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idk-karla · 2 days ago

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The Neighbor, pt. 2

Pairing: bucky barnes x single!mom!reader (Post Thunderbolts)

Summary: Bucky helps you with the groceries and stays for dinner.

Author's Note: I'm gonna be so real with you my guy, I have not edited this so I apologize for any mistakes. Also there are barely any long hair bucky memes. I love short hair bucky but long hair buckt is so fucking daddy idk. Especially that little cunty blow out out in the Thunderbolts post credit. 😭

Part 1

It started with a cookie.

Then I started seeing him more often. He would pass me in the mornings on his way out with a smile, putter around the porch in the afternoon. And then he started sitting balcony every afternoon at 4pm. Which coincidentally was the same time Ellie and I played outside.

And just like that a tradition was born. Ellie would bring him a new “delivery” every day on her way in from school. A flower she picked from the sidewalk, a crayon drawing of a purple dinosaur, a single cheese puff in a napkin. He took every offering with that quiet nod and tiny smile that I was starting to recognize as rare currency. Sometimes he gave her something back- a shiny coin, a folded paper crane, a soft high-five that she beamed about for hours.

He still didn’t say much. He would watch. He would smile, softly like if he did it too hard it would hurt, he would wave. Sometimes, when I turned my head just slightly, I’d catch him watching me like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. Butterflies swarmed my stomach everytime he looked at me like that.Like he didn’t quite know what to do with the way he was looking.

Truthfully, I barely knew either. I hadn’t been with anyone since I left Ellie’s dad when she was barely two and I hadn't had much interest in dating after that. Not trying to balance a full time career and a very active kid. Not to mention, Ellie’s dad hadn’t quite made me want to be with another man again. I knew he was never going to be my forever guy, but I had stayed for a while hoping he would change. Then I got pregnant and I really thought he would change. Instead, he got worse. I had been anticipating my exit since Ellie was still in my womb but I didn’t have the resources until it was almost too late. We were never going back.

We’d started over. Fresh. Clean slate. Now with a broody neighbor that had my curiosity peaked,

We hadn’t seen him for two weeks after a full month of quiet interactions. Ellie had been sad the first few days, worried he had moved out. But I’d reminded her he was an avenger and he was probably out working or something. I think I was trying to convince myself just as much.

I hated to admit my heart skipped a beat when I pulled into my usual parking spot and spotted the familiar heavy bike stationed. Ellie didn’t notice and I didn’t alert her that he was back. Instead, I parked, got her unbuckled and continued our animated conversation while she put on her big girl strength and helped me with the grocery bags.

We were standing in front of the trunk, gathering as many bags as we could carry while Ellie talked animatedly about something that happened in class today when a familiar voice sounded behind me.

“Need some help?” The voice startled me to dropping the bags, sending Ellie into a fit of giggles.

“Mr. Soldier!” Ellie squealed. “You’re back!”

He titled his head at her and gave her a small salute. “Ma’am,” he said seriously, which sent her into giggles.

“Hi,” He greeted me quietly. The butterflies in my stomach were having a frenzy.

“Hi,” I replied. Somehow the exchange felt intimate. I hated to admit, seeing him now after so much time made me relieved. I hate coming home the last few weeks with no Bucky on the porch, hated not seeing his bike parked next to my car.

I wanted to tell him I’d missed seeing him. That I hated how… empty the afternoons had felt without him. That I checked for his bike every day, hoping it would be back. But the words stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat. So I just smiled.

“I missed you!” Ellie wrapped her arms around his knees without permission.

Something passed across Bucky’s face. A flicker of surprise, emotion, something I couldn’t quite name. He crouched carefully to her level.

“Sorry I missed our daily delivery, I had to go work for a little bit.” Bucky finally replied.

I leaned against the car, watching as Ellie cupped his face like he was some long-lost best friend. I saw it when his face caught he reflection of the light, a split lip, faint bruises blooming along his jaw.

“Thats okay! I put all the deliveries in your mailbox!” She giggled diabolically.

My eyes widened. “You did what?”

“I didn’t have space in my toy box, Mommy! And Bucky wasn’t here to pick them up. The mailman leaves stuff in our box when we’re gone, remember?”

I didn’t have the heart to be mortified, I was mostly kind of intrigued to find out exactly what she had put in his mailbox. Bucky looked… stricken. Like someone had slapped him in the face.

Ellie grabbed his cheeks again. “Did you beat up all the bad guys?”

He nodded solemnly.

“Thank you, Mr. Soldier!”

His voice softened just a touch. “My friends call me Bucky.”

Her eyes lit up like a thousand suns. “And we’re friends!!”

Bucky looked back to me for permission. “If your mom says it’s okay.”

I sighed, but I couldn’t help smiling. “I suppose it’s too late to stop it now.” Ellie gave another excited yelp and turned to grab the grocery bags.

“Let me help,” he offered, glancing between us. “Put me to work, boss.”

And just like that, we were playing “how many bags can fit on Bucky’s metal arm.” Today’s count: fifteen.

I tried not to look flustered as I opened the door and let him carry the groceries into the kitchen. His eyes swept the space like he couldn’t help himself; quick, cataloging. Like he was assessing danger, even here.

Ellie ran off into her room. Now alone, Bucky finally turned those piercing blue eyes back on me.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said as he set the bags down.

“I know,” he answered, setting the bags down gently on the counter. “You looked like you needed a third arm.”

“Or two,” I muttered. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he heard. Of course he heard. He was quiet for a beat longer than necessary, and when I looked up, he was staring at me like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

“You do this alone?” he asked, those eyes trained on me

I leaned on the counter, tilting my head at him. “The groceries?”

He gave me a look that said he didn’t mean just the groceries.

“Yeah,” I started unpacking said groceries to avoid his watchful gaze. “It’s just me and Ellie.”

He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away. “You’re doing good.”

The words were simple, but they landed heavier than they should have. Maybe because no one really said things like that to me. Or maybe because it was him.

“Thanks,” I whispered, warmth blooming in my chest.

I scratched the back of my neck. “Also… sorry about your mailbox. It’s probably full of dirt and rotten snacks.” I said sheepishly.

A flicker of something crossed his face. Not annoyance. Something closer to... wonder.

“That's okay, I don’t mind…” he said, voice almost too soft to hear, looking around the room anywhere but at me. “I- uh- I think it’s sweet. She was thinking about me.”

My heart ached. This sweet, lonely man who didn’t expect to be remembered.

“I… thought about you too.” I admitted quietly. “I wondered if you moved. Maybe the noise and glitter scared you off.”

Now his eyes locked on me firmly when he shook his head. “I had to work.” He repeated solemnly. “I like having you and Ellie as neighbors.”

Neighbors.

“Neighbor friends,” I teased, nudging his shoulder lightly.

“Friends who are neighbors,” he echoed, smiling that rare, crinkly smile.

And suddenly, we were both grinning at each other like idiots. The moment broke when Ellie came barreling out of the bedroom at full speed, toy gun in her hands.

“Mr. Soldier!” She yelled in a playfully authoritative voice, weapon trained on him. Bucky turned around with wide eyes, hands above his head.

“Don’t shoot!” He pleaded dramatically.

“Did you take Captain Glittersword with you to work?” Ellie raised a serious eyebrow, jiggling her weapon.

“I did, ma’am!” Bucky saluted her again.

“Show me prooooof!””

“I keep my promises, General.” He pulled the sparkly plastic toy from one of his many utility pockets, presenting it with exaggerated care. “Captain glittersword got me home safe and sound.”

Ellie cheered and accidentally let off her gun, hitting Bucky in the chest with a foam ball.

“Sorry!” She squeaked sheepishly. Bucky roared playfully and took off after her, the sound of their laughter spilling out onto the porch.

I watched them through the window as Bucky chased her in a circle, clearly letting her evade his hold on purpose. My heart was heavy in my chest.

After a few minutes they made it back inside, crashing onto the living room floor in a heap of sweet and labored breathing.

“Hey,” I said, voice soft. “We’re doing tacos tonight. You want to stay?”

“Tacos!!!” Ellie cheered. “They’re chicken! You have to stay Bucky!”

His face shifted, surprised, like he hadn’t expected to be asked.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

***

Ellie was in charge of the cheese, which meant about half of it made it into her mouth before it made it onto the tacos. Bucky helped chop tomatoes with a carefulness that made me think he’d never done it before, or like he was terrified of doing it wrong. He held the knife awkwardly in his right hand, the left one curled loosely around the vegetable, as if it didn’t quite know what to do when it wasn’t a weapon.

I tried not to stare. But I couldn't help myself.

“You weren’t lying about not being able to cook, huh?”

His lips tugged into a sheepish, almost boyish smile. “Not unless it comes in a can I can heat with a lighter.”

I stepped closer. “Can I show you?”

He nodded once, quiet and still.

I reached out, slowly curling my fingers over his, repositioning the knife in his hand with gentle pressure. A jolt of warmth sparked down my spine when my finger grazed over his. My breath hitched.

“Knife goes here,” I murmured, guiding his grip. “Firm, but not stiff. Let it do the work.” His gaze was trained where our hands touched. “And you curl your fingers in, so you don’t accidentally cut yourself.”

I gently nudged his vibranium hand into the proper position, ignoring the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I literally can’t cut it off,” he murmured.

“I know. Humor me.”

I kept my hand on his, guiding the first few slices, our arms pressed close. He leaned in, just slightly, but enough that I felt the warmth of his chest at my back. My hips shifted, the softest, subtlest movement and I felt him freeze, a breath catching somewhere deep in his throat.

The air around us changed like something unspoken had just brushed the edges of what could be. And then Ellie dropped a spoon and we pulled apart like teenagers caught by their parents.

By the time we finished assembling the tacos, they were a gloriously soggy mess of loose food, sauces, and questionable amounts of cheese.

Bucky eyed his with skepticism, then took a bite. A low groan of approval rumbled from his throat.

I smirked. “Better than canned beans?”

He looked almost offended. “We eat military rations. Vacuum-sealed mystery meat. This is gourmet.”

A flush crept up my neck. “Thanks.”

“Mommy looooves to cook,” Ellie announced proudly, tomato sauce on her nose. “I help her.”

“You must know a lot, then,” Bucky said seriously, leaning forward. “You’re gonna have to teach me.”

“I can be your cooking teacher!” she declared, chest puffed out.

Bucky gave a solemn nod. “Deal, Chef Ellie.”

She beamed.

Ellie kept up a steady stream of chatter through dinner- stories from school, a play-by-play of her imaginary army base in the backyard, questions about Bucky’s arm (which he answered patiently and honestly), and whether or not he knew how to ride dragons.

“No, but I did ride on top of a tank once,” he told her. “Pretty close.”

Her jaw dropped, awestruck. “Mommy, he’s so cool.”

I smiled behind my glass. “Yeah. He kinda is.”

Bucky looked at me just then. Not just looking seeing. That soft, searching look again. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. It made my heart do that slow, warm curl in my chest.

After dinner, he followed me into the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, plate in hand.

“I’ve got the dishes,” he said.

“Oh, you really don’t have to-”

“I want to. Let me.”

Ellie tugged on my shirt. “Mom, can I have TV time?”

It was Friday. “Yeah, bug. Go grab your arsenal- I’ll set you up with dessert and a movie.”

She raced off like I’d just handed her a mission from NASA. I packed a little snack board; cut-up fruit, mini cookies, a juice box. Bucky rinsed the dishes beside me. The kitchen felt warmer with him in it, our bodies moving in sync in the small space, shoulders brushing here and there. Not rushed. Just comfortable. Intimate.

At one point, I reached past him for the dish towel, and his arm grazed my waist.

We both paused. Neither of us moved. We’d just stared at each other for a few seconds. I’d watched his eyes flicker down to my lips and back up almost like he was asking a question I was going to definitely say yes too.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said. His voice was quiet, almost unsure. “You have a… a nice home. You’re nice. This is nice.”

His face crumpled like he hated every word the moment it left his mouth. He ran a hand over his face and groaned. “God, that sounded better in my head.”

A grin tugged across my lips. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

He moved toward the door, clearly flustered, hands in his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them. “Anyway. Thanks again.”

I followed him to the door. “Thank you for spending the evening with us. Ellie loved it.” I paused, nerves catching in my throat “I did too.”

He turned slowly, meeting my eyes. The porch light cast golden shadows across his face.

That look again. The one that said: If I could explain what this means to me, I would.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Buck.”

The door closed behind him, but I stood there for a while, hand on the knob, breath caught in the quiet.

Part 3

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prettygirl-gabi · 18 hours ago

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One Week Off

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: it’s not as worse as the first time and Paige’s will makes sure you know that

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav , @liloandstitchstan , @kaliblazin , @marleymarleymarleymarley

The second I felt the tweak—just the tiniest shift in my knee as I landed—I knew something was wrong.

Not catastrophic, but enough for the world to freeze for a split second.

The crowd’s roar didn’t fade exactly, but it grew distant, like someone turned the volume down and the air got heavier.

I sat down on the court, trying to smile through the sharp pulse in my left leg, the exact place I never wanted to feel pain again.

Same leg. Same damn knee. The one that kept me sidelined nearly my entire final year of college.

I didn’t even want the trainers to look at me. I knew what they’d say. And yet there I was, back in the locker room, gripping the edge of the bench with white knuckles, while Paige paced like she was the one hurting.

“You’re overthinking,” Paige said, crouching in front of me after the doc finally cleared the room. “They said it’s just a sprain. One week.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, unable to meet her eyes. “One week. Minimum.”

She tilted her head, blond hair tied in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

Her game jersey was still half-tucked, her arm wrapped in an ice sleeve from diving for that loose ball in the third quarter.

“You’re doing that thing where you spiral and think this is the end of your rookie year.”

“It’s not that,” I lied, then added quickly, “Okay, maybe it’s a little that.”

Her hands found my knees gently, fingers curling around the good one first, then resting soft over the one that was braced now. “I’ve been exactly where you are, remember?”

“How could I forget?” I whispered. “I watched you go through it at UConn. I know what that year did to you, Paige.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m telling you—this is not that. This is a week. A sprain. You’re still gonna be the problem on the court next weekend.”

Her words should’ve comforted me. And maybe they would have, if it wasn’t the familiar throb in my knee screaming memories into my head.

The lonely rehab room.

The gut-deep fear I’d never move the same again.

The highlight reels playing without me in them.

I wasn’t scared of pain.

I was scared of disappearing.

“I don’t wanna do this again,” I finally said, my voice breaking against the quiet of the locker room. “I just wanted a healthy rookie season. That’s it. No injuries. No setbacks. Just—just being on the court with you.”

Paige stood and pulled me to my feet like I weighed nothing. Like she could carry me if she had to. “Then come home,” she said simply. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

“Home?”

She smirked. “Our apartment. Our couch. My hoodie. Your show. Cuddles.”

“You’re bribing me with cuddles now?”

“Is it working?”

My smile cracked through the fog. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

The drive home was quiet, but not tense. Paige’s playlist was on—some mix of Bryson Tiller, SZA, and a little old-school Drake.

The kind of music that filled silence instead of forcing conversation.

I sat with my leg elevated on the dashboard, ice pack strapped around my knee, while she occasionally reached over to run her fingers along my arm or give my thigh a reassuring squeeze.

“Do you think I’m being dramatic?” I asked after a while, staring at the neon lights passing outside.

“No,” Paige replied instantly. “I think you’re being real.”

I glanced at her. “Even if it’s just a sprain?”

“It’s your knee. It’s your trauma. Doesn’t matter what the diagnosis says. I remember how that year broke you, Y/N.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah. You were the only one who saw it.”

“Because I was already shattered myself.”

We got home, and she practically carried me inside—one arm around my back, the other holding the door open with her foot like some superhero girlfriend.

I didn’t resist.

I wanted to act like I was fine, like I didn’t need help…but God, it felt good to lean into her. Into us.

She helped me into my favorite spot on the couch—corner cushion, legs up on the ottoman, two pillows propped behind my back—then disappeared into our room.

“I’m picking your hoodie tonight!” she called from down the hall.

“You know I’m gonna pick the navy one!” I yelled back.

“That’s why I’m picking it.”

She returned a second later with her thickest UConn hoodie, the one with her number stitched on the sleeve and my initials written inside the collar in Sharpie.

She tugged it over my head with care, smiling when I sank into it with a groan of satisfaction.

“Happy?”

“Better,” I admitted. “Much better.”

Then came the cuddles.

She slid in beside me, arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me gently until I was half on her, head buried in her chest.

“This okay?” she asked, her voice vibrating in her ribcage.

I nodded, letting the warmth of her and the softness of the blanket swallow me whole.

Her fingers found my scalp, stroking through my hair in long, calming motions.

“Can I confess something?” I murmured.

“Always.”

“I was scared to let myself love basketball again after the last time.”

“I know.”

“But being here—with you, on this team, in this league—it made me love it again. And now…one little injury, and I’m scared it’s gonna get taken away again.”

She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I get it, babe. I really do. But this isn’t college. This isn’t that season. You’re not alone. You’ve got me. You’ve got our staff. And you’re gonna be back in seven days max.”

I was quiet for a second. “Promise?”

She smiled against my skin. “I promise to carry your ass through the next seven days if I have to.”

“You gonna feed me too?”

“Yep. Ice your knee. Feed you. Make you laugh. Hold you when you start doubting yourself. And—if you’re lucky—maybe I’ll let you beat me in 2K.”

“You never let me win in 2K.”

“Exactly. So that’s how you know I’m serious.”

The next few days went like this:

Paige waking up early to make smoothies and bring me breakfast in bed.

Paige coming home from practice and flopping onto the bed beside me, still in her compression gear, to update me on every play I missed.

Paige insisting we watch Love Island so I wouldn’t obsessively watch game tape.

Paige laughing when I yelled at the TV because of course Nic and Olandria were pissing me off.

She kept me in the present when my brain wanted to time travel to the worst year of my life.

“You gotta stop tensing up every time your knee throbs,” she said on day three. We were in bed, and she was reading some mystery novel while my leg rested on her lap. “You flinch like someone’s throwing punches.”

“It’s annoying,” I muttered. “Feels like my body’s betraying me again.”

“It’s healing,” she corrected. “It’s reminding you that it’s still working. Still protecting you.”

“Ugh. Stop being emotionally intelligent.”

She grinned. “Never.”

By the sixth night, I was starting to feel like myself again. The swelling was almost gone.

