaw is tight.

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

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

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

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

Then he stills.

His fingers twitch against your hip. His shoulders stiffen.

His gaze drops.

The storm behind his eyes turns feral.

You know what he is seeing.

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

The blood.

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

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

“Jesus Christ.”

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

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

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

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

“Bucky-”

“Hush.”

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

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

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

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

His grip on you is firm, but not rough.

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

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

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

He is shaking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With that, he walks you out of his bathroom.

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

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

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

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

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

None of it seems to matter.

Only you.

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

Then he takes off.

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

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

He doesn’t speak at first.

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

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

Not in the way he thinks.

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

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

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

And this hurts so much more.

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

But Bucky Barnes is anything but an asshole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It feels like he is bleeding grief.

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

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

But this makes it impossible to lie to yourself.

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

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

His fingers brush over your knee as he cleans.

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

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky waits.

And again, that makes it worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t look at him.

You want to. But you can’t.

Because he is too much.

Because he is everything.

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

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

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

Bucky moves instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

His thumb catches a tear.

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

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

His forehead almost touches yours.

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

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

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

You choke on your next breath.

Your mind blanks.

He shakes his head, like he hates himself.

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

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

Words are lost on you.

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

His voice lowers. Softens.

“But I can’t do this anymore.”

His fingers tighten.

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

His voice splinters.

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky’s eyes go wide.

He looks broken.

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

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

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

“You thought I wanted you to leave?”

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

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

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

His eyes are wild, urgent, stormy.

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

You feel everything crack open inside you.

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

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

Bucky’s face contorts in pain.

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

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

You had it all wrong.

And so did he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re stayin’ right here.”

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

And Bucky melts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky gives you a warning look.

“It only hurts a little.”

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

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

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

He is looking at you like you are everything.

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

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

You sigh.

“Bucky-”

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

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

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

He doesn’t even let you finish.

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

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

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

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

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

But you try to.

Because you want to.

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

- J.S. Park

Part Two

[yoonavii]

Never popped a request to anyone via tumblr before but ahhh I loved your most recent Sanji fic so much. You're so talented ❤️

If you ever feel inspired, what about something where Sanji joins the crew, and sees how close reader and Zoro are (whether or not Zoro actually does have feelings for reader, idk!), and he gets jealous, until some event or fight and the reader shows how she cares for him and it all comes out in the open

(love me a bit of angst!)

Thank you!!🥺 and Welp, I’m inspired!! I tried my best with this one cause I’ve been a little dusty with angst lately so I apologize in advance. Hope you still enjoy it though!

Jealous

OPLA! Sanji x Reader

After the tumultuous events at the Baratie, Sanji officially joined the Straw Hat Pirates as their skilled cook. Initially, he was thrilled to be part of the crew, living his dream of sailing the Grand Line with an extraordinary group of individuals. However, as the days turned into weeks, he couldn’t help but notice something that gnawed at his heart – your growing closeness to Zoro.

On the surface, it was an inseparable bond formed through countless adventures, battles, and shared moments. You and Zoro seemed like kindred spirits, and it was clear to everyone that you had each other’s backs. They trained together, sparred together, and sometimes, they even spent hours talking about their dreams late into the night.

For Sanji, it was painful to watch. He had harbored deep feelings for you but never found the courage to express them. Instead, he masked his emotions with jealousy, believing that you and Zoro shared a connection that he could never hope to replicate.

As the crew continued their journey, heading toward the tumultuous waters of the conomi islands to save Nami, the tension between Sanji and Zoro escalated. Their arguments, once subtle jabs, had evolved into full-blown conflicts, often ending in physical confrontations. The crew couldn’t ignore the rift growing between them, and their division was affecting their performance in battles.

One day, as the crew faced off against the Fish-Men on the foreboding Arlong Park, the simmering animosity between Sanji and Zoro reached its boiling point. The battlefield became a stage for their pent-up anger to explode. Swords clashed against kicks, and fists met with blades in a cacophony of violence. You, exhausted from fighting alongside your bickering crewmates, couldn’t take it any longer. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you stepped boldly between Sanji and Zoro, ignoring the danger of the ongoing battle. “Enough!” you roared, your voice cutting through the chaos. “We can’t afford to be divided like this, especially in a battle like this one!”

Sanji and Zoro froze, their faces flushed with anger, but they both turned their attention to you. Your presence had an immediate calming effect. You took a deep breath, then continued, “Sanji, Zoro, we’re a crew. We’re a family. And I can’t stand to see you two at odds like this.” Sanji’s expression softened as he listened intently to your words. You took a step closer to him, your voice quivering slightly with vulnerability. “Sanji, you should know that I care about you deeply. It’s not just about Zoro and me. I want us all to be close and support each other. If it’s causing you pain, then let’s find a way to work through it.”

Sanji’s heart raced as he absorbed your confession. He never expected to hear those words from you. Slowly, he nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I… I feel the same way y/n. I was just being stupidly jealous.” You reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring. “Let’s put this behind us, Sanji. We can be together as a crew, as friends, and as something more, if you want.”

With the tension diffused, Sanji and Zoro exchanged a begrudging nod of understanding. The three of you returned to the battle, but this time, there was a newfound unity among the Straw Hat Pirates. While they hadn’t completely resolved their differences, they had taken the first steps toward mutual respect, recognizing that they each had their unique strengths and weaknesses. The bonds of the crew were stronger than ever, and as you fought side by side, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that you had mended a broken heart and solidified the crew’s unbreakable spirit.