The trainers cleared me for non-impact cardio. I even dribbled in place a little while she cooked dinner.

But that night, after lights were out and the house was quiet, I rolled over and whispered, “Paige?”

She was already half-asleep but hummed softly. “Mm?”

“Can you hold me tighter?”

No hesitation. Her arms wrapped around me like armor, chin resting on the top of my head.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I think I just needed tonight to get here.”

“Why?”

“Because tomorrow’s game day and I’m not playing. And it doesn’t feel like the end of the world anymore.”

She kissed my temple. “That’s ‘cause you fought through the worst of it.”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s ‘cause I had you.”

Game day came and went.

I wore a cute game-day fit with a brace on my knee, sat behind the bench, and Paige balled out for both of us.

She dropped 24 points and blew a kiss to me after a fastbreak three.

The whole arena melted.

Post-game, she ran straight to me before anyone else, grabbing my hand in front of the cameras.

“You see that shot?” she grinned.

“You know I did,” I said, tugging her closer.

“Was it sexy?”

“So sexy.”

She leaned in and kissed me quick, sweet, just enough for the fans to scream and our teammates to whistle obnoxiously.

“You’re back next week,” she whispered against my lips. “But until then…I’ve got us covered.”

And somehow, for the first time since I felt that tweak in my knee, I believed it.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!💚💙

-prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #wbb #gabi writes #support the writers!#gabi answers #°~prettygirlgabi ask~°#uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #oneshot #paige bueckers dallas wings #dallas wings x reader #wnba dallas wings #dallas wings #wnba paige bueckers #gabi writes things #prettygirl gabi #gabi talks

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streamsofmoon · 22 hours ago

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mechanic!vi x f!reader

a/n: missed vi and needed to write about her 😞

vi's been working at the same mechanic for years now, and her co-workers know next to nothing about her. she's always been quiet, preferring to keep to herself because her life is her business. sure, she'll have a couple of drinks once the work day's done, but she'll never stay out later than necessary.

why?

"i gotta get home to my wife," she'll say, her eyes softening at the very thought of you. and it stuns her colleagues each time because vi's eyes don't soften. her default expression keeps people at a distance; it makes her inaccessible just the way she likes it.

but whenever she mentions you, that expression disappears to showcase a hint of genuine adoration. a love that has people going still and silent in its presence because it feels sacred—feels reverent.

for that reason alone, speculations of who vi's wife is circles the shop. some wonder if you're similar to vi or vastly different. some already have ideas of what you'd look like, all based on what they think vi would find attractive. it's all silly guessing games; a betting pool is born from these guesses, all of it done sneakily, so vi never knows.

some try to sneak glances at her phone when she's using it. on the hope that you're her background photo. but vi's always too quick, too precise with her business that even a little peek is frankly impossible.

this goes on for weeks until they decide to give it a rest, especially when vi's glare nearly killed a man when she caught him trying to sneak a look at her phone.

the guessing games die down, and the betting pool remains untouched without a winner.

work returns to normal.

until one day.

you come into the shop on a sunny afternoon, dressed in a loose pair of shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. you're holding a lunchbox in your hands, your eyes glancing around the workshop floor. like you're looking for someone in particular.

gorgeous is the first thing that comes to mind when they see you. your smile warm and friendly as you're approached to see who you're looking for. you barely get a chance to describe said person when your eyes light up like shining stars.

"vi!" you exclaim happily, immediately running over to her with outstretched arms. everyone watches with gaping jaws at the sight of vi with her arms already open, absolutely delighted at your presence. she catches you easily, lifting you into her embrace as she captures your lips in a deep kiss.

you respond enthusiastically, wrapping your arms around her neck and legs around her waist. you hum into the kiss, lips still curved in a smile before you're pulling away, giggling when vi eagerly chases after your mouth.

"stop it," you scold playfully, tapping her nose which she cutely scrunches up. "you forgot your lunch." you show her the lunchbox you hold carefully in one hand. "this is the second time this week. i feel like you're doing this on purpose."

vi gasps in feigned offense, already carrying you to the empty break room. "if you're implying i purposefully leave my lunch at home so my hot wife delivers it for me at work, then you're sorely mistaken."

"sorely mistaken, my ass," you reply, grinning as you’re carted away.

"oh yeah," vi says before turning to her shocked colleagues, her expression stoic. "i'm going on my break. be back in an hour. if you need me, don't."

then she's back to smiling at you, soft eyes and softer voice as she responds to your endearing rambling. the door to the break room opens and shuts, a startling noise in the heavy silence as everyone processes what just happened.

it's then unanimously agreed that no one wins the betting pool.

#vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x you #arcane x reader #the moon scripts 🌙

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itzserein · 2 days ago

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"Can you feel me now?"

Sophia Laforteza x Fem!reader no plot just pure smut, sub!Sophia, dom!reader, bondage, fingering, slight praise k!nk

Masterlist

A/n: would you guys believe that this is my first time writing smut ever? crazy haha I was supposed to upload this a few days ago but got busy and shit, anyways this was inspired by one of ace's asks (this specifically) hope you guys like it <3

You’re not fully aware of what you had gotten yourself into. Your thoughts were just all over the place at this moment and you were still here, trying to piece everything together.

After all, you never would have thought that your girlfriend was into that kind of stuff and yet here you were, watching as your gorgeous girlfriend moved her hips on your thigh, writhing her body and whimpering, while she begged for you to just move already.

You couldn't help but stare at the state she was in. Hands tied around her back, hair sticking all over due to the amount of sweat covering her, body littered with hickey's and bite marks, mouth wide open mid moan.

She looked helpless, and you couldn't help but feel proud that you were the one who had brought her into such a state.

The two of you were just having a simple conversation earlier about what you guys could do to improve your sex life and suddenly the topic of being tied up was brought to light. You thought that she was joking at first to be honest, but you're even more surprised when she suddenly brings out some handcuffs from one of your drawers that you didn't even know you guys had owned until now.

She smirked at your reaction, twirling the handcuffs around her hand like it was the most normal thing in the world "Wanna test it out?" she had said, teasingly.

The next thing you knew, you were leaned against the headboard, gripping onto her hips as she kept grinding, trying to gain some sort of pleasure since you weren't doing anything. It wasn't enough though, she needed more and you knew it, you knew that you needed to move to help your beautiful girl.

The only thing is you can’t, you were so entranced by the sight of her, just absolutely stunned by how gorgeous she looked on top of you with the marks you yourself left scattered all across her body.

It was wonderful, she is wonderful.

“Y/n please-” she lets out another whine, begging for you to just do something already.

It's only then you snap out of your trance, you knew that you needed to help her relieve herself. So without any warning, you plunged your finger into her, drawing out another moan from the girl.

“You look so pretty like this Soph” you mumbled under your breath, leaving light kisses on her neck.

The Filipina only moans louder at the compliment and without a second thought in her mind, she's bringing her hips down onto your hand. Sophia leans down onto your body overwhelmed by everything she was feeling and her body just completely surrendering to the pleasure it brought her.

Her head is buried into the crook of your neck, her moans muffled and you don't like that, not one bit.

You want to see Sophia, you want to hear each and every sound she makes loud and clear. You want to watch her fall apart for you. So you stop your movements, moving your other hand that is initially holding onto her waist moves up to her shoulder.

You push her upper body away from yours and grab her by the chin with that same hand just to make her look at you. You can't help but lick your lips as you see her dazed look and you'd honestly like to see Sophia like this more often. All fucked out just for you.

“Let me see you, I want to see you fall apart for me beautiful” you told her, not bothering to let her give you a proper reply as you slip a second finger inside of her tight pussy and thrust harder into her.

She gasps at this and whines, trying to free herself from the handcuffs so she could hold you close “Baby...please let me touch you at least?” she pleads again but you just chuckle, curling your fingers up on that sensitive spot in her that you know oh so well.

Sophia moans louder, eyes rolled back when she feels your fingers hit that particular spot in her but you tighten your grip on her jaw bringing her gaze back to you.

“Look at me baby”

And she does, despite everything she doesn't dare disobey you, afraid that you'll stop again. The Filipina could only moan out for you, whimpering about how good it feels and the fact that she couldn't do anything but grind her hips onto you harder was turning her on more than it should.

The more she tried to free herself from her restraints, the more helpless she felt and she unknowingly clenched harder around your fingers at the thought. You felt it and you smiled "Such a good girl, already gonna cum?"

She only nods, her moans coming out whinier and her hands that are restrained behind her become even more restless. Wanting to touch you, feel you in any sort of way but you ignore all this and just kiss her cheek "I've got you my good girl."

And as if on cue that brings her over the edge. The girl is shaking so violently that you have to wrap your arm around her and pull her closer to you, letting her know that she's okay and that you've got her. You slow down your pace not wanting to overstimulate her but you still do your best to milk every last drop from her.

Once you know that she's done you peck her lips multiple times, telling her how good she did for you.

When Sophia's calmed down you slowly remove your fingers making her groan at the loss of contact but she doesn't complain anymore than that. You laid her down on the bed beside you and reached out for the keys of the handcuffs to finally free her.

Her hands immediately go to, pulling you onto her and just hug you tightly. You could only smile at her clingyness "Are you alright baby?"

"Yes thank you so much" she says as she reaches up to kiss your jawline.

"We're definitely doing that again aren't we?" you ask and you laughed when she is immediately nodding a yes.

Safe to say your little test went better than expected.

wc: 1k

ctto for all pics used here

#katseye #katseye thoughts 💭#katseye smut #katseye imagines #katseye x female reader #katseye x reader #katseye sophia #katseye sophia thoughts #katseye sophia laforteza #sophia laforteza #sophia #sophia katseye #sophia laforteza katseye

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angel-writes-skz-here · 8 hours ago

Text

Love's Patient

Bang Chan x Reader

Synopsis: Having surgery is rough, but having your best friend come over makes things even more complicated

Warnings: SMUT p in v unprotected, pulling out, use of the term baby.

A/N: For my lovely sister wife @breakmeoff I hope you enjoy it babes! I apprecaite y'alls patience with me the last few days! Today is my moms birthday so idk how much I'll be on, but i'll try to get some writing done! I appreciate you guys so big!

Xoxo💋

“Seriously? I’m gone for five minutes and this is what you do?” Chan lightly scolds as he walks in to see you, balancing on your knee cart, making yourself some food.

“I’m hungry,” you pout as you try to move the bowl of food and yourself around the kitchen.

“I told you I would be right back.”

“Chan, I’m not helpless.”

“No one said you were.”

“Then I can do things for myself.”

“Ok, miss independent,” he smirks. He stands back, watching you struggle to grab everything and balance on your scooter. Your eyes flit to him, an amused look gracing his face as he watches you.

You drop your fork on the floor with a groan. You set your stuff on the counter, trying your best to balance so you can pick up the fork.

Chan’s hands come to your waist, your heart speeds up at his touch.

“Would you just please sit down. I’ll fix your food,” he says gently. You huff but abort your mission.

“Fine,” you grumble as you go back to the couch. You sit there, a frown present on your face.

“It’s only for a few weeks.”

“Yeah a few weeks of being a burden,” you say as you take the food from his hands.

“Thank you,” you mumble and he breathes out a laugh.

“You aren’t a burden. If you were, I wouldn’t have offered to come help.” He sighs. Chan’s your best friend, has been for years now, so when you told him you were having surgery on your foot, there was no question he would help; whether you liked it or not.

“You know I hate relying on people.”

“And you know I’m going to be here for you no matter what.” He smiles. Over the years you developed a small crush on Chan, and who wouldn’t? That hair, the aussie accent, his sweet heart, cute dimples, and those damn abs??? A blind girl would fall in love with him.

You finish your food, noticing how far away he’s sitting.

“I need something else.” You say quietly, feeling bad for bothering him.

“At your service madam.” He replies cheekily.

“Cuddles?” His brows shoot up at the word.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Chan it’s fine. You won’t.” You go to move your self up a little to make room for him to sit beside you on the couch.

“Y/n, really, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not a China Doll,” You glare at him playfully.

You carefully move your casted foot down.

“Hey, ok, ok, at least let me help,” he interjects as you struggle to get the pillow further down the couch. He moves the pillow for you, making sure your foot is carefully propped up before positioning himself behind you. You let your head fall onto his chest, his heart beat a little more rapid than it ought to be with so little movement on his part.

“You ok?” you ask, eyes not leaving the tv screen.

“Perfect.”

Over the next few weeks Chan has been right by your side, cooking, cleaning even helping you, selectively, bathe and keep your cast dry. He’s even had Felix make you his famous brownies.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Felix’s brownies are better than store bought, and they’re fresh. I got vanilla ice cream too.”

That same night you’re waking up, foot throbbing in pain, near to tears when Chan stirs awake in the recliner in the corner of your room. You throw the blankets off, ready to get up when you trip and land on the ground with a sharp yelp.

“Y/n!” Chan says, voice laced with sleep and worry. He turns on the lamp on the table beside him. He see’s you sitting on the ground, face scrunched in pain.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice is calm but concerned.

“I needed my medicine.” You whimper as the searing pain in your foot gets worse.

“It really fucking hurts,” you say quietly, trying to blink back tears. You weren’t one to really cry in front of everyone, not even Bang Chan. He could count on one hand how many times you’d cried in front of him.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he cups your face, thumbs wiping the tears away like it’s natural for him; the look of concern and gentleness upon his face.

“You were finally sleeping so peacefully and I know how hard it is for you to get to sleep,” Chan sighs at your words.

“No, stop that. You aren’t supposed to worry about me, ok? I’m here to take care of you!” he explains, lips pressing against your forehead in what feels like a habit, but it isn’t. He’s never done that actually. Both of you freeze for a moment.

“Come on,” he says quietly. Its as if talking too loud will spook you or something. He helps you up, using him and the mattress beside you to brace onto as you lift your knee up on the scooter.

The two of you go into the kitchen, Chan dispensing the pain medication for you and writing down the time on the dry erase board for you.

“There in six hours you can have more.” He looks at you, a pout on your face.

“Still in pain?” he asks gently. You nod and Chan gets an idea.

“Come on, let’s go sit down.” He says as he helps you into the living room.

“I want my bed,” you complain.

“Ok, let’s get you to bed then.” He smiles as you both walk back into your room, and he helps you climb into bed before leaving you alone. You furrow your brows as he walks out and you hear rustling in the kitchen as you grab your remote and turn on your tv. You put it on some late night tv show, half way paying attention to it.

Chan comes back with two bowls filled with brownies and ice cream.

“It won’t take the pain away, but it might help distract you?” he offers with a weak smile. You smile at him genuinely, your stomach filling with butterflies that he’s actually trying to help, even though he knows he can’t do much.

“Thank you,” you mumble as he hands it to you. You take a bite and realize he even warmed the brownie up, causing you to grin.

“Wanna sit with me?” you ask as he’s about to walk over to the chair, a piece of brownie on his lip. He stops and turns to you, causing you to giggle a little. He climbs into bed next to you, and you can’t resist wiping the brownie off his lip, the moment charged with electric tension.

You pull your thumb to your mouth, eye contact solid between you, and eat the crumb. You watch as his adams apple bobs in his throat.

“I um, we should probably try to let you rest.” He says quietly, breaking away from the moment.

“I’ve slept enough, I’m tired of sleeping. Plus we haven’t finished our snack.” You motion to the bowls of brownie bits and melted ice cream. He purses his lips, caught between doing what he wants and what he thinks is right. You both finish the dessert quietly, a slightly awkward silence between you as spoons hit the bowls in the otherwise fairly quiet room. You place your bowls on your beside tables, laying down.

“Cuddle with me?” you ask, a slight pouty lip making its way out. Chris is conflicted, he knows it’s dangerous, he doesn’t want to take advantage of you and he’s done well with holding himself back.

“Sure, just for a little bit.”

Your head lays on his chest and once again you notice his heart rate is high.

“Thank you for helping me out,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to thank me, y/n.” he smiles as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, the tv completely forgotten with the tension like a live wire in the room.

“It still hurts.” You murmur before your eyes meet his. Your eyes are desperate for relief; anything he can provide you’d take. The medication took the edge off but the dull ache is still enough to make you sick to your stomach.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Distract me,” you shrug slightly as your hand goes onto his chest.

“Y/n,” he breathes with a soft smile as he shakes his head.

“Chan, I don’t care how, I just-umph!” your eyes grow wide as you register what’s happening. Chan’s lips are soft against yours, his hand cradling your face, the kiss not too intense, but enough to make your head spin.

It quickly turns heated, breaths mixing, tongues mingling and exploring each other’s mouths, lips slick from saliva and for a moment, you forget about the pain of your ankle. He gently rolls you to your back, lips still on yours, hands drifting down your stomach to the waist band of your shorts.

“Chan.” The hushed moan reaches his ears and his eyes open instantly, hand stopping suddenly. He pulls back, both of your lips swollen.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry, I just, I’m-I’m sorry. I’ll go; I’ll sleep in the living room.”

“No wait! It- it was helping,” you admit sheepishly. He takes a deep breath, looking over your face for any signs of joking or even lying. He dives back down, lips reattaching to yours like they belong there.

“This is,” he kisses your lips once, “just to help,” he says against them, “with the pain.” He mutters, words slurring together.

“Mhm,” you moan against him your hands tangling in his hair. His lips attach to your neck, your hips lifting off the bed slightly. Chan notices and growls against the skin of your neck.

“I’ll hurt you,” he whispers in your ear.

“We can make it work,” you whimper as his teeth graze your skin.

“Baby if you cum it’s gonna hurt,” he says looking into your eyes.

“Chan please,” you beg desperately, thighs squeezing together. He sits up removing his shirt, your whines going straight to his cock.

“You have to tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?” You nod as he methodically removes your shorts and panties before taking off his own clothes. Chan keeps your casted leg straight and on the pillow so it’s lifted slightly, and he helps you onto your side. He grabs some lube out of your night stand and slicks himself up with it.

“Gonna make you feel better baby.” He mumbles as he lines himself up, looking to you for any last second of hesitation. When he finds none, his thick cock enters you, causing you to gasp and your eyes to close, your face turning into the pillow under your head.

He bottoms out slowly, shuttering at your walls grip him like a vice.

“Fuck you’re so tight,” he says more to himself than you. He stays there for a moment, your head turning behind him, eyes meeting.