As the sun set on Arlong Park, a feeling of hope and reconciliation washed over the crew. Sanji and Zoro had begun to understand that their differences could be complementary rather than divisive, and with your support, they would continue to grow and adapt as a unified crew. The journey continued, marked by a deeper sense of camaraderie, love, and acceptance, proving that even in the face of jealousy and conflict, the bonds of friendship could prevail and grow stronger.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

[rosecoloredsunshine]

come and find me now — kyle spencer

masterlist | request link

PAIRINGS: post-death!kyle spencer x female!reader

SUMMARY: you knew that there was something wrong that's going to happen the moment zoe brought kyle back to his mother, so you took the matters into your own hands.

REMINDERS: please be reminded that this is a work of fiction. meaning that all events and occurrences in this story are all fictional and all are part of my imagination. any resemblance to actual life events and people, living or dead, are all purely coincidence.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, mentions of death (minor), reader is a witch, there are some inaccuracies, angst, hurt, comfort, and minor typographical errors.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i've been very busy this week, reason why i haven't posted any fics. but i have a free time now, so i'll try to post the other fics (mostly requests). to the one who requested this, i hope it's up to your standards. enjoy! :)

The garden at Miss Robichaux’s was quiet today, magnolia trees swaying gently as their petals floated to the earth like snow. You sat beneath one of them, fingers grazing the yellowing page of an old spellbook. You were always reading, always observing. The world moved fast around you, too loud and too careless, but you took your time. You listened and you learned.

You knew things. Things the others didn't and couldn't notice, like how Queenie tapped her foot when she was lying, or how Cordelia’s smile never quite reached her eyes anymore. You definitely knew that Zoe Benson had done something reckless, the energy around her had changed that night she and Madison came back from that frat party. There was a stillness to her now, like she was holding her breath, and it wasn't long before she confided in you.

“We brought someone back,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder as though the walls might be listening. “His name is Kyle. He died, and we used resurgence.”

Your heart dropped like a boulder in your chest. A resurrection spell—a dangerous and volatile magic. Forbidden unless under direct order of the Supreme, and even then, only if it was clean, but this wasn't. You already knew that without needing to ask, though you also knew Zoe wasn't strong enough to pull it off alone.

“He didn't deserve what happened to him,” she says, voice thin and trembling. “He was a good person.”

You believe her. That's the thing, Zoe never lies, not really. She just wants to fix things, and she thought bringing Kyle back would fix it. But you also know magic like that comes with a cost. You saw it in Kyle’s eyes the day she brought him back, there was nothing behind them.

Then Misty got involved, and you understood that too. She’s a wild soul—Misty, but she knows resurrection better than anyone. You could sense her magic clinging on Kyle like vines, but still, Misty couldn't restore what had been broken. Not entirely.

The broken pieces of a boy sewn back together like some patchwork doll. The only part of him that was truly him was his head, but the rest? It was a collage of other bodies. No wonder the soul had trouble finding peace, no wonder Kyle screamed more than he spoke. His body wasn't home anymore, it was a cage. He didn't speak, he grunted, sobbed, and lashed out. There were days he sat curled up in the greenhouse, rocking himself, murmuring things that didn't make any sense.

You would always watch him from afar. You wanted to help, but he flinched at everything that wasn't Zoe.

“I’m taking him back to his mother,” she whispered to you one day. “He needs someone, someone familiar.”

You stared at her like she had grown a second head. “You can’t do that, Zoe.”

You had seen the bruises on his spirit, and it’s not the kind magic could heal. The kind left by years of secrets, you saw the way his entire body locked up when Zoe mentioned his home.

“She loves him,” she insisted. “She’ll help.”

You didn't agree, but you didn't fight her. Instead, you just watched her go, and something in your chest wouldn't settle for that.

It was like an itch you couldn't scratch, a scream you couldn't let out. Days passed, and you decided to keep your mouth shut, hands busy. But the silence got louder, it clawed your insides, gnawed at your thoughts. Then one morning, you woke up drenched in sweat, heart pounding, and you knew—something was wrong. You didn't tell anyone, so you grabbed your keys and drove.

The Spencer house sat tucked in a sleepy New Orleans neighborhood, all peeling paint and dying hydrangeas, a hollow place. The front door was open, so you let yourself in. The house was quiet, not peaceful, but dead. There were dishes in the sink, a chair knocked over, and a picture frame shattered. The air also reeked of copped and rot and something else—something grief-stricken.

You heard it. A sob that is raw, broken, and animalistic. It led you down the hall, past family photos that made your skin crawl. Smiling faces, Kyle’s too, but younger and innocent, not yet touched by death or magic or cruelty. The sobbing got louder as you walked towards the sound, you then pushed the door, and there Kyle was—curled into himself on the bloodstained carpet, his finger torn and red. The wall behind him splattered with it, and his face wasn't just blood on him, it was grief.

You saw her mother slumped on the floor, lifeless. You didn't look at her long, you only saw Kyle. He didn't see you at first, he was trembling, rocking, chest heaving with ragged sobs. Every breath sounded like it hurt. When you moved towards him, his head snapped up, eyes wild and desperate.