“Is this- I- um-,” he stammers before your lips are on his and he pulls out, slowly pushing himself back in, every single inch and vein felt inside you as he does. You whimper against his lips, hand hooking around his neck to bring him closer to you.

“Fuck, please go faster,” you mumble against his lips and his hips snap at a quicker pace, being careful to stay tuned in to your words. A gasp falls from your lips as his head kisses your cervix, hitting that sweet spot that has you forgetting all the pain, making pleasure the only thing that exists right now.

“Fuck, Chan,” you squeak as you turn away from him, fisting the sheet beneath you.

“Fuck this feels so damn good,” he says as his forehead rests on your shoulder for a minute.

“Ah, shit,” he curses as your walls clamp down around him. He continues to thrust, his cock hitting the right spot every single time, forcing the tightness in your bell to build.

“God yes,” you moan as his hand comes around to the front of you, pinching one of your nipples beneath your tank top.

“Chan I’m getting close,” you whimper as you can feel his cock twitch inside your walls.

“Me too, are you okay?” he asks concerned.

“Fuck, yes ‘s perfect,” you groan as your muscles start to contract. Chan carefully picks up the pace, slamming into you as easily as he can, his right hand coming down between your legs to rub on your puffy clit.

You squeal, at the sensitivity, your walls fluttering like crazy as you reach the pinnacle of your orgasm.

“Oh fuck,” you moan as your eyes screw shut and the feeling washes over you, your body trembling just a little. Chan quickly pulls out, pumping his cock sloppily and he spills onto his stomach with a beautiful whimper. The two of you lay there for a minute, heavy breathing mixing with the smell of sex and sweat.

Chan gets up, grabbing a warm damp towel, cleaning up the mess on his own stomach and helping clean up between your legs.

“Are you ok?” he asks tentatively.

“Y-yeah.” He nods before taking the towel away and tossing it in the bin.

“Will you lay with me until I fall asleep?” you ask cautiously. He nods and slides his underwear back on, helping you do the same, before he gets in behind you and wraps his arms around you, allowing you to fall asleep somewhat peacefully.

After that night, yours and Chan’s relationship changed, but you weren’t sure how. There was a closeness that was there, but a new distance at the same time. He was oh so attentive to your needs and yet on a personal level he felt so far from you.

“I need to get a change of clothes,” you’d say. Chan would be up out of the chair after the word need, ready to take direction and then helping you change.

“I’m craving ice cream,” you’d say to simply make conversation, and yet Chan took it as his personal mission to get it for you.

One night he walks into the living room and notices you trying to scratch your back, so he comes over, lifts up your shirt and does it for you, smiling at you as your face turns a light shade of pink.

He helps feed your animals. He does a grocery run for you each week and one particular week he finds a super fuzzy blanket that’s your favorite color and he just buys it for you, along with the rest of your groceries because, “You’re injured, you don’t need to spend money.” To which you would roll your eyes to but thank him anyway. Chan had been very hands on with helping you too, constantly cuddling you, holding your hand for follow up appointments when he could sense you were nervous or just simply didn’t want to be there. Over all he’s a great care taker; one you know you’ll miss.

The day the doctor puts you in the boot, it’s a relief for your foot, but you know Chan has to get back to regularly scheduled days.

The first step in your new walking boot is awful. It’s like dull knives are stabbing the underside of your foot with every step. Chan takes his time, helping you, wincing with you when he see’s your face twist.

“If I could carry you, I would,” he says.

“It’s just cause I haven’t been on it in a month.” You try to reassure him and smile through the pain, but with another step the smile quickly fades.

“Fuck this sucks.” You breathe. As you slowly make your way out of the doctor’s office.

You two sit in the car for a moment, Chan not turning it on.

“I told the company I would be taking you to your appointments so they know that I’ll be gone sometimes, but I can’t be over everyday.” He says sounding a bit guilty.

“It’s fine Chan, really. I understand.” You smile, your heart breaking into two pieces. The air between you has been thick sense that night. Neither of you bringing up the fact that you slept together, neither of you knowing what to make out of it despite wanting the same thing.

The drive back to your apartment is silent, deathly silent. He helps you get inside, and sets your things down.

“I have to meet the guys for dinner tonight so we can talk about recording sessions tomorrow.” He says apologetically.

“Oh, yeah, ok. Um, thanks for everything.” You smile nervously and his nails scratch the back of his head awkwardly.

He walks out the door, leaving you standing there.

The first few days you try not to bother him, but not talking about this is eating you up inside. The apartment is quiet, with a ghost of his presence still there. The blanket he bought you even has his cologne scent on it. He texts once a day to check up on you, and after the two weeks of it, you’re missing him so much and you’re sick of the tension.

You pick up the phone dialing his number. It’s late, he’s probably asleep, but you don’t care.

“Hello?” he answers sounding fully awake.

“Hey,” you mumble, as you stand in the middle of your living room.

“What’s up? Are you ok? Did you fall?” he sounds frantic and you scoff playfully.

“No, but can you come over?”

“Give me 15 and I’ll be on my way.” Your heart leaps into your throat at his answer. You had expected an excuse, something so he could try to avoid you.

You pace nervously. How were you supposed to bring this up? How do you ask what it meant, knowing it may not mean anything to him? Did he think about it? Or was it just what he said it was, to help distract you from the pain?

About 30 minutes later there’s a knock at your door. You open it, revealing Chan, hair messy, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep and a weary look on his face. His eyes scan your body, looking for injuries.

You invite him in, stepping aside so he can walk in.

“What’s up?”

“What are we doing?” the question just falls from your lips. Your eyes grow wide slightly when his brows shoot up.

“I, what?”

You sigh, rubbing your forehead.

“Chan what was, that night, about?”

“You were in pain, I mean,” he rubs the back of his neck and you nod.

“Right, ok.” You nod, eyes closing as the dagger strikes your heart.

“Why?” he asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Why are you asking? You haven’t brought it up since it happened almost a month ago.”

“I was nervous to.” You shrug.

“Why?”

“I just was, ok. Look you can go now.” You try to rush him out, tears pricking your eyes as you open the door, not looking at him.

“What did it mean to you?” He asks not moving from his spot in the kitchen. You open your mouth to speak, to lie and say nothing, but the words won’t come out, no matter how hard you try to force them to.

His hand comes up to your shoulder and you squeeze your eyes tight.

“Y/n,” he whispers, scared of saying of the wrong thing.

“Yeah?” you ask quietly, voice too vulnerable to say anything out loud. His hands move to your waist, gently turning you to him. He sees the tear streak down your cheek.

“I did that because you were in pain, but,” he takes a deep breath, “I also did it because I wanted to,” he says slowly. Your eyes search his and find sincerity in his words.

“I wanted to be with you, to feel you. To have you as mine.” He whispers as his forehead rests against yours.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement. You pull his face to you and connect your lips in a soft kiss.

“I’ve missed you,” you say against his lips.

“Me too, baby. What do you say I come over every night this week? Hmm? That way we don’t loose anymore time.”

“That sounds perfect,” you smile kissing his lips again.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @lezleeferguson-120

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notesofthemountain · 2 days ago

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Self-Control

♡ Hi! Just a reminder that English isn’t my first language, so sorry if some parts sound a bit strange. I’m always working on getting better, so any tips or suggestions are super welcome! Also, everything written here is pure fiction, so please don’t take anything personally. Hope you enjoy the read!

♡ Content: romance, Jeonghan x reader, idol x stylist, teasing, flirting

You had just finished double-checking that the wardrobe for the next song was absolutely perfect, making sure the guys could change in seconds and that each garment served its purpose: to make them shine on stage.

Being the stylist for Seventeen hadn’t been easy. Exciting and rewarding? Definitely. But never easy. You always made sure the outfits reflected the essence of each era or song. Over time, you had also learned each member’s personal style. Sometimes it was a challenge, but you always tried to make them feel comfortable in what they wore. Aesthetics and impact were important, sure—but you valued practicality and comfort just as much. That’s why your mind was always racing, trying to piece together the perfect looks.

This time, you felt especially happy and excited. It hadn’t been easy creating thirteen outfits that shared the same energy, but you’d done it—and each one had standout pieces that you knew would shine under the stage lights.

The song was "HOT", so you aimed for something intense—maybe even rebellious. Inspired by biker aesthetics, you knew leather and jackets had to be part of the look. You worried about how practical leather would be, but since no one had complained (yet), you were praying it would all work out.

As you were finishing the final checks, someone called out: time to change.

The boys came running downstairs, and you handed out each outfit, staff buzzing around to speed up the process. When it was the last member's turn, he winked at you as soon as you handed him his outfit. If it weren’t for the pressure of the moment, you probably would’ve melted right then and there... but you couldn’t afford that.

Yoon Jeonghan never missed a chance to tease. He lived for it—whether winking, poking at you to make you pout, or catching you off guard with a tickle that made you jump.

“Will you help me put on my clothes?” Jeonghan asked, his smile crooked.

You knew that tone. You tried to deflect—it was too crowded with members and staff for this kind of play. You were used to his flirting, but not in front of everyone. You loved your job, after all.

“Don’t you know how to put on pants and a T-shirt, Jeonghan?” you replied, dryly.

He pouted dramatically. “What do you mean, Jeonghan? I told you to call me Hannie. But if you prefer… honey sounds good too.”

“Yoon Jeonghan!” you scolded. “If you’re not dressed in five seconds, you’ll be dealing with a very angry Y/N.”

“Okay, okay. I love when you get mad… but I’ll behave. Just ‘cause we’re at a concert.”

He disappeared behind a curtain, then emerged a minute later. The leather pants fit him perfectly, and the black turtleneck clung to his chest and arms like a second skin.

He smiled when he caught you staring a second too long.

“If you wanted me in tighter clothes, you could’ve just asked, Y/N. I’d wear anything for you.”

You knew Jeonghan usually preferred looser clothes, so you’d worried about comfort—but he looked so confident, so at ease. Was it genuine, or just part of his charm?

“Come here. Let me help you with the jacket,” you said, and he came over, grinning like a mischievous child.

“Everything feel okay? Is it too tight?” you asked a little anxiously while you adjusted the leather jacket over his shoulders.

He leaned in, voice low. “For you, I’d wear anything, angel.”

He was so close you could smell him—feel the sweat sliding down his neck. You glanced up, expecting his usual smirk, but his gaze was intense. Playful? No. This was something deeper.

You looked away quickly, cheeks warm.

“Okay, good. I’m glad it’s all fine,” you murmured, smoothing the lines of his jacket.

“You’re blushing,” he teased, chuckling.

“I’m not…” You tried to play it down.

“You know you can’t fool me.” He murmured even lower.

He slipped one arm around your waist, like he needed to steady himself—but it was enough to send warmth shooting up your spine.

“Jeonghan, I’m working. If anyone sees—”

“No one’s watching. I’m just here so you can check the fit. No one’s going to say anything,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer. You finished checking his outfit and gave him a nod so he could return to the stage.

As you encouraged the other members and made sure everything was in order, you felt his gaze on you—burning, intense. He bit his lower lip.

And just before he left, he slyly brushed your hand and murmured: “See you later, angel.”

You wished him luck with your heart raced and then turned back to the wardrobe. Focus.

You weren’t surprised by the way Jeonghan made you feel. You liked him. Of course you did.

I mean, come on—this was Yoon Jeonghan.

But you liked your job, too. You needed to stay professional. And for the most part, you did a good job (you did a lot of self-control work whenever he was around). Lately, though… it was getting harder. And he seemed more determined than ever to break your walls.

When the guys came back to change into their final outfits—more relaxed, more them—Jeonghan came straight to you like a child, waiting for his turn. This time: a black tracksuit jacket and navy green cargos he liked.

“I knew my angel knew me well,” he murmured loud enough for you to hear.

You only had to say his name as a warning to let him out of one of his playful giggles from the changing table.

When he came out, he gave you another flirty smile and stepped close so you could knot his jacket. But he lunged at you, making you gasp. He wrapped his arms around your waist again, pressing gently—just enough to make your whole body jolt.

“Jeonghan! What did I say about personal space?” You pressed your hands to his chest, breath caught.

“What? I’m just helping you do your job,” he said with a wink, still holding you.

You blushed again. Your coworker—also your friend—laughed from nearby. A few members chuckled too. They were clearly used to Jeonghan’s antics.

“See? No one says anything. Everyone knows we belong together,” he said, eyes shining.

Honestly, at this point you were thankful that he was helping you stay on your feet, because his actions were making you lose control, and it would be quite obvious if you suddenly collapsed at a few simple words from him.

Somehow, you finished checking him over. The boys went back to the stage. As he passed, Jeonghan leaned close again.

“See you later. You’re not getting away this time, angel.”

You watched him go, stunned by that smile.

You knew that, little by little, he was completely breaking down your self-control.

After the concert, the boys came down to thank the staff and change. You focused on putting everything back in place.

Jeonghan’s last words stuck in your head. You needed to leave—fast.

Bag in hand, you headed for the exit, searching for your phone to call an Uber and then—

You bumped into someone. You froze.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. His scent gave him away.

“Going somewhere, angel?” he asked, voice raspier than usual. “I didn't know you were suddenly in such a hurry”.

You looked up. There it was again—that damn smile that had haunted you all day. All month. All your dreams.

“Just leaving. My shift’s over,” you stammered, already knowing how hard this was going to be to get out of that situation.

He took a slow, deliberate step closer. Instinctively, you stepped back, your breath catching as your back met the cold, unyielding wall behind you. His arms then rose, framing your body on either side, effectively trapping you in a cage of warmth and tension.

“Without saying goodbye?” he whispered, lowering his gaze to your lips. “And here I was, about to ask you out for a drink.”

“Jeonghan, we shouldn’t…” Your voice wavered.

His eyes were still on your lips, dark and wanting.

You were on the edge of giving in to the temptation that was Yoon Jeonghan. And even though you were trying to keep control — really trying — it felt like you were about to break at any moment.

“Just let yourself go, angel. I know you want to too. Can't you see I'm falling apart for you every time I see you?” He whispered inches from your face.

Warmth spread through you again. Your heart was pounding.

“Jeonghan…”

“I told you not to call me that,” he whispered, brushing your cheek.

“Hannie…”

That did it. He looked right into your eyes and brought a hand to the back of your neck.

“Will you let me kiss you, angel?” he smiled. “If I don’t, I think I’ll just collapse right here—and you’ll have to call the boys to come pick me up.”

He was joking—but his gaze was intense, tender, real.

Your self-control was gone.

You nodded. His lips met yours—soft and tender at first, his lips moved hungrily, yet with a delicate touch that showed just how much he wanted you... and at the same time, how much he wanted to savor you.

And so did you.

You ran your fingers through his hair—his perfect hair—and he moaned quietly, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened as your tongues brushed, and you gasped at how much you wanted him.

You couldn't longer pretend he didn’t affect you.

You pulled away, gasping for air. He smiled softly as he gently brushed the hair falling across your forehead.

“So... will you join me for a drink, angel?” he asked, licking his lips like he could still taste you.

You smiled. He grinned back and took your hand, leading you toward the exit.

Your self-control had already completely fallen apart, but after that kiss, you were so dazed... you simply didn’t care. Not anymore.

You knew that from this moment on, getting him out of your mind would be impossible.

Because it was Yoon Jeonghan.

And you had completely fallen for him.

/ᐠ. ｡.ᐟ\ᵐᵉᵒʷˎˊ˗

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seitmai · 4 hours ago

Text

Many thoughts

It would be hard to forget Fire Lieutenant James Barnes. And you'd tried over the past three days.

Emphasis on the tried 🫣

“I’m off rotation for the next week. After that, the guys will take shifts.” “Which guys?” You turned your head just in time to hear another voice in the background, warm and amused.

They got a plan all worked out already

“Yeah, Amyra, we’ll take turns,” Steve said. “I can take the week after Buck, Levinson can do some days along with Sy. We got you.”“She’s going to hate this.” “She doesn’t get a say,” Bucky replied, no hesitation at all. You scoffed and Amyra smiled faintly. “You’re on speaker. She can hear you.”

Whoops 🤭

Another voice chimed in, Levinson this time, all lazy drawl, “I’ll bring coffee, Sweetheart.” Syverson laughed in the background, “And I’ll bring flowers. Make it a real date.”

They are all loving this lol

“Barnes,” you ground out, “you don’t have to…” “I know,” Bucky interrupted, voice softer now. “I’m doing it anyway.” Before you could protest, he bent and lifted you, one arm under your knees, the other bracing your back. You couldn’t help it, your hands flew to his shoulders, clutching the thick stretch of muscle there. He smelled like clean soap and faint smoke, and it made something behind your ribs ache. He set you carefully on the seat, one big hand lingering on your knee longer than it needed to. When he stepped back, he didn’t look away.

🥹🥹🥹

Community service. Paying it forward. You were a charity case to him. A lump formed in your throat and you turned back to the window so he couldn’t see your face.

Oh noo

When he pulled into Amyra’s driveway, Bucky cut the engine but didn’t move to open the door. He sat there for a second, hands on the wheel. “You’re not alone in this,” he said finally, voice quiet and rough. “Even if you want to be.” You looked up at him, ready to argue. But something in his face, something resolute and almost raw, stopped you.

He really means it 🥹

And this time, you didn’t fight it. When he lifted you, your hands came up instinctively, gripping the collar of his t-shirt and your head went against his chest, familiar now. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

I have a feeling that his heart beats for her 🤭

For a second, you just stood there, breathing the same air. Then you looked away and took a shaky step back. “Thank you,” you whispered. He swallowed, his voice thick. “Anytime.”

And he means ANY TIME

You were trying to focus on anything to keep from thinking about the way he’d carried you. And the way it had felt to let him.

I think its a great think to think about 🤭

“I need to work,” you snapped, your voice cracking with exhaustion you couldn’t hide. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” His jaw flexed. “I’m not telling you because I want to control you,” he said, voice dropping lower, rougher. “I’m telling you because I…” He stopped, like he’d surprised himself. “I’m not your responsibility,” you whispered. His hand stayed braced on the back of the couch, close enough that you felt surrounded. “Too late,” he said, his voice low and rough, and you felt it right between your legs.

Ahhhh they really just need to say the unspoken things!!

You were going to break him. He knew it in the way you looked up at him, eyes dark and wide and a little dazed. The way your lips parted when he leaned in. The way you didn’t pull back.