Kyle didn't speak, he couldn't. But the look on his face broke your heart. You dropped to your knees beside him, not caring about the blood, not caring about anything except the boy that is in front of you.

“I’m here,” you said softly, reaching for him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a sob and a scream, and then he collapsed against you. His arms wrapped around your waist, body shaking with silent horror. You held him tighter as the blood soaked into your shirt, you didn't flinch.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, over and over. “I know. I know.”

Because you did. You knew what she did to him, what his mother was. You could feel it in the walls of this place, the ghosts and shadows. You held him until he stopped shaking.

You quickly got to work. It was frantic, messy, and desperate. You didn't think, you just moved like a robot. Bleach, towels, garbage bags—you knew how to make things disappear. You have seen enough in this life to know what the world doesn't want to look at. By the time the sun began to set, you were done.

You stood in front of him, blood still under your nails, and offered your hand. “Come with me,” you said. “You don’t have to stay here, I’ll take care of you.”

Kyle’s eyes were wet, lost. But he took your hand.

Once you were both back, you brought him to your room, where it was quiet and safe. You set up a cot beside your bed, but when you turned around, Kyle was already curled on your comforter, clinging to your pillow like it was a lifeline.

You smiled softly. “Okay, you can stay there.”

You dimmed the lights and slipped in beside him, unsure of when the last time he’d had real sleep. In the quiet of the night, you felt his finger reach out for yours. He didn't speak, he didn't have to.

“I’ll protect you,” you whispered into the dark. “I know what it’s like to have a body that remembers pain, but we’ll unlearn it. Together.”

Kyle pressed his forehead to your shoulder, and for the first time, his breathing was steady. You didn't tell anyone that he’s back, at least not yet. Not until he was ready. You would teach him again—how to speak, write, and most importantly, how to live. Then, maybe in time, how to trust.

You were the quiet one, the one who knew everything, and now, you knew what love looked like in its rawest form—it is the broken boy that is in your bed right now.

You promise that you would never let him break again.

© rosecoloredsunshine, 2025

[blossomwritesthings]

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

pairing: minho x curvyfem!reader (afab)

genre: idol!minho. curvy!reader. hurt/comfort. angst. slight fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ ONLY. reader pov. established relationship.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. this shit's got some angst in it. reader had an abusive and fat-ph0bic ex in the past, and has trauma from that. reader is self conscious about their legs/weight. smut warnings below cut!!

word count: 5.0k

summary: you had thought that your scars from the past were healed, but evidently, your ex from college was still clouding your mind. thankfully, your boyfriend minho is right there to help you heal from the heartbreak.

18+ warnings: unprotected sex (stay safe out there, guys!). minho has a thing for reader in skirts/her thick thighs. fingering. minho eats reader out. DIRTY talk. dom!minho. sub!reader. making out. manhandling. praise kink. nipple/breast play. face riding. slight sub-space. excessive hair pulling. breeding kink is alluded to. pet names (babydoll, babygirl, kitten, etc.). degradation kink (minho calls reader a whore/slut). daddy kink. slighttt dollificaition/corruption kink. multiple orgasms.

a/n: started writing this last week after some of my good stay writing friends sortaa gave me the prompt to do a minho x thick reader. I originally planned for this to be just a short drabble but... here we are lmao. 💀 also, I am a thick girl myself, so I really appreciate writing/reading inserts where I can relate to y/n. anyways, enjoy you guys!! 😖

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). © ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

  The moment Minho opened the door to the studio, and saw you standing there, he completely froze up. And the look on his face, of utter surprise, left you shifting on either of your feet in sudden anxiety. 

 You knew you shouldn’t have come to the company to surprise him during his work day, especially since he and the boys were so busy preparing for their next comeback. 

 And you knew that you shouldn’t have rolled up to the recording studio dressed as you were, in the new outfit that you had bought at the mall the week before. Originally, you had wanted to wear it the next time the two of you went out on a date night together, but with his rapidly growing schedule of duties, you decided that you wouldn’t get such an opportunity for a while. 

 The outfit wasn’t all that scandalous… 

 Sure, the white, lacy tank top was pretty skintight and showed quite a bit of your cleavage, and the pink skirt that was embellished with white satin bows on the sides was quite short. 

 Okay, scratch that, the flowy, baby-pink pleated skirt was really fucking short. 

 Like, borderline porn-star level short. 

 The hemline was cropped so much that it barely covered your ass. 

 But that’s why you wore the long, white lace stockings. To hide some of the expanse of skin that you were exposing. 

 You had never been particularly fond of your legs. Being a curvy girl and all, they had always been rather… chubby for your liking. Sure, your tits were nice and big. But having thick thighs? That would be a hard hell no in your book. 

 Even still, your boyfriend sure did like your legs. He talked about his fondness for them all the time, and showed his love for them in all different ways; whether it was by always seeming to have a hand on your legs, massaging your thighs when you couldn’t fall asleep at night, or giving them lots of sweet kisses while he fucked you deep into the mattress late in the twilight hours of daybreak.

 So that’s why you decided to buy the outfit, to please him. Because even if you didn’t like your legs, you wanted to make Minho happy. And if that meant dressing up like a cute little doll - albeit leather slutty - then you were okay with that.

 There he stood, mouth completely agape, as his eyes roved down the length of you. Going all the way to your cute little white platform heels before shooting back up to your exposed chest. You could see the tips of his ears start to turn red from the sight of you all dressed up for what appeared to be him.

 “Hi, baby.” You mumbled, fingers fiddling with the frilly fabric of your skirt. Your gaze shot down to the floor in embarrassment, as you practically felt his eyes burn two holes into the fabric that barely covered your legs. 

 “Uhm- hi… kitten,” he finally managed to pull himself together, leaning against the doorframe. You caught glimpses of the room behind him. It was bustling with staff and some of his members, as everyone was busy preparing the tracks for their new album. “What are you… doing here so late at night?” 

 Your focus landed on his hand, which was gripping the side of the door. Veins popping from exertion, he was doing his best to hold himself together at that moment. Then you noticed how he tilted to the side a bit, seemingly hiding the sight of you from the rest of everyone who was just behind him in the studio. 

 Shrugging, you offered him a tiny, soft smile. “I don’t know… Just wanted to surprise you, that’s all.” You began, a frown already overtaking your face as the realization dawned on you that you might be a bother to him while he was working. “Sorry, did I come at a bad time? I can-”

 “No- no.” He suddenly blurted out in a frantic voice. Throat bobbing up and down as you watched him physically fight the urge to not lunge right at you. “You’re never a nuisance, baby…” Then he was moving, stepping forward only slightly and reaching out to tuck a few strands of loose hair behind your ear. The feeling of his long digits brushing across your cheek sent shivers down your spine. “It’s just that, I’m super fucking busy right now, and I’d hate for you to sit around here without getting the… proper attention that you deserve.” 

 The 'attention' that he was talking about was not the innocent one. You could tell by the way his eyes sparkled under the faint lights of the studio - brewing with so many tamped wants and desires. You could tell from his jaw, that ticked painfully tight at the mention of you sticking around in such an outfit, for everyone to see. 

 Just then you hauled out the carton of coffees that you had been hiding behind your back, presenting them to your boyfriend with a wide grin plastered on your face. “It’s okay, I understand… I thought you guys could use these while you work. It’ll help bring your spirits up.” Minho stared down at the coffees you had ordered from a nearby coffee shop. 

 For a moment, he just froze there, looking at the Americanos. Then, he was gently taking them from your hands with soft eyes that never failed to make your heart melt. “Thanks, dollface… I’ll be sure to hand these out to the guys.” 

 “Well, I should let you get back to work, I know you have a long night ahead of you…” You started, leaning into him and pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. “I’m gonna hang out at that cafe just down the road for a little bit, then I’ll head home.” 

 As you began to tug away from him, Minho’s free hand shot out and clutched at your hip. Fingers digging into the skin there desperately, he pressed you close to his form. “Please- don’t go to that cafe tonight.” 

 Staring up at him, you rose an eyebrow in question. “Why not?” You asked, noticing the way his eyes widened a little bit in desperation. His lips pressed together in a firm line, cheeks blooming with a slight flush as he gaped down at you. 

 “I- it’s… it’s too late- not safe for you to stay out alone,” he gave your lips a soft kiss before he was tearing away from you again. You could see the furrow in his brows, and how hard he was fighting himself to have control over all of the urges that coursed through his mind just then. “Don’t want anything to happen to you. So go home and wait for me… I shouldn’t be too long at the studio tonight.” 

 You nodded gradually, flashing him an easy smile. “Okay, if you say so… just don’t work too late, okay?” You reached up, carding a few fingers through his shock of crimson-red hair. “I need you to come home with enough energy tonight.” 

 At that, he smirked wickedly, licking his lips with that perfect, pink tongue of his. “And why’s that, princess?” 

 “I think you know why…” 

 Before he could do - or say - anything else, you were dragging away from him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. 

 “I’ll see you later then?” Just then you purposefully dropped your keys on the floor. And as you bent down to retrieve them, you made sure your ass was in clear view of Minho. You rose, flashing him the matching white lacy panties that you had on peeking out just from underneath your skirt. “Bye, baby… love you.” You said as you turned around and offered him another tiny smile. 

 The look of utter desire he had on his face at that moment was unmatched by any other expression he had ever had in the past. His eyes widened for what felt the millionth time that night, but you didn’t let him say anything else, as you were already sauntering away, swinging your hips from side to side alluringly. 

 The night seemed to drag on painfully as you waited at home in your shared apartment for Minho to finish work. And when the sound of his keys at the front door finally rang out throughout the place, you were up in an instant, already in the entryway as he filed through the threshold of your apartment. You had taken off your white stockings soon after arriving home, hating the way the itchiness of the fabric irritated your skin.

 “Welcome home, baby.” You said, giving him a soft smile as he bent down and slipped off his shoes. 

 He stared up at you, gaze turning immediately dark as he once again took in your attire for the night. The shirt had rumpled since you had last seen him at the studio, and the skirt had risen a little bit more up your legs from your lounging on the living room couch. This resulted in you flashing him your white panties.

 You didn’t have any time to think or breathe or even speak, as within the next beat, Minho’s hands were wrapped around your waist, pushing you until your back hit the nearest wall. 

 His face neared your exposed neck, as his lips suckled on your jaw sweetly, teeth biting into your skin hungrily. When he drew back to take a shuttering breath, his mouth was already a little puffy from the violet bruises that he had given you in just the past few seconds. 