Perfect moment for a kiss if you ask me 🤷🏻‍♀️👀

He was still trying to convince himself this was just about keeping you safe. Just about duty. But that lie was wearing thin. So thin he could feel it tearing. He left before he did something he’d never be able to take back. Before he asked you if you were wet for him already. Because he already knew.

This went from sweet to spicy real quick 🤭

In the dream, you were standing in your burned-out bedroom. The walls were blackened, the smell of smoke thick in your throat. But you weren’t afraid, because he was there. Bucky.

🥹🥹🥹

He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a low, rough sound. Your hands slid up his arms, over the thick straps of his suspenders, feeling the flex and hard pull of muscle beneath. When he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. “Say you want this,” he whispered, voice frayed.

Oh she wants this 🤭

It was just a dream, you told yourself. Just your mind filling in the blanks. But when you finally drifted back to sleep, you hoped, god, you hoped, you’d dream of him again.

Valid

“Because it sounded like you were having a pretty good time last night.” Your stomach dropped. “Oh my god.” “Calling Bucky’s name.”

Hahahah iconic that she calls her out like that 🤭

He tried to tell himself it was just about protecting you. About doing the right thing. But in the dark, when he closed his eyes, he would remember exactly how you’d looked that day, your eyes soft, your hands curled in his shirt like you were scared to let go when he carried you.

🥹🥹🥹

The rest of the week continued in much the same fashion, both of you torturing yourselves internally while being painfully polite on the surface.

They truly are torturing themselves 🥴

But he backed off, and both of you spent two days trying not to replay every look, every touch, every dream. You didn’t quite succeed.

Understandable

The silence wasn’t as charged as it was with Bucky, it was just there, with no subtext. For you, at least.

Oh 👀

“Your boyfriend’s very protective,” Ari said eventually, voice casual. Your stomach tightened because you knew exactly who he was talking about. Ari’s mouth curved slyly. “No?” “Not my boyfriend,” you finished, too fast. He hummed, tapping the wheel with two fingers. “Huh.”

Oh this is gonna be interesting 👀

“Just think about it. Couldn’t hurt. I admire you. And I think you’re very attractive.” he drawled, eyes sliding over you, like it was no big deal at all. Your heart thumped so hard it hurt. And maybe it was easier to let someone like Ari see you this way. Someone you didn’t already dream about.

I have afeeling that things are gonna be messy real soon

“Your principal friend, she’s doing a lot better.” Bucky’s stomach went tight as he tried to stay calm. “Yeah?” “She looked good,” Ari went on, like he hadn’t noticed the warning in Bucky’s tone. “She also said you weren’t her man.” The words hit like a punch to the gut but there was no reason why they should. “Figured I’d ask. And she didn’t say no when I offered to take her out sometime.” Bucky’s hands flexed at his sides and his jaw locked so tight it hurt. “You know,” Ari mused, tapping the doorframe, “it’s not a bad thing, letting someone else step in. Can’t be everywhere all the time, Barnes.”

Damn

Wanted you in ways that had nothing to do with duty or guilt. More than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending he didn’t. He kept telling himself he had no right to feel like this. No claim on you. But he couldn’t stop replaying Ari’s voice in his head: She didn’t say no.

He will be haunted by this

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” And there it was. The thing he shouldn’t have admitted. The thing he couldn’t pretend wasn’t eating him alive. “That’s not your problem,” you managed. His hand flexed on the wheel. “Yeah,” he said finally. “That’s the thing. It is.” You didn’t dare ask what he meant, and he didn’t offer to explain.

Oh 👀

You swallowed. “I’m fine.” “That’s your favorite lie,” she shot back. “How’d it go?” “You know,” she said quietly, “if you don’t want him to care, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.” “Like what?” you demanded. “Like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.”

She has a point 🤷🏻‍♀️

And you wondered if this was the part where you were supposed to let him go.

Nooo💔

You’d looked at him like you were waiting for something, like you needed him to finish a sentence he didn’t have the courage to say.

Be brave Bucky, you got this!! Say it!!

He knew he was making this worse. Every time he touched you, every time he picked you up, every time he let himself feel it, he was building something that would hurt you when it fell apart. Because it had to. Because you deserved better than a half-broken firefighter who didn’t know how to keep things simple.

🥺🥺🥺

By the time he made it back to the station, he’d decided the only thing he could do, the only thing that might save you from the mess he’d already made, was to step back.

Thats a step, but in the wrong direction!!

When you wrote back “Why?” he almost called you. Almost drove back across town to take it back.

He should do it!

But instead he forced himself to type. And then he set his phone down, bowed his head and told himself this was the right thing. He had to believe it. Because if he didn’t, he was going to show up at your door and tell you the truth: That you were the only thing he’d thought about since the night he carried you out of that fire. And he didn’t think he could ever stop.

Yes just do it!!!

I'm On Fire

Summary: He tried to keep his distance. You tried to keep your composure. Neither of you succeeded. And now the line between duty and wanting you is burning away.

Word count: 4.7 K

Pairing: Firefighter! Bucky Barnes x Principal! Reader; The crew x Reader (mostly platonic, except Ari)

A/N: So this new AU. It's the death of me. And @nissaimmortal asked when part one was published just a few days ago so, because I'm obsessed and I have so much to say about them, here is part two. I'm all in with stubborn, angsty, grumpy, burning-for-you firefighter Bucky Barnes. 🫠 This was inspired by an abandoned AU from last year and then this ask from a few weeks ago. I can't get him out of my mind. Bucky is a firefighter and a burn survivor. Tell me how you feel by reblogging, commenting, sending asks, dm'ing and the like. Interaction is life.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. This fic/au deals with fires, burns, burn survivors and recovery. There are graphic descriptions of burns and pain. Bucky and Reader are burn survivors. Grumpy Bucky, burn injury and rehab recovery, reader has to rely on other people, a lil bit of language, mutual pining, idiots in love, Steve, Ari, and Syverson are also firefighters (warning, esp. Ari!) erotic dream, protective Bucky, jealous Bucky, hurt/comfort, dom Bucky if you squint, erotic dreams and fantasies (I feel like suspenders are gonna be a thing), implied masturbation. ALL THE ANGST!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

You were propped on the couch, leg elevated, trying to read through an email you’d already started four times.

Your concentration was shot.

The burn on your leg throbbed, the skin pulling tight whenever you shifted. You were looking forward to PT, and thinking, more than you wanted to admit, about the handsome firefighter who’d carried you out of the flames.

It would be hard to forget Fire Lieutenant James Barnes.

And you'd tried over the past three days.

He was kind to visit you in the hospital and help you get settled at Amyra’s. The memory of his rough, but gentle hands changing your bandages, and the way he looked at you like you were worth saving, was etched into your mind.

Thankfully, now you had time to forget him.

Amyra stood in the kitchen with her phone pressed to her ear, voice low.

“No, I’m serious,” she was saying. “She knows she can’t drive. She’s being stubborn.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your lips together, wondering who she was talking to.

Don’t eavesdrop, you told yourself. You’d already asked enough of everyone.

But you didn’t have to try hard to hear when she switched it to speaker.

“…I can take her,” Bucky’s voice came out, rough and unmistakable.

“Every day?” Amyra asked. “You’ve got to work, too.”

“I’m off rotation for the next week. After that, the guys will take shifts.”

“Which guys?”

You turned your head just in time to hear another voice in the background, warm and amused.

“Yeah, Amyra, we’ll take turns,” Steve said. “I can take the week after Buck, Levinson can do some days along with Sy. We got you.”

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, mortified.

Amyra ignored you.

“She’s going to hate this.”

“She doesn’t get a say,” Bucky replied, no hesitation at all.

You scoffed and Amyra smiled faintly.

“You’re on speaker. She can hear you.”

There was silence. Then Bucky’s voice again.

“You’re not driving,” he said. “End of discussion.”

“I’m fine,” you snapped, hating how petty you sounded.

“No, you’re not,” he said calmly. “Call it community service.”

Your stomach dipped. Amyra raised her brows at you, like she could read your every thought.

Another voice chimed in, Levinson this time, all lazy drawl, “I’ll bring coffee, Sweetheart.”

Syverson laughed in the background, “And I’ll bring flowers. Make it a real date.”

“Oh my god!,” you hissed, scrubbing a hand over your face.

Amyra bit back a smile as Bucky growled out, “Ignore them.”

“Barnes,” you ground out, “you don’t have to…”

“I know,” Bucky interrupted, voice softer now. “I’m doing it anyway.”

You swallowed hard.

“Tomorrow,” he said, all finality. “Nine sharp.”

The call ended, leaving the room too quiet. Amyra slipped her phone into her pocket.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You didn’t say anything. Just pressed your lips together and looked at the wall. Amyra caught the look on your face and sighed.

“You don’t have to like it,” she said gently. “You just have to let people help you.”

You couldn’t answer, so you just nodded, a lump in your throat.

—---

You were waiting on the porch when his truck pulled up, because you couldn’t stand the thought of him ringing the bell and Amyra answering with that knowing smile.

He stepped out, and for a second, neither of you spoke. He looked unfairly good in a black t-shirt and jeans, hair still damp from a shower.

His gaze swept over you, from your braced leg to the bag slung over your shoulder, like he was trying to gauge exactly how much you were holding back.

“You need help?” he asked quietly.

“No,” you said, a little too fast.

His eyes flicked down your body, over your leg, back up to your face. It affected you.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I can see that.”

You made it down the steps without stumbling. But when you stopped at his passenger side, you hesitated. The truck sat too high, the step too awkward to get to with your leg. You braced your hand on the door frame, willing yourself to ignore the tightness in your leg.

Then you felt it, his palm, warm and wide, settling on your waist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost gentle. “Let me.”

“I can…”

“You can let me,” he cut in, and there was something in the way he said it that made your heart stutter.

Before you could protest, he bent and lifted you, one arm under your knees, the other bracing your back.

You couldn’t help it, your hands flew to his shoulders, clutching the thick stretch of muscle there. He smelled like clean soap and faint smoke, and it made something behind your ribs ache.

He set you carefully on the seat, one big hand lingering on your knee longer than it needed to. When he stepped back, he didn’t look away.

“You good?” he asked, voice lower.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He nodded once and closed the door.

—----

The cab was too quiet.

You stared out the window, pretending to be fascinated by the city streets you’d driven a hundred times.

Halfway there, you finally spoke.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice small.

He didn’t look over.

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

He blew out a slow breath.

“Because you almost died,” he said, his voice rough.

“And you think you have to do everything by yourself.”

You looked back at the window because you couldn’t look at him and still pretend you were okay.

“That doesn’t mean you owe me anything.”

“It’s not about owing.”

“Then what is it about?”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his grip.

“Call it paying it forward,” he said after a moment.

Your chest went tight.

Community service.

Paying it forward.

You were a charity case to him. A lump formed in your throat and you turned back to the window so he couldn’t see your face.

You rode the rest of the way in silence.

———

He helped you down again, and when you tried to protest, “I can walk, Lieutenant,” he ignored it, bracing his hand on your elbow and keeping it there until you were steady.

Your therapist was kind but unrelenting. By the end, your muscles were shaking, and you were blinking back frustrated tears.

When you were wheeled back out, Bucky was leaning against the reception counter, arms folded, watching the door. His gaze softened when he saw you.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re always fine,” he murmured, but he didn’t push it.

This time you ignored his remark, but when he helped you up, you didn’t pretend you didn’t need it.

—-

The silence was different now, heavier. Not angry. Just full of everything neither of you would say.

When he pulled into Amyra’s driveway, Bucky cut the engine but didn’t move to open the door. He sat there for a second, hands on the wheel.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said finally, voice quiet and rough.

“Even if you want to be.”

You closed your eyes.

“I know.”

When you opened them again, he was already out of the truck, reaching for your door. He opened it, and you started to move, attempting to swing your leg down.

He caught your wrist.

“Don’t,” he murmured.

You looked up at him, ready to argue. But something in his face, something resolute and almost raw, stopped you.

And this time, you didn’t fight it.

When he lifted you, your hands came up instinctively, gripping the collar of his t-shirt and your head went against his chest, familiar now. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

And you could also feel the way his breath went unsteady.

Neither of you said a word as he carried you up the walk easily, like it was second nature holding you this way.

When he set you down just inside the door, you didn’t step back right away; your hands were still curled in his shirt and his palms were still braced around your waist.

For a second, you just stood there, breathing the same air. Then you looked away and took a shaky step back.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He swallowed, his voice thick.

“Anytime.”

—-------

You were resettled on the couch, leg propped up, your laptop balanced across your thighs. You’d been typing for an hour, trying to pretend your whole body didn’t feel like a live wire.

You were trying to focus on anything to keep from thinking about the way he’d carried you.

And the way it had felt to let him.

You didn’t hear the door open, and you didn’t realize he was there until his shadow fell across the screen.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Bucky said, scowling as he set the takeout and prescriptions on the coffee table.

Your head snapped up, startled.

“I am.” You gestured at the couch. “Look. Reclining. Very restful.”

His eyes dropped from your face to the laptop.

“Close it.”

“No.”

He stepped closer, and you felt it, how much heat he radiated, how your breath caught even before he spoke again.

“You need to heal,” he said, softer now, like he was trying to be careful.

“I need to work,” you snapped, your voice cracking with exhaustion you couldn’t hide. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His jaw flexed.

“I’m not telling you because I want to control you,” he said, voice dropping lower, rougher. “I’m telling you because I…”

He stopped, like he’d surprised himself.

“…because working is not resting.”

You stared at him, holding your breath.

He took another step, close enough that you felt dizzy with it.

“And I’m not going to stand here and watch you compromise your recovery."

Then he reached out and closed the laptop. His hand was so big it covered most of it. You watched his thick fingers press it closed, and watched every option you had for pretending you weren’t thinking about him disappear.

You should have been angry.

But you were just…wrecked.

Your pulse thumped everywhere at once. You sucked in a shaky breath because he was still right there, close enough that if you leaned forward, your mouth would brush his shirt.

“I’m not your responsibility,” you whispered.

His hand stayed braced on the back of the couch, close enough that you felt surrounded.

“Too late,” he said, his voice low and rough, and you felt it right between your legs.

You didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

For one dizzy second, you thought he might kiss you.

And God, you wanted him to.

—----

You were going to break him.

He knew it in the way you looked up at him, eyes dark and wide and a little dazed. The way your lips parted when he leaned in. The way you didn’t pull back.

He was still trying to convince himself this was just about keeping you safe. Just about duty. But that lie was wearing thin. So thin he could feel it tearing.

God, he was trying.

Trying not to imagine how soft your mouth would feel under his. Or how you’d sound if he pushed you back into the cushions and touched you the way he was already dreaming about.

Trying not to remember the heat that sparked up his spine when your eyes flicked to his mouth.

And stayed.

You shifted in your seat like you were restless, like you were thinking about the same thing he was. That look on your face, combined with the way your thighs pressed together, was going to ruin him.

He left before he did something he’d never be able to take back.

Before he asked you if you were wet for him already.

Because he already knew.

—----

It had been a long day.

Therapy. The impossible ache in your body. Bucky’s presence.

It was all too much.

You fell asleep exhausted, but it didn’t take long for your dreams to slide somewhere you didn’t let yourself think about when you were awake.

In the dream, you were standing in your burned-out bedroom. The walls were blackened, the smell of smoke thick in your throat. But you weren’t afraid, because he was there.

Bucky.

He didn’t have a mask. Didn’t have gear. Didn't have a shirt. Just Bucky, in his uniform pants and suspenders, so hot and so close you could feel the heat coming off his skin.

He reached for you, and when his hand closed around your wrist, and you felt it everywhere.

When he broke away, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged.

“Say you want this,” he whispered, voice frayed.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

His hand slid up your ribcage, callused palm grazing the curve of your breast, thumb over your nipple, and your whole body shuddered.

“Say it,” he rasped, and then he kissed you again, so hard it stole every thought you had.

You woke with your hand between your thighs, gasping, your skin flushed and your heart slamming so loud it felt like it might jump out of your chest.

It was just a dream, you told yourself. Just your mind filling in the blanks.

But when you finally drifted back to sleep, you hoped, god, you hoped, you’d dream of him again.

—----

Amyra was stirring creamer into her coffee when you walked in the kitchen, face still flushed.

She didn’t look up at first.

“You okay?” she asked lightly, though there was something too knowing in her voice.

You cleared your throat. “Fine.”

“Mhm.” She set the spoon down, turning just enough to smirk.

“Because it sounded like you were having a pretty good time last night.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh my god.”

“Calling Bucky’s name.”

She tapped her finger on her mug.

“Interesting.”

“It’s not…” Your voice cracked.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Sure.” She folded her arms, clearly savoring every second.

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s common,” you blurted.“To, um. Have dreams about people who are…supportive. It’s just a psychological thing. He’s just …”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” you said too fast. “Just a friend.”

Amyra lifted her brows.

“Uh-huh.”

And when she turned back to the sink, you closed your eyes, because you both knew that wasn’t true.

“It was just a dream,” you mumbled, though the way your heart was still racing said it wasn’t that simple.

-----

Every night that week, Bucky lay in his too-big bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling, cursing himself for wanting you this much.

He tried to tell himself it was just about protecting you.

About doing the right thing.

But in the dark, when he closed his eyes, he would remember exactly how you’d looked that day, your eyes soft, your hands curled in his shirt like you were scared to let go when he carried you.

And then he’d imagine what it would feel like if you didn’t let him go.

If you pulled him closer.

If you said his name in that voice that made him feel like he’d won the goddamn world.

More than once, he’d slid his hand into his boxers, pressing his palm over the thick, aching weight of himself while he thought about your mouth, your body, the way you’d sound when you came for him.

Sometimes, when he was too far gone to stop, he’d let himself imagine more.

Your legs wrapped around his hips. Your nails biting into his back. Your lips parting to tell him he was the only one you wanted.

It was torture.

But it was the only place he could have you. Because he had a duty to help you, not take advantage of you.

And every morning, he’d wake up with your name on his tongue, the sheets a mess around him, and the hollow ache in his chest worse than before.

Because he knew, no matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be able to want you any less.

—-----

The rest of the week continued in much the same fashion, both of you torturing yourselves internally while being painfully polite on the surface.

Except when he kept carrying you into the truck and into Amyra’s house.

And except when you caught each other staring and pretended not to.

On Friday, you’d tried to reclaim a shred of your pride, insisting you could manage the stairs alone.