 “Fuck- I didn’t know how long I was gonna last at the studio tonight,” he murmured, dipping into you again and running his hot tongue over the length of your clavicle. “Every time I tried to focus on work, I’d lose myself in the thought of you - of you in this slutty little skirt. And fuck- I also came right there in front of everyone as I kept remembering how hot you looked like this.” 

 Minho’s hands were leaving your hips as he spoke the words in a low voice, fingers already finding their way under your skirt. Trailing up, up, up, he finally stopped when his palms came in contact with your asscheeks. 

 “I picked out the outfit just for you… saw it at the mall the other week, and I knew you had to see me in it,” You said, voice cutting off slightly as his nails dug into the flesh of your ass rather harshly. “Thought I’d surprise you at work after the long, hard week that you’ve had.”

 Minho kneaded either of your asscheeks, mouth hovering over yours as he stared down at you with lust taking over his eyes. You moaned into him at the feeling of him working you up so well- getting you so flustered without even doing that much, to begin with. 

 “You gonna be a good girl for me tonight, princess?” He purred seductively, tongue poking out between his two stunning red lips and tracing the line of yours. “Gonna let me fuck you in this pretty little skirt?” He swallowed down the strangled moans that threatened to leak out of you just then. “Gonna let me ruin it for you?” He suckled on your mouth, tongue pressing past your teeth and tasting you irrevocably. “Gonna let me have my way with you tonight, hmm?” 

 You were already a shaking mess beneath him, limbs going all melty and jello-like as he held you in his grasp. So close, yet not nearly close enough. “Y-Yeah, I’ll be your good girl… I wore this to please you, baby. I know how much you like these kinds of- outfits on me.” 

 Then without another word, Minho was moving. Hoisting you up into his arms and walking you across the apartment’s slick wooden floors. In no time at all, he was gently setting you down on the bed, as he took a seat just beside you. 

 “Come here and sit on daddy’s face, kitten.” 

 His command came out all gravelly and stern. He stared at you with beseeching eyes, cocking his head to the side as he watched your face transform. From one that was full of sensual mirth to downright horror. 

 “W-What?” You found yourself stammering out, a flush already creeping up your neck and pooling in your ears and cheeks. 

 Minho shrugged nonchalantly. Like him asking you to practically suffocate him with your thick thighs wasn’t that big of a deal. “You heard me, babydoll- want you to ride my face.” 

 You felt yourself dissolving onto the bed in embarrassment, the fears from years past already starting to creep into the corners of your mind. You thought you had gotten rid of them long ago, but as it turns out, the words your abusive ex had once told you continued to resonate in the back of your psyche for years afterward. 

 “I… I can’t, Min.” You said, shoulders slumping in defeat. The tears began to cloud at the rims of your eyes, as you started to recall all of the horrible things that your college ex had told you. About how you had ‘almost suffocated him’ with your heavy-set body the one time you tried to ride his face. He had constantly shamed you about your curvy physique. And even still, years later, the terrible things he’d tell you during and after sex continued to vibrate low in your soul. 

 There was a deafening silence that came over the entire room, and you saw the way Minho’s face dawned with recognition as he tried to fit the puzzle pieces together. You had told him about your ex before but had never gone too much into the specifics of everything. Especially when it came to sex. No, that shit was too embarrassing to ever bring to light again. 

 “Why… not?” He asked, tone quiet and wavering as he watched you crumble under the pain of remembrance. In the next breath, he was next to you, clasping your hands in his and trying to shake you out of your dazed stupor. “Baby- baby, listen to me. I’d never force you to do anything,” he began, raising your hands to his mouth and pressing kiss after soft kiss to your knuckles. “If you don’t wanna do something, that’s okay, darling. Just please, don’t cry, yeah?” 

 “But I want to do it!” You cried out, the tears blurring your vision and painting him out to be a red-haired splotch in the forefront of your mind. “It’s just- every time I think about it, I get so paralyzed with fear and I… then I suddenly can’t do it.” 

 Minho leaned into you, pushing a few gentle kisses to your lips. “It’s alright, kitten. There’s no rush for anything. You can take as long as you need.” 

 “I want to make you happy, Min.” You wailed, burying your face in the crook of his neck. One of his hands wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him as your shoulders shook with your sobs. 

 “I know baby, I know… but I’m not happy if you’re not happy.” 

 For a few minutes, you were completely silent. Letting the tears and emotions flow out of you like water. And your boyfriend Minho held you the entire time, offering up words of praise and love as his fingers gently stroked through your hair. 

 “It was… my ex, from college,” you finally found the courage to admit after a long bout of silence. Immediately upon mentioning him, Minho’s hand stopped moving in your hair. You felt him go completely still, as he waited for you to finish. “He… he was a real ass and- and he said some horrible things about my weight sometimes.” 

 “What’d he say, baby?” Minho asked, voice sounding strained as he did his best to hold back his anger for you. At your silence, he continued to rake his hands through your hair. “It’s okay, love- you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. All in your own time, yeah?” 

 You took in a deep breath, gulping in air as the memories from years past began to overtake you once again. “He said things like… I’d kill him if I sat on his face. Stuff like that,” you began, the shaking in your limbs beginning to come to a stop as you recalled everything. “And I guess… after a while, I just became so afraid that I never wanted to do something like that ever again.” 

 Minho pulled away from you then, grabbing ahold of either of your shoulders and squeezing there so that you stared up at him through your misty vision. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, baby- I can’t imagine how hard it was for you,” his thumbs gently danced underneath your eyes, wiping away your excess tears. “But I want you to know that I’d never tell you such things - I love you just the way you are, no matter what you look like, I’ll always love and adore you. 

 You nodded slowly, giving him a soft, genuine smile. The first one of the night. “Y-Yeah babe… I know you’d never do such a horrific thing. But like, I just wish I could get over that shit, ya know? Move on from it and all.” 

 “Well… what if I could help you overcome it?” 

 Staring up at him with wide eyes, you bit down hard on your bottom lip in thought, “H-How would you be able to do such a thing?” Your fingers began to fiddle with the short hemline of your skirt. The white satin bows at your sides brushed against your nails, the soft material soothing your racing heart somewhat. “I don’t know if-”

 “You trust me, yeah?” Minho started then, cutting off your nonsensical ramblings that were charged with nervousness. At your nod, he was brushing some of your hair out of your face, offering you a grin that gradually tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Then let me take care of you… let me make it all better, hmm?”

 You gulped over the lump that was forming in your throat. Already, you could feel the wetness surge again between your legs, and you squirmed in his hold. One of your boyfriend’s hands tore away from your waist, traveling up the back of your calf and landing on your exposed knee. 

 He pressed into you, his muscular chest rising and falling against your bosom which was barely covered by your tiny shirt. “Can I take off your panties, darling?” He purred soothingly against the shell of your ear, the sound of his deep, gravelly voice shooting a bout of shivers down the length of your spine. “Can you let me make you feel good tonight, kitten?” 

 “Y-Yes,” you found yourself mumbling quietly, nodding frantically as you felt your heart pound against your ribcage. “P-Please… help me forget about it all, daddy.” 

 Minho peered down at you, a sardonic kind of smirk blooming across his mouth, “That’s my good girl,” his hand moved away from your knee then, traveling up, up, up, and stopping at your inner thigh. “So pliant- such a good listener too,” he continued to praise you, fingers skating over your clothed core as he made his way towards your panties. “Makes me wanna give you everything you ever wanted, hmm…” His fingers danced along the edge of your panties waistband before he was languidly dragging them down your legs, and finally throwing them off to the side. 

 “P-Please, daddy,” you whimpered up at him, the tears brimming in your eyes again, but for entirely different reasons. You were sitting perched in his lap atop your shared bed, giving him a pleading stare and asking - begging - for him to do more, just with your whines alone. “Can you give it to me? Please, I’ve been so good…” 

 “Hmm…” He mused out loud, tapping a lone finger against his chin in thought. You felt his hand come between your legs again, cupping your warmth there. “I don’t know- do you think a good girl shows up to her boyfriend’s workplace dressed like a shameless whore?” His fingers traced around the edges of you, toying with your pussy lips and making you lose your fucking mind from the teasing of it all. 

 You cried out in agonizing bliss, moving against him just a little bit so that there was some friction between your legs. “I-I wanted to please you, daddy… everything was for you.”

 Minho flashed you a slight, playful frown, the light in his eyes burning with desire and fiery passion. “And look at you now… all hot and worked up and soaking wet, but with no respite in sight.” He cooed in that baby voice that he always used on you whenever he was feeling especially commanding in bed. “But you want daddy to play with your pussy- want me to fuck you wide open with my cock, even after everything you’ve done tonight…” He smirked down at you imploringly, like he seriously couldn’t believe you had dared to visit him at the company dressed up as you were. “You’re definitely a big dreamer, I’ll give you that.” 

 Before you could say anything else, Minho was laying back down on the mattress again, propping his head atop a downy pillow. You gaped at him, squirming in your spot beside him as you felt your arousal drip down your legs.

 Minho rose an eyebrow your way then, “Well, what are you waiting for?” He motioned with his head for your to draw closer to him, and you slowly began to make your way to his side. “If you’re good- you might just get daddy’s cock tonight… so don’t act up like a brat, yeah?” 

 The blood rushed through your veins wildly then, as you shifted on the bed and threw a leg around him. Carefully, you positioned yourself over his face. It was quite a rare sight- to have Minho be underneath you, flashing you that wicked smirk and studying you with those lust-filled eyes. 

 “Do whatever you have to do to make yourself feel good, babydoll,” he coached in that whispery voice of his. The one he always used on you whenever he was trying to soothe you through your fifth orgasm of the night. “And if I die from suffocation of your pussy, I’d die a happy fucking man.” 

 His words set you into action and cast a light film of red fiery passion over your mind. In no time at all you were lowering yourself down on his face. 

 The moment you made contact, you were already a moaning mess. With his sharp nose pressing up into your clit, and his lips offering your cunt sweet kisses, your eyes immediately rolled into the back of your head. It felt so fucking good - everything felt so much better than you had imagined. 

 As his tongue dipped into you, lapping at your taste, you frantically ripped off your shirt, stripping yourself of your white lace bralette. At this, Minho stopped for a breath, his eyes hooded and swimming with shadows. 

 “See? You’d never kill me with just your thighs alone,” he mused, his voice rumbling against your cunt and making you yelp out in oversensitivity. One of his hands fell away from your hips, rising up to cup one of your breasts. “More like, you’d kill me with these beautiful fucking tits.” 