Bucky just looked at you, unimpressed, before lifting you into his arms anyway.

And god help you, you didn’t protest.

The weekend was supposed to be a break. You’d told Bucky, more firmly this time, that he deserved to relax, that you’d leave him alone.

He went quiet, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words.

“I didn’t ask for that,” he said finally, voice low.

But he backed off, and both of you spent two days trying not to replay every look, every touch, every dream.

You didn’t quite succeed.

—--

Monday morning, you tried to look forward to Steve taking you to therapy. It was his week and he was always so kind.

But when the doorbell finally rang, it wasn’t him.

It was Ari Levinson, leaning against the porch rail with two coffees in hand and an easy smile.

“Morning, Principal,” he called, voice warm and amused.

You blinked. “Where’s Steve?”

Ari shrugged, like it didn’t matter as he handed you a cup.

“Had an important meeting. I volunteered to cover.”

You swallowed, feeling something you didn’t want to name.

Ari walked you to the passenger side. He wasn’t as big as Bucky, but he was still tall with lean muscle, long legs and casual confidence that made your pulse skip.

“Need a hand?” he asked, one brow lifted.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning wider. “I can see that.”

When you hesitated, his hand came out, warm and steady on your elbow.

“Easy,” he murmured, guiding you up.

Once you were settled, he leaned in the open door, bracing a forearm on the roof so you had no choice but to look at him.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping, “some people would’ve stayed home and let everyone wait on them.”

You lifted your chin. “I’m not most people.”

His gaze flicked to your mouth.

No,” he agreed. “And I’m very aware of that.”

Your heart thumped as he shut the door and walked around slipping into the driver’s seat.

—--

The silence wasn’t as charged as it was with Bucky, it was just there, with no subtext.

For you, at least.

“Your boyfriend’s very protective,” Ari said eventually, voice casual.

Your stomach tightened because you knew exactly who he was talking about.

Bucky.

“He’s not…”

Ari’s mouth curved slyly. “No?”

“Not my boyfriend,” you finished, too fast.

He hummed, tapping the wheel with two fingers. “Huh.”

“What?” you demanded.

His grin flashed, bright and just a little dangerous.

“Then you should let me take you out sometime.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because your brain had apparently short-circuited.

Ari glanced over, amused.

“Just think about it. Couldn’t hurt. I admire you. And I think you’re very attractive.” he drawled, eyes sliding over you, like it was no big deal at all.

Your heart thumped so hard it hurt.

And maybe it was easier to let someone like Ari see you this way.

Someone you didn’t already dream about.

Someone who hadn’t carried you out of the dark, over and over, until you didn’t know where gratitude ended and something else began.

Because wanting Bucky Barnes felt dangerous. Like if you gave in to it, there wouldn’t be anything left of you he didn’t already have.

But your pulse wouldn’t stop hammering.

—----

That night, Bucky had been finishing paperwork in the station when Ari strolled in, grin lazy, eyes too bright.

“Barnes,” Ari drawled, propping a shoulder against the doorframe.

“Your principal friend, she’s doing a lot better.”

Bucky’s stomach went tight as he tried to stay calm. “Yeah?”

“She looked good,” Ari went on, like he hadn’t noticed the warning in Bucky’s tone.

“Said she was feeling strong enough to drive next week.”

Bucky nodded stiffly.

Ari tilted his head, smile widening.

“She also said you weren’t her man.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut but there was no reason why they should.

He wasn’t your boyfriend.

Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t let it show.

Ari’s grin sharpened.

“Figured I’d ask. And she didn’t say no when I offered to take her out sometime.”

Bucky’s hands flexed at his sides and his jaw locked so tight it hurt.

“You know,” Ari mused, tapping the doorframe, “it’s not a bad thing, letting someone else step in. Can’t be everywhere all the time, Barnes.”

“Get out,” Bucky said, voice low.

Ari’s grin didn’t fade.

“Sure,” he said lightly. “Just letting you know, you should never leave food on the table.”

When he left, Bucky stood there for a long time, breathing hard.

He knew he had no claim. But the thought of Ari, or anyone else, thinking they could be what you needed made him shake with rage.

—---

When Bucky pulled up to your house, he knew he should’ve called first. Or let Steve take the day like he’d offered.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stand the thought of you getting close to someone other than him. Smiling at them the way you smiled at him when you were too tired to pretend you didn’t trust him.

He got out and tried to look neutral, tried to look like the professional he was supposed to be. But when you stepped onto the porch, beautiful as ever, proud, that wary look in your eyes, something in his chest twisted up tight.

God help him, he wanted you.

Wanted you in ways that had nothing to do with duty or guilt.

More than he’d wanted anything in a long, long time.

And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending he didn’t.

—-----

You were half-dressed and running late when you heard a familiar engine rumble to a stop out front, and your heart did a stupid little jump.

Steve, you reminded yourself firmly. It’s Steve today.

You grabbed your bag and pulled the door open, only to stop short.

Bucky was leaning against the hood of his truck, arms folded over his chest, black t-shirt clinging to the cut of his broad shoulders.

Your stomach flipped.

“I thought…” you blurted, clutching the strap of your bag.

“I thought Steve was coming.”

“I switched with him,” he said evenly.

You swallowed. “Why?”

His jaw flexed.

“Wanted to see for myself how you were doing.”

Your heart did that annoying skip thing again, and you told yourself it was irritation, not something softer. For a second, neither of you moved. Then he nodded at the steps.

“You need help?”

“I’m fine.”

One brow lifted, skeptical.

You sighed, your voice small. “A little.”

He climbed the porch and set his hand around your waist and you tried not to lean into it.

—---

The ride to therapy was torture.

He kept telling himself he had no right to feel like this. No claim on you.

But he couldn’t stop replaying Ari’s voice in his head: She didn’t say no.

When you finally spoke, your voice was so careful he almost wished you’d just yell at him.

“Ari talked to you?”

His eyes didn’t leave the road.

“Yeah.”

“Bucky…”

He exhaled hard, voice rough.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

And there it was. The thing he shouldn’t have admitted. The thing he couldn’t pretend wasn’t eating him alive.

Your pulse skittered.

“That’s not your problem,” you managed.

His hand flexed on the wheel.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “That’s the thing. It is.”

You didn’t dare ask what he meant, and he didn’t offer to explain.

But the air in the cab felt too close, too warm. Like you were both one breath away from admitting something you couldn’t take back.

—--

The drive home felt longer. You watched the trees blur past, all the things you hadn’t said pressing against your throat. When he finally pulled into Amyra’s driveway, you didn’t reach for the door right away.

“Bucky,” you murmured.

He turned to look at you, blue eyes tired, full of things you didn’t have names for.

“I don’t want to make this harder,” you whispered.

His throat worked.

“You’re not,” he said, voice low. “You couldn’t.”

And you knew he believed it. Knew he meant every word.

That was the problem.

He got out without another word and came around to open your door. When he helped you down, his palm fit too perfectly against your waist, the heat of it sinking through your clothes like a brand.

When he handed you your bag, his fingers brushed yours, and you felt it, that sharp, impossible want you’d been pretending wasn’t there.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

His gaze flicked to your mouth, then away.

“No problem,” he said roughly.

He stepped back and waited until you’d made it up the porch before he climbed into the truck and pulled away. You watched the taillights until they disappeared.

And you felt emptier than you wanted to admit.

—---

Amyra was standing in the kitchen when you came in, your face hot. She took one look at you and folded her arms across her chest.

“You look like you just got back from a funeral,” she said mildly.

You swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“That’s your favorite lie,” she shot back. “How’d it go?”

“Fine.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Fine, or fine?”

You shot her a look.

“Don’t do that,” she said, voice gentler. “Don’t act like I can’t tell when something’s wrong.”

“I’m good,” you lied, voice shaky.

Amyra tilted her head, studying you.

“You know,” she said quietly, “if you don’t want him to care, you’ve got to stop looking at him like that.”

“Like what?” you demanded.

“Like he’s the only thing keeping you standing.”

You sighed. “We’re just…”

“If you say friends,” she cut in, “I’m throwing this mug at you.”

You looked down at the floor, because you couldn’t look at her and pretend you believed it.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, because you didn’t have anything else, and she let you walk past her to your room without another word.

—---

You were sitting in bed with the lamp off when your phone buzzed.

Bucky: Steve will take you tomorrow.

Your chest went tight as you stared at the message. He wasn’t coming. He was pulling away.

You: Why?

A long pause. Three dots blinked, disappeared.

Bucky: I’ve got a thing.

Nothing else.

You turned your phone over on the nightstand, your pulse too loud in your ears.

And you wondered if this was the part where you were supposed to let him go.

—--

When Bucky climbed back into his truck, he felt like his chest was too small for how hard his heart was beating.

You’d looked at him like you were waiting for something, like you needed him to finish a sentence he didn’t have the courage to say.

It is my problem.

Because I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else.

Because he can't have you.

Because I’m in love with you.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to get his breathing under control.

He knew he was making this worse. Every time he touched you, every time he picked you up, every time he let himself feel it, he was building something that would hurt you when it fell apart.

Because it had to.

Because you deserved better than a half-broken firefighter who didn’t know how to keep things simple.

By the time he made it back to the station, he’d decided the only thing he could do, the only thing that might save you from the mess he’d already made, was to step back.

Just enough to give you space to breathe.

Just enough to give himself a chance to get his shit together.

When he finally texted you, he tried to pretend it didn’t feel like cutting something vital out of his own chest.

When you wrote back “Why?” he almost called you.

Almost drove back across town to take it back.

But instead he forced himself to type.

I’ve got a thing.

And then he set his phone down, bowed his head and told himself this was the right thing.

He had to believe it.

Because if he didn’t, he was going to show up at your door and tell you the truth: That you were the only thing he’d thought about since the night he carried you out of that fire.

And he didn’t think he could ever stop.

195 notes · View notes

pawcider · 2 days ago

Text

SAE X BIMBO READER ( suggestive , fluff )

sae’s sitting on the edge of the hotel bed with his headphones half-on, tapping something into his notes app like he’s discussing something insanely important instead of planning out some routine passing drill. you’re across the room on your stomach, legs kicked up, painting your toenails bubblegum pink with a steady hand and zero focus.

you’re humming to yourself. and he hasn’t looked up in a full seven minutes, which is like a personal attack.

“babe,” you sing softly. nothing. you tilt your head and try again. “babyyyy.”

his jaw flexes, but he doesn’t look at you. “what.”

you blink at him from across the room. “can you open my soda?”

“you opened it ten minutes ago.”

“yeah but i think i closed it again too hard.”

“that’s not a thing,” he says flatly, but he’s already getting up, because if he doesn’t do it, you’ll do it your way—with your teeth—and then he’ll have to listen to you complain about ruining your gloss for the next two hours.

he takes the can from your outstretched fingers and pops it open with an easy flick, eyes flicking over your hands, your nails. long, acrylic, rhinestoned. probably also the reason you claim you can’t possibly open soda. “you’re helpless,” he mutters.

“i’m cute,” you correct, taking a sip and batting your lashes.

he eyes you as you drink—lips glossy, neck stretched long, a tiny little smear of pink gloss now on the can. sae licks his teeth and turns away before he starts staring. “same thing,” he murmurs under his breath.

“what?”

“nothing.”

you smile, very pleased with yourself, and start lining your nail polishes up in a gradient—barbie to coral, then reverse. meanwhile, sae’s already halfway back to his spot on the bed when you pipe up again.

“wait,” you whine, fake but effective. “can you like… pass me my top?”

he pauses mid-step. “what top?”

you point vaguely behind him. “the little white one. with the ties.”

his gaze slides to the flimsy little triangle scrap of fabric draped over the desk chair, and he raises a brow. “that’s a top?”

you blink up at him, lips parted in innocent confusion. “duh?”

he picks it up with two fingers like it personally insulted him. “this has to violate some kind of decency law.”

you make grabby hands. “just pass it, meannn.”

he tosses it at you with a dry look. “for what? you’re not wearing it.”

“i was,” you huff. “but i didn’t wanna get polish on it. it’s new.”

sae leans a shoulder against the wall and folds his arms, watching you like he’s trying to decide whether or not to ruin your day or your makeup. “how much was it.”

“not important.”

“how much, babe.”

you hum, reaching for your drying spray, avoiding eye contact. “like… half of what you spent on cleats last week.”

“so too much,” he mutters, then adds under his breath, “for something that doesn’t even cover your tits.”

you give him a look over your shoulder. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he smirks slowly, eyes dragging over the bare length of your back. “never said that.”

your breath catches a little, but you recover quick, flopping dramatically onto your back with your legs still bent at the knees. your tiny shorts ride up—he notices—and your tank top shifts just enough to give him a peek. he notices that too.

you fiddle with your nail polish cap like you don’t know what you look like. “sae,” you mumble, voice going soft and sweet. “come here?”

he exhales slowly through his nose. “why.”

“because,” you blink up at him, bottom lip sticking out just a little. “i wanna show you something.”

he takes his time crossing the room. not because he’s slow—he’s just an asshole. always walks like you should be the one chasing him. he stops at your side and stares down at you with that bored little tilt to his mouth that doesn’t fool you anymore.

you look up at him all wide-eyed and pretty. “you’re so mean to me,” you pout.

“you’re dramatic,” he replies, but it’s quieter this time. almost fond. his gaze dips again, slower this time, tracing the curve of your thigh to the little shimmer of lotion on your collarbone. “and you keep doing that thing.”

you blink. “what thing?”

he leans down, one hand on the bed beside your head, voice low. “that thing where you pretend you don’t know you’re teasing me.”

your breath catches, but you keep the smile on your face. “maybe i don’t.”

he dips his head a little, nose brushing your cheek as his fingers trace the hem of your tank top. “liar.”

your whole body lights up like a switch was flipped, and your hands twitch against the sheets.

“you literally walked around the room in panties and lip gloss like that’s a normal outfit,” he murmurs. “and then sat like that.”

“like what?” you blink innocently.

he exhales a slow laugh, barely touching his lips to the side of your neck before pulling back just a little. “you’re exhausting.”

“you’re obsessed,” you whisper.

“unfortunately.”

you try to slap his chest but he catches your wrist, presses it into the bed above your head, and pins you with a look that’s all sharp heat and control. “you think it’s cute to tease me, don’t you?”

“i know it is.”

“and you think i’m just gonna let it go?”

“you always do,” you grin.

“not tonight,” he mutters.

your smile slips. your heart picks up speed. “o-oh.”

sae watches your face, watches how fast that bravado slips away when he shifts just a little closer. “what, cat got your tongue?”

“maybe i should put my top back on,” you mumble suddenly.

“maybe you should stop acting like you don’t want me to take it off again.”

you go silent.

he hums low in his chest, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “figured.”

then he’s gone, pulling back just enough to leave you breathless and a little dizzy and very, very flustered.

“you’re evil,” you manage.

“you like it,” he says, heading back to his phone like he didn’t just wreck you casually on the hotel bed in broad daylight with zero contact.

you stare at the ceiling, cheeks hot. “so obsessed.”

“i’m aware.”

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rinis-rift · 10 hours ago

Text

3- Haunting the Horizon

3. House Hunting (gone wrong)

The Masterlist! | YOKAI FILES | prev. | next

ꕥ Yokai is from Japanese folklore, so what is one doing, wandering around the streets of Korea? Grabbing attention from the other beasts who dwell in their own underworld as well as their hunters? And when the dust settles, who will have the pleasure to have their blessing?

wc: 2.2k

Yokai!Male! Reader x Saja boys + Huntr/x

Extra: i'm gonna eat my own wrist bye guys, there's something that NEEDS TO BE DECIDED BUT I CAN'T DECIDE

Rumi couldn’t peel her eyes from the honmoon, she’s been entranced at the sight of the thin strings of protection, protecting the world from demons. She stood right in front of the window walls of their penthouse.

Just the night before, they saw golden hues appear on the usually white and blue strings, symbolizing the growing strength of the honmoon. All three of the hunters felt their excitement and exhilaration build up at the nearing of their goal.

The leader of Huntrix felt that sense of accomplishment the most as she had just released their new song, the one that is bound to seal the honmoon for good. “Golden”, sure, it wasn’t due for another few weeks, but what was the harm of pushing it forward?

They’re in the homestretch now! The logical thing to do is speed up!

And yet, despite the assuring signs of aureate in their visions when performing at bigger concerts, the girl with a long braid couldn’t help but feel even more protective of the nationwide barrier at their feet.

Just a few hours ago, while hanging out with the other two members of Huntrix, she felt the honmoon ripple. Shift like tectonic plates beneath the soles of her feet, she didn’t see any alarming patches of magenta, but it didn’t ease her worries, when it’s so close to being sealed, any problem feels like a bigger problem.

“Rumi? C’mon we gotta go! It’s time for our first. Live. of. Goldennnn!” A voice sings behind her, Rumi wipes the tense look on her face, and turns around with a bright smile.

“Yeah Zoey! I’m coming!” She replied, hopping over the couch to meet the other two members at the elevator.. Right, she had a show to focus on, the more appearances, the closer they get to the Golden Honmoon.

Back to you, you’ve been walking around, using the cash that Bobby had ever so kindly given to you. You ate dinner and now the absence of the sun meant that you’d have to find shelter.

So you scout the houses. You stop at a normal looking building. It wasn't crazy small, but honestly, you didn’t see the need for something extravagant like Bobby’s house again. So you drop your stuff in the skinny alleyway next to the building, out of sight of anyone who was just going to pass by.

You close your eyes as you return to the form you’d use to haunt people’s residences, you definitely didn’t want to use this method, you never wanted to scare or hurt people, but this is just something that survivors do.

Time to imitate your Usutsuki Warashi cousins. (They are cousins to the Zashiki Warashi. They’re also house spirits, and while they don’t give blessings, they still curse the households they leave. They come out from the soil at night and make creepy noises, scare the people living there at night, never doing anything more.)

Without a word, you floated into the building, you went door to door, trying to figure out how many people lived in one house. Ideally, you’d just have to scare one person out of their house and not multiple.

Eventually, on the fourth door on the third floor, you poked your head through the door. This person had a pair of sneakers, loafers, and sandals, all in the same size. Jackpot.

You enter, you materialize your feet. Stomping to draw attention to yourself you glance at a clock, it was nine o’clock. Great, that’d add to your scary experience.