 With one hand, you were holding onto his head, threading fingers through his crimson locks as he got back to work between your legs. Meanwhile, your other palm was busy pressing against his, guiding his fingers as they traced across your chest, pinching and toying with your swollen peak there. 

 You ground against his face the whole time, head thrown back in pure bliss as the vilest of sounds fled from your mouth. With his nose buried against your throbbing clit, and his tongue thrusting into you with every other breath, you were quickly approaching your release. 

 “Fuck- you taste so fucking amazing, wish I could eat you every single day.” He mumbled against you. His lips sucked on you like you were the best lollipop he had ever had, the lewd sounds he was making casting across the entire dimly lit bedroom in sensuality. 

 “I-I’m gonna come-” You cried out desperately, chasing your high as you rode his face at a frantic pace. At your confession, Minho’s nails dug into the skin at your hips, fingers relentlessly toying with your breast as he delved with a renewed kind of vigor into your essence. 

 Your orgasm came over you in a blinding flash of whiteness, casting galaxies across your vision as Minho helped you ride out the wave of release. Your entire body melted against him, and just as you were slipping into the headiness of blissful weightlessness, your boyfriend was moving from underneath you. 

 Grabbing onto your hips, he was flipping your positions. And in the next breath, he was towering over you, leaning in and threading a few fingers into your hair. He pulled at the roots there, making you whine out in slight pain. The harshness forced your eyes open, and your gazes locked.

 “Now… I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll completely forget about that asshole from your college days,” he growled, his anger about your past abusive ex unbidden. It shined through in the way a dark look cast over his entire face. His lips attached to yours, as he sucked the breath right out of your lungs. 

 “D-Daddy… please, need your dick so fucking much,” you clawed out to him in your blurry vision, still cresting over your previous orgasm. Your hands wound behind his neck, holding his face close to yours as your kiss turned frantic - tongue against tongue, teeth clashing together. You tasted yourself on him, and the dirtiness of it all only made the pool of energy in your core grow deeper. 

 Minho yanked away from your lips, a string of saliva stretching taught between the two of you. With his strong, big hands, he grabbed ahold of either of your legs and pushed them apart. “Open wide for me, kitten… wanna see your tight little pussy as I stretch you open with my cock.” 

 You moaned wildly at his words, watching with shallow breath as he rid himself of his baggy sweatpants and black briefs. When he neared you on the bed again, you felt your heartbeat thump inside your ear. 

 “N-No condom?” You asked, voice coming out raspy from all of the cries and moans that you had been doing that night. 

 Minho stared down at you, as his weight dipped the mattress underneath you. He drew close to your frame that was splayed out of the bed haphazardly, still in your short skirt that had risen your waist exponentially. 

 “Nah- gonna fuck you raw tonight,” he began, just as he reached out to you, hand finding that same spot between your legs. Then he was drawing shapes against your puffy clit, index finger dipping into your entrance. “Gonna bust this tiny pussy wide open with my seed.” 

 You swallowed over the groan that wanted to escape from you then. And then the breath was completely caught in your throat, as Minho guided his cock through your folds. Your entire body shuddered at the feeling of it all, and you stared down between you, anticipating everything. 

 In the next beat, he was ramming into you. As soon as he sunk in, bottoming out, he set a hellish pace. Skin slapping against skin, he thrusted in and out. Already you were beginning to move up the bed, screaming out in mindless bliss. 

 “Holy shit- you’re so fucking hot, babygirl,” Minho purred lowly, as his hands gripped onto your waist, guiding you up and down on his cock with each pound of his hips, “Makes me wanna ruin you so much… you’d like that, yeah? Getting fucked over by my cock- bet it’d make you go all crazy and shit.” 

 “Mhm-” You groaned in a loud voice, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as his dick pressed into that gooey spot inside of you. His thumb ghosted over your clit, dragging you back across the cliffside of orgasm faster than you had thought. “Want you to ruin me, daddy… fuck me til I’m crying.” 

 As soon as you felt one of his hands travel up your sternum, stopping at one of your breasts, your eyes were shooting open. His fingers toyed with you, pulling and twisting your pert bud. “Oh, don’t worry, kitten,” he said, words trailing off as he pressed you so far into the bed with his rutting alone that you swore you saw the heavens cast over your mind. “I know how much of a cockwhore you are- how much of a slut you are, for dressing up so provocatively at my work- so I’m gonna give it to you nice and good… gonna have you screaming my name, mind all fuzzy and thoughts gone as I pump you full of my cum.” 

 Your eyes locked after that, and the spark that had been lit deep inside of your heart the moment you laid eyes upon Minho burned brighter. Because you knew that no matter what, he’d always love you. 

 And no amount of weight gain, or weight loss, was going to change that. 

 He was always going to be there for you, 

 Helping you survive through all of the pain and memories, 

 Guiding you on the pathway of forgetfulness, 

 Wiping your mind of all the heartbrokenness in just the right way. 

Fin.

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[k-popbookshelf143]

Brother's Best Friend

Synopsis: Your older brother, Chan, is gone on a trip to Italy for a week. He doesn't trust you to stay by yourself so he enlists the help of his best friend (unbeknownst to him your secret boyfriend), Felix, to keep watch over you for the entire week.

Key:  Y = Y/N, F = Felix, C = Chan

*Y/N's POV*

I really can't believe this.  Bang Chan, MY BROTHER, doesn't trust me to stay by myself at our apartment while he goes on a trip to Italy for the week.  He asked his best friend, Felix, if i can stay with him for the week, and of course Felix said yes.  Don't get me wrong I love Felix, but its the principle of the thing of being perfectly capable of being on my own.  

Y:  Chan you do know that I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself right?

C:  Of course I know that, but I still don't trust you alone, especially with the fact you don't clean        your room.

Y:  What does cleaning my room have to do with anything?

C:  Everything, you're a complete mess and you're gonna make a mess when I'm gone.

Y:  Wow I feel the love.

C:  You know I love you, I'm just making sure your gonna survive for a week without me.

Y: I could survive without you

C:  Mhm sure you could

Y:  Hurtful

C:  I'm joking love, but seriously don't burn the house down.

Y:  How can I with Felix watching me?

C:  Exactly, he'll keep an eye on you.

Y:  You got everything.

C:  Yeah yeah, I'm leaving now, love you both, bye.

Y:  Love you too, see you next week.

C: See you next week, and remember to clean your room while I'm gone, or else I'll force you to         clean it when I get back.

Chan smiles before he walks out the door with his bags to go to the airport and Felix and I are left to our own devices.  All I can think is now that my brother has finally left for his trip I can act all lovey dovey with my boyfriend, Felix, without getting caught by my brother who is also his best friend.  We haven't told him about us because we are afraid of how he will react and if he will make it weird.

Y:  I'm gonna miss him.

F:  I know right he is such a pain in the butt.

Y:  Don't lie your gonna miss him too.

F:  Yeah, I'll miss him a lot, but at least I'm stuck with you for a week~

Y: Exactly

F:  *he smirks and looks at me* Alone with you for a whole week~

Y:  So, MOVIES AND CUDDLE TIME.

F:  *his smirk grows* That sound good to me darling.

We make our way to the kitchen to get popcorn and snacks.  Felix stands behind me while I grab the popcorn , and he wraps his arms around my waist.  I then move to put the popcorn in the microwave and he moves with me while still holding onto my waist like his life depends on it with his face buried in the crook of my neck.  I turned around in his arms while the popcorn was popping.

Y:  I'm actually surprised that Channie hasn't figured it out.

Felix chuckles as I turned around, now my back was pressed against the counter and I was trapped between his arms.

F:  I know, I honestly though he would have caught on by now.

Y:  Should we tell him when he gets back or see how long it takes for him to realize we are a                 couple?

F:  Let's see how long it takes for him to realize, this is way more fun.

The microwave beeps signaling the popcorn is done.  Felix pulls away from my neck to get it out of the microwave and sets it on the counter. 

F:  Go pick out a movie princess, I'll get us some drinks.

Y:  Ok

Felix pats my butt gently as I walked away to head to the living room.

Y:  What movie do you want to watch? 

F:  Surprise me darling.

He called out as he was getting two cans of coke out of the fridge.

Y:  Wanna binge watch the Marvel movies?

F:  Yeah, I love Marvel movies, and I love you.

Y:  I love you too.

Felix walks into the room and hand me a can of coke.  He goes to sit down on the couch.

Y:  Wait

F:  What's wrong Princess?

Y:  Do you want to do a blanket fort?

F:  *chuckles and nods* Sure, I like that idea.

Y:  You get the pillows and I'll get the blankets.  Then we can flip the couch together.

F:  *stands up* On it Princess.

I run upstairs to grab as many blankets as possible (especially the Marvel ones) while he got as many pillows as he could.

Y:  *runs back downstairs* GOT THE BLANKETS!

F:  *chuckles as he watches* Your fast, come here and give me some princess.

I trip on the end of one of the blankets and start to fall down the stairs.

F:  *his eyes widen in fear for my safety and he quickly grabs my waist to stop me from falling*             Woah there be careful.

Y:  My hero.

F:  *pulls me close to him and chuckles* I'll always catch you darling.

Y:  You know what?

F:  *raises a brow* What is it Princess?

Y:  You look like Link from the Legend of Zelda

F:  *laughs* Do I? That's funny, I guess you can call me Link then.

Y:  And he was my first childhood fictional crush.

F:  *smiles* Oh yeah? He was your first childhood crush huh?

Y:  Yep and your my childhood dream come true.

F:  *He chuckles and kisses my forehead* I'm glad I can fulfill your childhood dream princess.

Y:  You truly are the Link to my Zelda.

F:  *snickers at my corny joke* And you are the Zelda to my Link Darling.

Y:  You could be Link and I could be Zelda for Halloween.

F:  *hums in thought and nods* That's a good idea, you'd look amazing as Zelda.

Y:  And so would you my Link.

F:  *smiles and picks me up, carrying me to the couch* I can't wait to see you in that costume              darling.

After he puts me and the blankets down near the couch, I help him flip it over and finish setting up the blanket fort.

F:  *after setting up the fort, he sits down in the middle of the blankets and holds his arms out to        me* Come here princess.

I  crawl over to him and we lean back against the pillows.  He wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest and holds me in his lap.  We watch the Marvel Movies in timeline order until we both start to drift off to sleep.  Felix holds me tightly in his arms as he falls asleep with his head resting on top of mine.

Y:  *sleepily* I love you Felix

F:  *he mumbles in his sleep* I love you too princess so much."