You opened the door from the hallway into the living room, you kept yourself barely visible, exploring the shared dining room and living room. It was quaint, but you couldn’t help but notice something.

“Huntr/x?” You could barely read the English, Bobby had taught you the alphabet, but you only knew words an elementary schooler would be familiar with. There were posters plastered on the mint green walls, ones with three girls, sometimes one on one posters, bringing to light the individual flair of each girl.

You looked from left to right, your eyes wide with the colorful accents and designs of each poster. The outfits each girl wore were very beautiful, so sleek and unique, you never saw anything like it before. Sure, you’d see people who can dress, but to this level, it’s interesting.

On the right of the wall, was a girl with buns at the height of her ears, micro bangs and an almost mischievous and challenging smile on her lips, her strapless top wraps a black choker around her neck and connects to the top. In big teal lettering, it wrote “Zoey”. Another unique name, you’ve heard names that have more syllables, yet this one was like Bobby’s.

Your gaze travels to a poster that had big bold letters that read “Rumi”, her hair was braided from the center of her head, no stray hairs in sight. A bold yellow jacket with a white turtleneck that cropped on her torso. A confident look on her face as she stares straight ahead, her hair flows behind her like an accessory. Her name felt less foreign as you’ve met and heard of people with ‘Rumi’ as a name or something similar.

“Mira”, just a letter off from a common Japanese name like ‘Mirai’. But you brush it off, her eyes were sharp and glittery, an eyebrow raised as if she was looking down at you. A navy blue shoulder pad sat on her shoulder as her hands adorned fingerless gloves. A thick black choker on her neck with a golden pendant in the middle, her shirt had a blue geode like design with pink lettering you couldn’t read.

They looked so powerful, like they could have a nation of people at their feet.

“G-get away from my Huntrix po-posters!” A voice shakes behind you.

Your head snaps towards the speaker, your neck snaps with a sickening sound as you spin your head one hundred and eighty degrees, the man behind you only grows more fearful as you fade in and out of his vision. Getting closer and closer with breath.

He wore glasses, had a larger build, and had that bowlcut you’ve seen all over the place, but nonetheless, he was a wimp.

By the time the distance had narrowed down to two feet or 60 cm away from the person, he’d already bolted for the door.

When you heard the eventual door slam shut, you beamed, jumping with joy as you had actually managed to make them leave! It’s not in Zashiki's nature to make people leave, but regardless, a boy’s gotta do what he’s got to do. You went back down to grab your things.

And once everything you owned had been moved inside, you sat on the couch. Sighing, you opened your backpack to write in your most recent journal. One that is not for notes of the human realm, but just for yourself.

You wrote down how you managed to scare someone like how the Usutsuki Zashiki would do, the meals you ate, the letter you gave to Bobby, the curse you sent, just the entire day, it was an important day to you.

After journaling, you reached for the remote, it was different from the one that Bobby owned, but you used your super advanced critical thinking skills to decipher what button did what, and you were skipping through channels when you stopped at one.

First, it was a very different tone change from all the others. It was sad and held the weight of disappointment, the text rolled in and out of the screen at a pace you couldn’t exactly keep up with, when you managed to finally read everything, it said.

“Unfortunately cancellation of Huntrix’s first live performance of their new hit single, ‘Golden’ has brought down thousands of fans, we are waiting for news of refunds.”

It’s that name again, you glanced at the posters on the wall, underneath them on the drawers were these big sticks with buttons, the silhouette was like a four leaf clover, but the lines seem to allude that it was something else.

You don’t have a phone like Bobby so you can’t simply look them up, even if that’s what you desperately wanted to do, it seems like they’re well known, well liked.

They seemed so glamorous, put together, but still limited. Having to cancel a performance and all, but that gets you wondering, what kind of songs do they make? They’d have to be good to have amassed such a large fanbase and make room for themselves on television.

You curled up on the couch, watching more random news and taking in the weather report, trying to understand the jokes that flew out of comedians' mouths like spitfire, but alas, you were growing tired.

And as you close your eyes for slumber, another force rises, he’s restless. Below, in the underworld of this country, is a king who’s crown now collects dust beneath the humans, burning bright yet he is small compared to what he was before.

“Jinu, if your plan were to work, along with demolishing the hunters, I need you to add one more thing to your itinerary.” the flames growled, a smile growing on his face, plotting, scheming on what to do with this misplaced spirit.

The five demons stopped posing, the demons down below in a large crowd even exchanged glances with each other. They knew that Gwi-ma asking for a lot wasn’t abnormal, but to have something be asked alongside his lifelong goal? What could it possibly be?

The man in front, his eyes darted up at his master’s words, Jinu. “And what would that be?”

“I sense a new being up there, a soul who doesn’t belong here. He’s a yokai, that’s all I’m sure of. But I want you to find him and bring him back, if you succeed, I can grant your other members a wish of their own.” The growl in the word ‘members’ unnerved the other four, but they kept a face, not to seem weak.

“A yokai?” A member with bright maroon hair asks thoughtfully, he’s never heard of the words before.

“He’s from a different realm of monsters, he is a possibility of channeling more power.” Anyone could practically feel the greed radiating from his commands, it was sickening, but not something anyone could negotiate out of.

The leader, Jinu, is not one to back down for the sake of his goals, “We’ll do our best.”, a vow alongside his proposal to finish the hunters by using that fuels them against them.

Now, back in the human world, an idol girl sits at the top of a tall building, the live show was a bust all because of her and a strange issue with her voice. Like she was cursed to fail at a vital point in her career, right when everything was looking up for her, the golden honmoon especially.

A second passes after she slams her fists onto the building, her voice rattling in a tone she’s never heard before, demonic, disgusting, revolting. It sends shockwaves across the honmoon, bright magenta washing over the city in front her, it only makes her own heart heavier.

That night, she tries to seem normal and unaffected by the unlucky events, but her band members notice, but after some deflection. They leave the topic to marinate in the air, plus, a new topic grabbed them by the shoulders and basically shook them to pay attention.

Celine had called all three of them, perhaps not a new occurrence, but she always had something strict and important to say, and this time, it was no different.

“Girls, I know you guys must be disheartened by the Golden performance, but we have a bigger thing to worry about.” She starts, Zoey and Mira perk up visibly.

The older woman sighs, “We seem to have an outlier in Korea right now.”

“A what now?”

“There is something here, someone who isn’t supposed to dwell here, it’s not a demon, but if they’re indoctrinated to join them, the honmoon might become weak- if not, non-existent.” She says with a solemn tone.

“What?! A useless honmoon?!” Zoey gasps, shocked and ever so slightly panicking.. Mira puts a finger to her lips to shush the shorter girl.

“So I need you girls to be extra observant, I’m not sure how you’d identify them, but try to look for anomalies in a person, if you find them, keep them away from the existence of demons. I imagine Gwi-Ma is interested in them as well…” Celine explains,

Rumi was the most silent, most likely out of shame of what she had done, desert and abandon a show that was well anticipated by thousands of people. But this news shook her, an oddity that could make or break the honmoon? It puts so much more at stake, makes the hunters more vulnerable if demons find them before they do..

Lastly, within a stolen living room, a yokai stirs, feeling a strange wave of warmth wash over him, he opens his eyes, when he sees that it’s nothing, he yawns and gets up. Starting his nightly routine to go to bed.

Oblivious to damage he could inflict to the species he swore to learn about and adore.

taglist: @tofumiarchives @kaikaikarasu @amery-benson-cvii@the-drowning-dreamer

@simp4myself @zomqiez @pluto-tea @the-atticwitch

am i cooked

81 notes · View notes

momo-kageyama · 3 days ago

Text

Marked By Them.

—————————————————————————

Anime: KPop Demon Hunters

—————————————————————————

Beomseok (Abs Saja) × Jae-Hyun (Romance Saja)

X R.femele

—————————————————————————Reserved, serious, loyal, observant and full of hidden depth. A girl who doesn't open easily, but whose silent force attracts the two demons in different ways.

A reserved girl, with a strong and restained personality, ends up becoming the center of the sensual and emotional obsession of two idol demons: Beomseok, the intense and possessive alpha, and Jae-Hyun, the charming and delicate master of emotional seduction.

They didn't ask: they scheduled. They put a ring on your finger and declared that you are theirs. Now they live in constant silent (and physical) dispute to see who makes you surrender first - while you try to keep control, knowing that you are already dangerously too involved with both of them.

—————————————————————————

—Saja Boys Barracks - Underground Spiritual Training Room

It was a muffled night in Seoul, and you were leaning against the cold wall of the underground chamber, your eyes fixed on the luminous runes that covered the floor. Not that I was impressed - you had already seen worse things. Things that no one else saw and that no one would ever believe.

- Aren't you even going to say hello? - Beomseok's deep voice cut the silence like a blade.

You turned your face slowly. He was there with his sweaty body, his muscles exposed under the black tank top, carrying mystical chains on his shoulders as if they were just training weights. His dark eyes burned curiosity and a wild spark.

- I'm here to observe. Not to be part of the circus. - his voice came out firm, bluntly.

Beomseok smiled. A dangerous smile.

- I like you like this. No beating around the bush. Cold. Unreachable. But I bet it boils inside.

Before he could get closer, a different presence filled the room.

- Beom, stop it. - Jae-Hyun said, entering calmly. The opposite of the colleague. Elegant, with pink hair stuck in a half-bun, soft eyes that stared at you as if they read your soul.

- You don't need to provoke someone who still doesn't owe you anything.

Beomseok snorted.

- And you always with this speech of peace... you will see that she prefers a real demon.

- You'll see that she prefers to be treated as the same. - Jae-Hyun countered with sharp delicacy, walking towards you. - Can I sit next to you?

You nodded with a slight movement of your head. He sat down, respecting the space between you, but watching carefully.

- I saw you in the containment field. Fighting alone against three entities of the fog. He didn't hesitate. Not even when it bled.

- And you watching me from afar? - you asked without emotion.

- I was delighted. - he said, without apologizing. - I've never seen someone so silently fierce.

Beomseok leaned against the other side of the room, turning a chain in his fingers with controlled irritation.

- Have you finished reciting poetry, Jae? Or are you going to tell me that you also want to protect her?

- No. - Jae-Hyun replied with a soft smile. - I want to meet her. But I know that she only lets herself be known if she wants to.

You crossed your arms.

- What exactly do you both want?

Beomseok smiled, approaching from behind. His warmth was physical. Instinctive. Almost brutal.

- I want to see you burn. Lose that control. Reveal yourself. I love to see the calm break.

Jae-Hyun, still sitting next to him, replied in a low tone:

- I want to see her be understood. Without having to break anything.

You sighed, getting up between the two. His eyes went from one to the other. Two demons. Two abysses.

One, too brutal and real.

Another, too sweet and deep.

And you... in the middle, trying not to drown.

- I'm not a prize to be disputed. - he said firmly. - And I'm not someone easy to charm either.

- That's why - said Jae-Hyun, with his eyes shining - it's you we're both willing to follow.

Beomseok took a step forward, the chain hitting the ground.

- But only one of us will conquer her silence.

You looked at both of them.

- Good luck then. Because silence cannot be conquered. He only divides himself... when he's safe.

And you left, leaving behind the two demons staring at each other in silence, for the first time united by something that was not hatred - but an intense desire to understand... you.

—————————————————————————

“How did you let it get to this situation?”

————

Night fell on Seoul, and the mirror room reflected more than bodies: it reflected contained wills, crossed gazes and a growing desire about to overflow.

You were standing in the center, controlled breathing, half-closed eyes.

They approached at the same time.

Beomseok - hot as embers, burning eyes.

Jae-Hyun - soft as silk, but with the firmness of those who know exactly what they want.

- Do you know what you're doing to us? - Beomseok whispered, stopping behind you, his mouth so close to your skin that every word sounded like a breath.

Jae-Hyun walked up to you in front of you. His fingers touched his chin, gently lifting his face.

- And if you don't know... we'll show you. Take it easy. Or without any, if it's whatever you want.

Beomseok pulled you lightly by the waist, touching his body to yours. Dominant. You felt his warmth, the electrical voltage that surrounded him.

- The way you breathe... already drives me crazy. - he murmured, touching his lips to your neck. A kiss first. Then, a light bite. You sighed, your skin shivering all over.

In front, Jae-Hyun held his hand and guided it to his chest, his gaze fixed on yours.

- May I? - he whispered, his eyes shining with intense respect... and an equally fierce desire.

You nodded. And he kissed you.

It was a deep, wet kiss, full of controlled hunger. His tongue danced with yours as if you had known each other for a lifetime. You felt his hands going up your back, pressing you gently against him, while the other held your face gently.

Beomseok didn't stand still. His hands went down to your thighs, pulling you back slightly, making you feel the bodies of both at the same time - heat in front, fire behind.

He bit his collarbone again. Stronger now. You released a muffled sound between the kiss with Jae-Hyun, the body getting lost between two different desires, but equally intense.

- Don't fight for me - you whispered, out of breath.

Beomseok laughed low.

- No need. We share. But just because you're worth the sin.

Jae-Hyun leaned his forehead against yours.

- Just because you want to. And because we both... are already too lost to retreat.

Their hands explored you with precision, knowing every sigh, every limit - and taking you as far as you allowed. And you, silent like Megumi, firm as a rock, chose not to retreat.

That night there was no winner.

But there was surrender.

And she started in the kiss, sealed herself in the bites...

And it still promised much more.

—————————————————————————

Exactly. They didn't ask.

They decided.

———————

You were sitting on the dark velvet sofa in the Saja Boys lounge, trying to catch your breath after the night that was still burning in your memory. He could still feel Jae-Hyun's lips on his neck. Beomseok's hands squeezing his waist. The tension in the eyes of the two - not of jealousy, but of something much worse: certainty.

That's when Beomseok came in with that slow, feline walk, a little black box in his hand.

Jae-Hyun came right behind, with that enigmatic smile that dismantled you inside.

- Oh no. - You raised your hands. - What is that?

- No big deal. - Beomseok said, throwing the box on his lap. - Just a reminder.

- Of what?

- That you are ours. - he said, as if it were obvious.

You opened it. Inside, a ring.

Black, with pink details. A mystical glow in the center. Cold to the touch... but that heated up quickly when you caught it.

- That's not funny. - you said, although the heart beat like a drum.

- It's not a joke. - Jae-Hyun sat next to him, calm, taking his hand. - You can say no. But... only after experiencing how it looks on you.

Before he could react, Beomseok was already holding his other hand.

- You can hit us in the face later. But first, boot.

He slipped the ring on his finger. The indicator of the right hand.

You felt the heat rise through your body. Like a soft, warm, comforting electric current. As if... your body recognized that.

- Is that a spell? - you asked, seriously.

- No. - said Jae-Hyun. - It's just a mark. A reminder. That we belong to each other, even if you pretend not to.

You looked at them.

- What if I wanted an order? Flowers? A cute moment? Romantic? Any choice?

Beomseok laughed.

- Flowers wither. Orders are forgotten. But what did we do yesterday... and this ring? It will stay.

Jae-Hyun, kinder, held your chin and looked into your eyes.

- If you want us to kneel down and ask right... we'll do it. But only if it's to hear you say "yes" and not "maybe".

You faced both of them.

Two strong presences. A fire and an ocean. A raw desire and a soft devotion.

And now, the ring on your finger.

You sighed.

- So that's it?

- Yeah. - Beomseok said. - You're ours. From the moment you didn't run away from us.

- From the moment you looked into our eyes and stayed. - Jae-Hyun completed.

You lowered your eyes to the ring. It was shining now. As if he had accepted his soul too.

- You are impossible.

- And yours. - the two said at the same time.

—————————————————————————

Well, the routine between them was very different....

– Gym with Beomseok

The bass music hit the walls like heartbeats.

You had your back to him, in the squat position. And Beomseok... kneeling behind. His hands firm on your waist, aligning your posture.

- Go down more. That. Now hold on. - the deep, hot voice, right in your ear.

You almost lost your balance, but he held you.

- I said I wouldn't let you fall. Trust.

His hands slid a little more, going down the sides of his thigh as he corrected his opening.

- Why are you shaking? Is it the weight... or me?

You tried to answer, but he pulled your body back, leaning you against his - the sweat on the skin of both creating a slow, inevitable friction.

- Like this. I like it when you tremble - he whispered, and his mouth touched your neck, hot, wet. He bit the back of his neck lightly. - But hold on just a little longer. I promise I'll reward later.

You turned to protest, and he held you between his arms, effortlessly, sticking the bodies to the mirror.

- I train you to stay strong... but deep down, I love to see when you lose control.

His eyes burned.

And you felt that there, in the gym... his strength was just another form of desire.

—————

– Beauty Day with Jae-Hyun

Later, in the Saja Boys' dressing room, Jae-Hyun was waiting for you with a light pink satin robe and candles lit all over the bench. You almost laughed at the brutal difference between him and Beomseok. But only almost.

- Tie here. I want to take care of you today - he said, pulling the chair so that you would sit facing the mirror.

You obeyed. And then he started.

He ran his fingers through his hair, letting them go gently.

He massaged your scalp, making you almost purr with silent pleasure.

His touches were not in a hurry. They were almost caresses.

- You always take care of everything. Stay serious, firm... I want you to allow yourself to relax. Now it's you being spoiled.

He applied a mask to his face with his fingers, spreading it gently. But what really melted you was the way he said:

- Your skin is hot. As if it had fire inside... but it doesn't burn. It's just addictive.

His fingers went down his neck. They took a long time at the shoulder curve.

Then, he wiped his face with a warm towel, and let his lips touch his forehead.

- Can I confess something? - he murmured.

You nodded, eyes closed.

- I kiss you with my eyes every time you don't look at me.

When you opened your eyes, he was kneeling in front of you, holding your hands. And before you said anything... he kissed you.

Background. Sweet. Wet. Slowly.

His hands squeezed his waist. You felt the thin fabric of the robe slip. His skin against yours. The legs intertaced on the dressing room seat.

The kiss increased. It deepened. It left you breathless.

He moved his lips away, panting.

- If you want to stop... tell me now.

You pulled him back.

And I didn't say anything.

—————————————————————————

Time to light the wick.

You are the prize - or the perdition - and they are no longer disguising it.

Beomseok and Jae-Hyun, two demons of the Saja Boys, two opposite styles of desire.

One is fire and control. The other, sweet and slow poison.

But now... they are openly disputing who takes your breath away first.

———————

—The Private Room - Breath Challenge

The room was closed. Soft red lights. Dense air.

You were sitting in the center of a huge round mat, with your legs crossed, sweating. Not from the heat. But from the presence of the two of them there. Together. For you.

Beomseok took off his training gloves with his teeth. Jae-Hyun was already wearing the half-open satin robe, shiny necklace hanging over his chest.

- Three rules - said Jae-Hyun, calm, but his eyes hungry. - Without interrupting the other. Without breaking the rhythm. Without using demonic powers.

- And do you think I need magic to make you moan? - Beomseok mocked, already behind you, kneeling.

You laughed low. Provocative. Disbelief.

- What if neither of them can do it?

- We don't leave here until we get it. - they both said at the same time.

————————

Round 1: Beomseok

He pulled his hair firmly and tilted his head slightly.

His lips went down like flames down his neck, to his collarbone, while the big hands ran down his thighs, rising with torturous slowness.

- You like it when I take it like that, don't you? - he whispered, dragging his tongue through his skin.

He turned you around and sat you on his lap, holding you firmly by the waist. Your hips fit.

Beomseok bit his ear.

- Breathe. You'll need a breath... or you won't be able to stand the second round.

You were panting. Trembling body.

But he didn't moan.

And Jae-Hyun smiled.

- My turn.

————————

Round 2: Jae-Hyun

He approached from the front, slowly. He laid you carefully on the mat. He climbed on you without weighing, like a silk shadow. His eyes devoured you.

- I don't need strength. I just need to look at you like this... - he whispered, before kissing you.

Jae-Hyun's kiss was wet, deep, and loaded with a devastating affection.

He kissed you as if he knew exactly where his resistance collapsed.

His hands opened his shirt slowly, his mouth going down his lap, through the center of his body, with long, almost reverent kisses.

- You breathe fast when I play here... - he whispered, brushing his nose against the skin of your belly.

You let out a low moan.

Beomseok stood up with a snat.

- That's not worth it. You used the look.

- Don't break the rules, Beom. - Jae smiled, kissing her mouth again, pulling her lip with her teeth. - She's still conscious.

You tried to protest, but the hands of the two were already on you again. Hot. Opposites.

A battle without violence. I just wish. Just play. Just breath.

Beomseok pulled his hip back to his lap, reversing positions.

Jae-Hyun kept kissing you up there, with his fingers intertwined in yours.

You moaned.

Low.

But they heard.

They Stood.

- It was me. - said Beomseok.

- No. It was my mouth. - Jae-Hyun replied.

You laughed, unable to catch the air.

- You two... - he said, with a hoarse voice - you're killing me.

Beomseok ran his tongue over his own lips.

- So, shall we draw?

- Or we start the second round. - Jae-Hyun completed, looking at you as if you were the center of a forbidden ritual.

You bit your lip.

And opened his arms.

- They'll have to do better if they really want to beat me.

—————————————————————————

(Beomseok burns. Jae-Hyun enlaças. And you... try not to get lost.)

(Two demons. A ring. A body divided between pleasure and danger.)

(You never said yes. But the ring is on your finger. And they have already decided.)

(Your heart speeds up. One for each of them. And one for you - trying to resist.)

(They don't ask. They take it. Your body, your breath, your destiny.)

—————————————————————————

—The Shared Dream

The dawn was heavy, and you fell asleep with your body still warm from training... and provocations. The ring on his finger looked tighter, almost alive.

And then, the dream began.

You were in a dark room, where everything was made of red silk and warm smoke. Someone pulled you by the waist, leaned you against the wall, kissed you with an old hunger.

It was Beomseok. Panting. Intense. The body burned against yours.

- You're mine. No one looks here. No one divides here.

His hands tore space in his body urgently. The mouth explored her neck, her breasts, her hips. The teeth sticking lightly, marking. He lifted you by the thighs, held you up, kissing you as if he wanted to devour your soul.

And you wanted to.

You wanted everything.

- Well... - you whispered, between moans.

But suddenly... his image trembled. Gone.

And you woke up.

Sweating. Panting. Hot.

But... I wasn't alone.

Jae-Hyun was sitting at the foot of the bed, with his eyes shining in a pink tone, his hair messy, his chest rising and falling.

- You... dreamed about him. - the voice came out low, cutting.

His heart shot.

- How...?

He raised his hand. He showed his finger. A ring just like yours.

- The ring vibrates when you feel desire. When you lose your breath. When he touches you... even in a dream.

You felt the heat rise up your cheeks.

- Jae...

He approached, slowly, climbing on the bed.

- You moaned for him... and I heard everything. I saw everything. I felt everything.

He leaned his forehead against yours, panting.

- That's cruel, Y/N. See me from afar, trapped out of your dream. While he did what I wanted most.

His hands were already on your face, going down your throat. His voice turned into a whisper:

- Let me wake up this body you gave him in the dark.

You tried to resist.

But his hands pulled you up, he sat you on his lap, his hips rubbing each other in a soft rhythm.

- Close your eyes now, Y/N.

- But... - you started.

- Close. And let me be the dream. The real one. What you will remember when it dawns.

You obeyed.

And his lips took you with fierce calm.

Beomseok may have been the fire of the dream.

But Jae-Hyun... it was the combustion in real life.

———————

What you don't know:

Meanwhile, Beomseok woke up in his own bed, with blood dripping from his nose and red eyes pulsating.

- What the fuck was that...

- Why... she shouted my name... but it wasn't with me?

He looks at the ring.

And feel the taste of Jae-Hyun's kiss.

The silent war has just begun.

—————————————————————————

Another nightmare?

————

—The Linked Nightmare - Shared Breath

In the real world, you are sleeping in the silent room of the Saja Boys HQ. The black ring with pink veins is still on your finger, pulsating with a discreet light - imperceptible to the naked eye, but alive.

Beomseok and Jae-Hyun are in different rooms. But... they feel when you dream.

And today, you don't dream alone.

—————

The Dream - You and Jae-Hyun

The dream room is dark, elegant. The smell of sweet incense and body heat envelops you like a veil.

Jae-Hyun is on you, with his loose hair falling on your shoulders, the robe open, leaving his chest glued to yours.

He kisses your lips with an almost painful slowness, his tongue playing with yours as if he already knew exactly what you like.

- You're dreaming of me... - he whispers against your mouth. - And this time, without interruptions.

His hands exploit you with emotional precision. He is not aggressive - he is torturously gentle.

Every touch on your neck, between your breasts, on the waist curve... makes your body arch for more.

You moan in the dream. You grab him. You ask for more.

And then... a red spark lights up in the ring.

Meanwhile... Beomseok wakes up

Beomseok wakes up panting in his own bed, his body tense, sweating. The red eyes shining.

He takes his hand to his chest.

- This heat... is not mine.

He also sees his ring shine. Red. Synchronized to yours.

And feel it. Everything.

The taste of your skin. The pressure of your thigh. The sound of your moan.

Everything you're doing with Jae-Hyun... is crossing the limits of the dream.

And burning him alive.

- Are you cheating on me in my own nightmare? - he growles into the void, with pure jealousy and a desire that makes him lose his breath.

He closes his eyes... and enters.

——————

Back to the dream - Now the two are there

You are in Jae-Hyun's arms, intoxicated by pleasure. But feel something change. The air weighs.

You turn your face - and Beomseok is at the door. Naked from the waist up. Eyes shining in demonic red.

- I can't believe you had the courage to leave me out.

Jae-Hyun smiles against your skin, but doesn't stop.

- She dreamed of me. You who arrived late.

Beomseok advances. He kneels on the bed. Pass your hand on your leg, brushing your fingers on the inside of your thigh.

- So let's see what happens... when the dream turns into battle.

You try to protest, but Jae-Hyun gently holds your wrists.

Beomseok holds his hips firmly.

They both touch you. They both kiss you. The two compete for their breath.

Awake, sleeping, dreaming - you don't know where you are anymore.

You just know you're among them.

Between bites and tongue kisses. Between promises and possession.

And in the real world... your body sighs in pleasure.

The ring shines brightly.

And neither of them will let you wake up so early.

—————————————————————————

Inspiring name in the post of:

@filijester

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incurablefacetofcondition · 20 hours ago

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wanted to reply to the actually relevant post, but replies were limited, and then it was deleted. wanted to try sending an ask but asks were off. wanted to try dming but dms are set to people you're following only. so, here i am. i hope you will read this in good faith. these are not trick questions and i am engaging in good faith myself. if you dont want this on your blog but still want to have a conversation, thats fine, you can tag me in the replies if you'd prefer to respond there, or dm me or something

first off i want to discourage you from using the term "truscum" to describe yourself, regardless of your opinions. the term comes from the phrase "true trans scum" and isn't intended to refer to cis people. you will often see people say things like "theres no such thing as a cis truscum- that's just a regular transphobe." some people also feel that transmedicalist only refers to trans people, but that one is more up for debate and generally deemed more acceptable for a cis person to use for themself, should you continue to hold this stance.

next, maybe you addressed this in the now deleted reblogs somewhere, but i didnt see any statements from you regarding what you think about nonbinary people. do you believe that nonbinary people are the genders they say they are? or also only nonbinary people who want to (or already have) take steps to medically transition?

third, i want to talk about your phrasing of "biological women." theres multiple reasons the preferred term is just "cis women." hormones alter biology, for one. yes, maybe not to being completely identical to that of a cis woman in every single way, but all of the changes hormones bring genuinely change your biology. but, more importantly, this ties into my main point- do you view gender as a social construct?

everything i saw you state before the post was taken down implied that you do not view gender as a social construct. if thats the case, id like to understand what you believe instead. i dont want to speak for you without hearing your beliefs, but i know that there are many people- including some trans people- who view gender as something spiritual, or biological in the sense that you have a female or male brain, what have you. a gendered brain, or soul, or heart.

for the gendered brain belief, this is mostly based on old research that was disproven. men and women do not have gendered brains in any provable way. as for the soul... i am not religious or spiritual, so, no comment.

ill tell you right now that i am one of the people that would easily be deemed a "true transsexual" by transmedicalist standards. im on hormones, ive had chest surgery, ive gotten my name and gender marker changed legally. i am currently vying for genital surgery. and still i do not believe that any of these things are what make me a man. i am a man because i feel that i am a man.

when people say "gender is a social construct," it means that none of these things are inherently linked together. a cis man could want a vaginoplasty or hormones or breast implants without being a woman, cause he doesn't feel that he is one, he just would like to have certain particular features. same thing for a cis woman wanting top surgery, or hormones, or phalloplasty, metoidioplasty. if she says "im a woman, and i would like to have a penis," then she's not a trans man, she's a woman who wants to have a penis. and that's fine!

society has built up the concept of gender revolving around certain traits, but that doesn't make it the immutable truth of the world. so much of gender is performance- the clothing, the haircut, the pronouns, the attempts to modify behavior like crossing your legs or manspreading- but identity is ultimately a very personal thing. you can perform every aspect of womanhood and still know you are a man. you know yourself better than any other.

men and women are not opposites. we're all just people. on an individual level, anything that is true of a man could also be true of a woman, and vice versa. the structures of misogyny are based on a foundation of bullshit. any trait you see in a woman could also be found in a man, any trait you see in a man could also be found in a woman. some things may be more or less common in men or women, but not exclusive. if gender was so strictly inherent and separate, then it would not require policing to uphold.

most trans people hate the phrase "biological women" because we do not believe that being a woman has anything to do with biology. it implies that trans women are lesser, other, and secondary, that cis women are the natural state of womanhood being mimicked, and that the closer a trans woman gets to the biological standard of a cis woman, the more of a woman she is. but her womanhood is her internal sense of who she is! as it is for cis women, too. if you think the phrase "im a woman because i have a vagina" is transphobic, then that's the same reason we don't favor the "biological woman" terminology- your biology is not what makes you a woman. biology is not what makes anyone the gender that they are.

gender is a performance, a social construct, and a whole lot of bullshit. everyone should just do what makes them most comfortable. if that's using he/him as a cis woman, then so be it. if that's not medically transitioning as a trans man, then so be it. if that's seeking as ambiguous a medical transition as possible as a nonbinary person, then so be it. gender only has meaning because we, as humans, give it meaning.

it's remarkable how much more free we all are, looking at gender from this angle. that includes cis people! i think cis people should be allowed to do whatever they want in regards to gender affirming care, too, even if it doesn't make sense to other people. this is true bodily autonomy to me. i once saw an article about an older cis gay man who got a vaginoplasty, and he said "ive had a penis for 60-odd years. ive had all the experiences there are to have with it. id love to try something new." and i thought to myself, how wonderful it is that he could do that. this is the kind of freedom that makes life worth living. i hope he enjoys every second of every moment in his body. i hope we all do.

Mom is a trans ally #confirmed

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ruesol · 19 hours ago

Text

Push & Pull | inbox (3)

(SUKUNA X READER)

PLOT:

You often find yourself complaining to your pen pal about the annoying IT tech at your soul-sucking corporate job. If only you knew that they shared the same identity beyond the screen.

or: the “You’ve Got Mail” au

MASTERLIST

Dear Orchid27,

Text me? If you wanted my number, then why didn’t you just say so ;) Also, who says the word ‘courting’ in this day and age? Last I heard, it was from my grandpa when he suggested I play chess with his golf buddy’s daughter (spoiler alert: I didn’t).

Anyway, sorry about your relationship. I don’t know what might’ve gone wrong, but I’m sure none of it was your fault (I’m not gonna lie; I can be a little biased with my opinions). You seem like a nice person, and any guy who gets to have you would be lucky.

Hell, if I didn’t already have my eye on someone, I’d definitely have asked you out on a cyber date ;))

Have an awesome day.

Ceos4unions

–

Your eyes rake over the last sentence of your pen pal’s mail. It felt nice to be liked for who you were, and not just for what you could offer. Dare you say it, but, at this stage in life, your pen pal was probably your only true companion, trudging through the trenches of life with you.

You’re about to type out an equally flirty yet subtle reply until the sound of someone clearing their throat makes you look away from your laptop. You immediately slam it shut when you see your supervisor standing with a person you’ve never met before. The man’s ID badge says ‘intern’ but he quite frankly looks too old to be one. Unprofessional too, with visible piercings and distastefully dyed hair.

“Good morning,” you said with an apprehensive gulp. Your supervisor pats the intern’s shoulder and smiles eerily at you. “You’ve been one of our most diligent employees since being recruited. I mean, look around this place–you’re here before most of your colleagues.”

He’s not wrong. The only person who’s here besides you is Kento, and he’s trying his best to be discreet as he watches the three of you over his cubicle. However, he immediately sits down when you make eye contact with him.

“I don’t follow,” you sheepishly answer as you play with the hem of your sleeve.

But you do. You know exactly what’s going to come out of your supervisor’s mouth, and you couldn’t dread it more. But you can’t be mad at him. It’s your fault for being a pushover.

“Look, I know I can trust you with a secret, which is why I’m giving you the privilege of training a very special intern for two weeks!” The look on your supervisor’s face contradicts the excitement in his voice. Seems more like he can’t wait to get rid of the man standing next to him.

The man extends his arm to you, and you’re surprised to find visible tattoos on the back of his hand. It’s a tacky tiger. You shake it with a flat smile on your face and introduce yourself.

“Nice to meet you, too. I’m Naoya Zenin.”

Your head whips to your supervisor, who looks equally as uncomfortable as you. “Zenin?”

“Uhhh, the CEO suggested that his son learn about the makings of the company by training in each department for a while. Just keep his identity a secret, alright?”

“I can, but I wasn’t told anything about this. Are you–”

“Okay, thank you, bye!” Your supervisor leaves you alone with Naoya, who looks surprisingly happy to work under you, a regular employee with a forgettable face. It seems his father wants him to have ‘humble’ beginnings.

Sure, it’s totally not like his noncompliance with the company dress code would be a dead giveaway for his real identity.

Naoya gives you a smile that only makes you internally groan as you drag a chair to the empty desk behind you. “Sit down, I’ll let you know what to do for the day.”

From the other end of the office, Sukuna watches you through the semi-closed blinds of his glass door, eyes trained on the new kid (well, compared to Sukuna), sitting behind you. Jealousy bubbles under his skin as he watches the guy constantly sneak glances at you whenever you bend down to pick up yet another paper he dropped your way.

Sukuna grumbled under his breath. “Sly fucking bastard.”

He’s never really had to worry about someone stealing you under his nose because you were never his since the beginning. But now, his target was staring right at him in the face. The dart was ready in his hand, yet the new intern kept blocking him from hitting the bullseye.

He knows Naoya really well. The little fucker used to attend the same kickboxing gym as him a few years ago and had his ass handed to him when he got feisty. Won’t be hard to do the same now, but this time you’re in the equation too. Sukuna does not need you to know that he’s fluent with his fists.

Because all you need to know is about his fingers.

Naoya’s the classic example of a douche. Sukuna’s overheard him many times in the gym, the circumference of his head increasing as he loudly boasted about yet another girl he tricked into sleeping with him. Sukuna would die ten times over if you were to end up as another one of his trophies.

As corny as it sounds, your attention was earned.

When the clock strikes thirty minutes past one, Sukuna expects you to walk in with your usual bone-weary gait, but he’s unpleasantly surprised to see Naoya follow behind, a smirk playing on the intern’s face as Sukuna makes eye contact with him.

“What’s this guy doing here?” Sukuna asked with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Call him petulant, but he was really looking forward to being alone with you, even if it was only for twenty minutes.

Naoya comfortably takes a seat across Sukuna’s desk, and you roll your eyes as you sit next to him. “This is Naoya, an intern, he’s sha–”

“Save it. I’m not interested,” Sukuna said as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Is he always this rude to you?” Naoya speaks up before Sukuna can ask you the first question. The tension between the two men is palpable, and Sukuna can see that you’re starting to get suspicious.

“You don’t look like an HR rep to me,” Sukuna mumbled as he aggressively clicked his mouse. Dregs of misery cling to Sukuna like sap as he thinks of excuses to send Naoya away, but he knows that the fucker would find a way to come back.

He likes to think of Naoya like a boomerang with screws nailed into it. Only, its recoil speed is faster than what you hurl it away with.

The questionnaire is long and painful (for both you and Sukuna). Naoya enjoys butting into every moment you have alone, giving Sukuna no leeway in having a conversation with you. Everywhere the pink-haired IT tech would turn, he’d see Naoya stuck to your side, sometimes with a bundle of papers, and sometimes, leaning a little too close to you whenever you’d have trouble with the copier.

The fluorescent lights in the breakroom only make Sukuna’s eyes twitch further when everyone unexpectedly likes Naoya. Sukuna and Choso are standing the furthest away from everyone, who are all gathered around the table in the center of the room.

Choso takes a long sip of his kale smoothie before nudging Sukuna’s bicep. “That guy seems kinda fishy, don’t you think?”

It takes Sukuna a while to tear his eyes away from you. Everyone had their lunches open except for you. Slouched over, you looked like you were ready to fall asleep any minute now. Maybe he could accidentally leak your married supervisor's emails with the receptionist downstairs to HR. It would definitely give you some time to rest while the idiot would be on suspension.

“He is. That’s Naobito Zenin’s son.” Choso did a double-take, nearly choking on his smoothie before pulling his phone out. “There’s nothing about him online, though.”

“'Cause he’s a bratty troublemaker whose dad pays off the media. I beat his ass once–back when I was into kickboxing.” Sukuna moved away from his spot before Choso could bombard him with more questions about his past.

He catches your gaze for a second before you turn away and look down at your hands in your lap. Sukuna doesn’t react, but the corner of his lip twitches as he looks for his lunch in the refrigerator. He places his lunchbox in front of you. It’s the expensive kind–the one with thermal insulation and a digital temperature indicator.

“What’s this?” you look up at him in confusion, and the conversation in the breakroom pauses, everyone’s eyes are on you. Shoko sucks in her cheek as Suguru raises his brows. Nanami knows better than to react if he wants to stay on Sukuna’s good side.

“Lunch. I owe you,” he lied, trying to come up with something as he sat on the empty chair between you and Naoya. Sukuna was positively bigger than all of the men in the room, the only comparable feature of his being his height, which rivaled Nanami’s.

“For what? I don’t remember doing you any favors,” you say as you fold your arms, your elbow meeting his. There’s something just so irresistible about your skeptical expression. Lips being absentmindedly chewed, as you stare up at him, because even while sitting, he towers over you like his shadow could take over. He’s suddenly grateful for spending extra days working on his arms, cause he knows he’s basically blocking Naoya's line of sight from you.

“For the laptop background thing. Consider it as an apology.” Jin, Sukuna’s brother, often said that Sukuna would come off as a douche no matter how hard he tried to sound earnest, and Jin was the only person who could say something like that to Sukuna and not get punched in the face for it.

“What laptop background thing?” Kento asked as he squinted behind his round frames.

“I think he means when he changed her work laptop’s wallpaper to a broken heart,” Choso answered. Horrified, your eyes widen as you stare at Sukuna in disbelief.

“Did you–”

But Kento interrupts you before you can confront Sukuna. “Now why would he do something so stupid?”

“Oh, cause her boyfriend–I mean, ex, cheated on her,” Choso answered enthusiastically.

The entire room goes silent as you drag a hand down your face. “Thank you for telling everyone about my business, Sukuna,” you snap before leaving the breakroom with a huff and a little more weight to your steps.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Choso cringes when Sukuna shoots him a death glare. The tension gets even heavier when Naoya follows you out, probably to comfort you.

“Finally, there’s new drama. I thought we’d be talking about the supervisor till we retired.” Suguru’s comment earns him a slap against his bicep from Shoko. Guilt wells up in Sukuna till it reaches the brim. He’s not sure how to apologize. He knows enough to bother you for the time being, choosing to watch out for your mood through the blinds of his office.

A spotlight runs you hot when you work under it for too long. It’s big, blinding, and too bright for someone to directly stare into. It has a looming presence that even when you close your eyes, there’s nothing but the white abyss to fall into.

You’ve always tried to stay in everybody’s good graces. Never drawing too much attention by always doing your best in school, and only keeping to yourself to avoid unnecessary conversation. You thought you could apply the same strategy while working, but the universe had other plans for you when Sukuna came into your life.

His presence was very much like a spotlight, and he made sure to make you shine the brightest, whether you liked it or not.

You draft an email to HR, the words “harassment” and “emotional distress” staring back at you in bold.

Your finger lingers over your mouse, which was resting on the ‘send’ option, but something held you back.

If you were to send an email to HR, your peers would probably walk on eggshells around you, always worried about being a target. Your supervisor would probably think you’re incompetent for not working well in a high-pressure environment.

With a bite to the inside of your cheek, you delete the draft and open a different website instead.

–

Dear ceos4unions,

I never thought I’d ever tell you this, but you’re the only person in my life who’s keeping me sane. The douchebag I always talk to you about did something really fucking annoying today, and it’s kind of made me not want to go to work tomorrow.

I’m constantly stressed and on top of that, my fuckass superior just dumps all his work on me. Sometimes I feel like everything in my life just wants to go against me. And that the universe doesn’t want me to be happy. Do you ever get that feeling, too? I hope not cause it sucks.

You seem super sweet too. I hope I meet someone like you in the future. How’s it going with the girl you like? Have you started courting her? (Excuse my prehistoric language because I think I will keep using that word solely to annoy you.)

Did not have an awesome day, but I hope you did

(Also, I’m sorry for swearing so much. My brain just doesn’t feel like being eloquent today.)

–orchid27

–

Rain patters down in a flurry as soon as you step out, leaving you almost immediately soaked in your satin blouse. The weather forecast said nothing about any rain, as a bright animated sun danced around in your phone when you checked the average temperature for the day. It’s a bad time to wear a black bra. With the drowsy after-effects of caffeine in your system and sheer willpower, you brace yourself to walk through the rain with your work tote above your head.

But before you can take a single step towards the train station, Sukuna grabs onto your shoulder.

You yelp in surprise before sighing and pressing a finger to your temple. “What now? Aren’t you tired of terrorizing me?”

“Look, I’m really sorry about what happened today,” he said, wrapping his warm jacket around you. You’re immediately engulfed in his scent, and you blush when you realize just how close you’re standing to him. You can see a small scar across his jaw, unconcealed by the grey sprouts of a recently shaved stubble.

You sigh again, deeper this time, as you push his jacket off your shoulders, uncaring that it dropped on the dirty ground.

“I’m gonna say this with as much respect as I can: fuck off!”

All the color drains from Sukuna’s face as you yank his hand off your shoulder. Train be damned, you could wait another hour, but the anger stewing in you couldn’t. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind until a red sports car pulls up right in front of you. The tinted passenger seat window rolls down, and it’s Naoya, glaring at Sukuna.

“Is he bothering you?” Naoya calls out, his voice a little muffled because of the rain. “I can drive you home if you don’t feel safe.”

You glower at Sukuna before turning to Naoya, debating whether you want to get in a total stranger’s car rather than argue with the IT tech when it’s raining like the sky’s throwing up.

The answer is easy. It presents itself to you on a platter, but something about Sukuna’s guilt-ridden face makes you hesitate before turning towards Naoya’s car. “Are you serious?” Sukuna yells as you slam the car door shut (and whisper an apology to Naoya for it).

“He’s an asshole,” Sukuna continues as the windows roll up.

“Takes one to know one!” Naoya replies before speeding off.

The car ride was quiet for most of the route home, except for occasional questions from Naoya about the weather. For a trust fund kid, he didn’t seem very spoiled, only letting his wealth speak for itself (like his heated seats and advanced sound system). Maybe it’s because your standards have fallen below the depths of hell, but he hadn’t looked in your direction since your blouse was basically see-through.

A sigh of relief escapes your throat when you see the familiar street near your apartment complex. You could already feel the tense muscles in your neck relaxing as you thought about getting out of your soggy heels.

You’re about to unlock the door and thank him for the ride until he autolocks the car.

Of course, there’s always a catch with men like him.

Men in general.

Tears brim in your eyes, but you swallow an oncoming whimper and turn to look at him. “What is it?”

“Since I’ve done such a good job of saving you from that creep, I believe I deserve a reward.” He grins like the Cheshire Cat, a cunning plot brewing behind it.

You try to play dumb. “I’ll buy you coffee tomorrow.” But the car’s still locked when you try to pull the handle.

“Coffee’s not gonna cut it.” A shiver runs down your spine when you feel the slick venom in his tone.

“Naoya, please don’t do this. I don’t want to report you.”

He huffs, his bottom lip jutting out as he looks up at the little lights that mimic stars on his car’s roof. Eerily, he looks like a child who was just told he couldn’t get his favorite toy, which isn’t too far-fetched of a comparison considering that that’s all you are in his eyes–an object. “You’re right, I shouldn’t. But, if my dad finds out how ‘awful’ you’ve been to me, he’s definitely gonna want to evaluate you as an employee, don’t you think?”

For once, you thought that you had climbed up to the shore, coughing out the remnants of the salty sea and clumps of sand from your throat, but the waves engulf you again. You would deal with the consequences later. You’re too exhausted to make sane choices. “What do you want?”

Naoya springs up in his seat, a giddy smile playing on his face. “Just a dinner date.”

Just. The word sits heavily in your mind. There are a lot of implications behind it.

“Fine.” You stumble out of the car with the speed you open the door. You’re breathing heavily when your knees hit the ground, blood mixing with sediment and water.

“Hope you’re free after work tomorrow!” And he drives off without looking twice in your direction.

—

#jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #sukuna x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader fluff #sukuna x reader smut #sol ecrit #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #sukuna ryomen x reader

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serveandchoke · 2 days ago

Text

Message In a Bottle

Jannik Sinner x Reader

Synopsis: You ever send someone a message at 2am and wonder if it actually landed somewhere? This is that — long-distance tension, bad timing, soft yearning, and the one person you can’t stop thinking about no matter what timezone you’re in. Just two people throwing feelings into the universe and hoping the other catches it.

A/N: Hey guys! I'm reallyyyyyy sorry for not writing and publishing! College's been taking up all my time, and I was lucky enough to have the rarity of getting free time so I could write this small fic. I have a few ones in the works, so yeah look out for that one. ♡♡

The thing is — she never meant to fall for him.

Not really. Not like this.

It started harmlessly. A conversation at an event. A shared laugh over the same stupid meme. A follow-back. A couple of DMs. Nothing serious.

But somehow, "nothing serious" turned into late-night FaceTimes. Turned into missing each other’s texts. Turned into looking at the sky in two different countries at the same time, wondering if he was doing the same.

And now, she’s sitting at her kitchen table, staring at her phone, pretending she doesn’t want to text him first.

Because it’s been three days. Not that she’s counting.

(But she’s totally counting.)

Jannik’s on the other side of the world — literally. Somewhere between press, practice, and pretending to sleep on a plane again. He’s been running on caffeine and adrenaline, earbuds in, hood up, zoned out to music he can’t even hear.

He’s been trying not to think about her. Not because he doesn’t want to — but because it’s getting harder not to.

It’s stupid, how fast it all happened. How easy it felt. How the second he met her, something in him just… clicked.

She was all fire and charm, didn’t try to impress him, didn’t ask for photos or act like she cared that he was that guy. She just handed him a drink and said, “You looked like you needed this.” And honestly, He did.

And now, weeks later, he’s opening his phone mid-layover, scrolling up on their chat thread just to reread the old stuff.

She hasn’t texted first in days, which means he’s probably next up.

He types:

this airport is so cold it’s actually illegal

Then deletes it.

Types again:

why do all sandwiches in europe taste like regret

Deletes that too.

Jesus. What is he even doing?

---

She’s doing the same thing — hovering over her keyboard, staring at a half-written message:

I walked by a guy who smelled like your cologne and now I hate everyone else

Too much. She deletes it.

Instead she types:

hey, are you alive?

or did you marry your physio and forget to tell me

She hits send before she can overthink it. Then immediately tosses her phone across the couch like it’s cursed. Fuck.

---

He sees the message while boarding the plane.

Smiles. Actually smiles. His physio side-eyes him like he knows something.

He replies:

yes, he proposed. i'm sorry you had to find out like this.

And she fires back:

wow. not even a voice note? fake husband.

The banter slips right back into place. Easy. Familiar. Like no time passed. Like they’re right back in that weird little space between something and not quite.

And Jannik thinks: god, I miss her.

---

Weeks go by like this. Back and forth. Messages in different time zones. Snapshots of whatever city he’s in. Voice notes of her rambling while walking home from work. He saves the ones where she laughs without realizing it. And then, finally–

He has a break. Not long. Just enough.

So he books the flight. Doesn’t even tell her. Just shows up in her city, texting:

any chance you’re home tonight?

She’s confused. Texts back:

yeah?? why

And then her doorbell rings. She opens it, and he’s standing there — hoodie up, hair messy, suitcase by his side. Looking tired. And annoyingly perfect. He grins.

“Hey.”

She just stares for a second. Then hits him in the arm.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I was gonna ask if you had dinner plans,” he shrugs. “But I’ll also accept being physically assaulted.”

She’s still blinking, like she doesn’t believe he’s real.

Then: “You’re seriously here? Just like that?”

He nods. “Just like that.”

She pulls him in — into the apartment, into a hug, into whatever this thing is between them that neither of them wants to label but both of them feel.

And as he wraps his arms around her, tucking his chin into her shoulder, he says it — not loudly. Not dramatically. Just enough.

“I kept thinking about you.”

She breathes in his scent. It's familiar, and it's real. It was an addiction.

Warm and kind of overwhelming in the best way.

“Me too,” she whispers.

Because for weeks they’d both been tossing words into the void. Hoping the other would catch them. Hoping timing wouldn’t win.

And now, it feels like the bottle finally washed ashore.

Exactly where it was supposed to.

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bartonomy · 2 days ago

Text

A WHOLE LOT OF NOTHING!

PAIRING barty crouch junior x rosier!reader

SYNOPSIS on the verge of getting your ass whooped by your parents, you take the help of the, oh well, local maniac!

CONTENT WARNING purely crack, girlfailure reader, idk what im doing! fem gryffindor reader, floral nicknames, dialogue heavy, barty needs help i think! fluff, not proofread, kinda filler drabble!

WORD COUNT 0.9k

library.

You’re sitting in the Slytherin common room, trying to convince yourself that Arithmancy is somehow not an evil joke designed to make you cry in public, when Pandora plops down beside you, looking annoyingly cheerful.

You’re already regretting this. It’s only been twelve seconds.

“I don’t need tutoring,” you muttered through gritted teeth, gripping the strap of your pristine bag like it owes you money.

“You failed your last three Arithmancy assignments,” Pandora said serenely, looking at the ceiling like a fairy oracle of doom. “And you put down ‘time is fake’ for the answer to Question Four on the theory exam.”

“Because it is.”

“Barty will help,” Evan swooped in, apparently teleported by sibling radar. “He’s top of the year for a reason, Daisy.”

“He’s unhinged.”

“He’s passionate.”

“He brought a dead rat to Potions class to ‘test a theory.’” you deadpanned, running a tired habd through your face.

“It was for science!” a voice yelled from behind you.

You whirled around, dread already flowing through your body.

There he is. Your sleep paralysis demon himself (No, literally. You once woke up with him somehow standing at the foot of your Gryffindor bed at 4 am). Raccoon hair wild, tie askew, ink stains on both hands and also, inexplicably, his neck.

He looked thrilled to be here. You considered jumping into the black lake head first.

“You ready to LEARN, STUDENT?” he roared with the same energy as someone who has just drunk a full cauldron of coffee and might be about to set something on fire.

“No,” you said flatly. Gosh, how many galleons would it take to bribe Professor Vector into giving you an O?

“Perfect,” he grins. “Let’s begin.”

You’re not sure where the tutoring session was supposed to be, but Barty immediately lead you to the third floor girls’ bathroom.

“I dont know if you're aware, Crouch,” you said, stopping short. “This is a girls' laboratory, and also where Myrtle haunts. Why are we here? What does this possibly have to do with Arithmancy?”

“Peace. Privacy. Excellent acoustics.”

“Acoustics? We’re doing equations.”

“I chant when I concentrate.” he nodded with utmost sincerity.

“…I want to go home.”

“You’re at Hogwarts.”

“Exactly.”

Barty pulled out a textbook that’s clearly been dropped in a pond at some point, opened it to a completely blank page, and said, “So. What’s the square root of a Gringott’s curse modifier when divided by a leyline fluctuation index?”

“That cannot be a real question.”

“Everything’s a question if you’re brave enough.” he sighed with false disappointment.

“Are you high?”

“Well, only on knowledge and a dash of you, little Rosie.”

You looked at him. He’s already halfway through drawing a pentagram on the floor with a sugar quill.

“I’m telling McGonagall,” you said.

“You’ll be thanking me when you pass your next exam,” Barty replied, lighting a small candle with Incendio and tossing it under the nearest sink. “Knowledge is pain.”

Your eye twitched. “That’s not the expression.”

"Celery or whatever Reggie says"

He opened a new book, this one appears to be hand-bound with string and labeled ‘Barty’s Notes – DO NOT TOUCH unless you are Barty or Santos Santa’.

“You don’t need to worry about the fire,” he added casually, scribbling down symbols with his overdipped quill. “Bathroom tiles are flame proof. Definitely. Probably.”

You backed away slightly, already distributing your assets to every single sane bloke you know.

“Today’s session,” he says, “is on numerical ward collapse. Incredibly useful. Also illegal in seventeen countries.”

“I’m twelve.”

“You’re sixteen.”

“Feels like twelve when you talk.”

“Well, thank you, Daisy May.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know,” he grinned. “Now hold still.”

You instinctively ducked just as he throws a piece of chalk at your head. It explodes against the wall with a loud crack and released a glowing symbol that looked… suspiciously like a goat?

“What the bloody hell was that?!”

“Calibrating your magical aura, my dear disciple.”

“You hit me with a freaking goat.”

“Near you.”

“WHY is the goat still hovering??”

Barty squinted at it thoughtfully. “Huh. That’s new. Anyways, let’s do some equations!”

“So, if you take the leyline coefficient-”

“Which is?”

“You’d know if you were paying attention-”

“I am! I just can’t listen while I’m actively having a panic attack.”

“Good! Stress sharpens the mind. This is educational.”

“YOU JUST BLEW A HOLE IN THE SINK.”

“It was for demonstration purposes.”

“The water is flooding the floor.”

“Hydration is essential.”

You gave him the blankest stare you could muster. “You are Evan’s friend. You are Pandora’s friend. I am going to tell Mum what you’ve done.”

"Please", He snorted. “Your mum adores me.”

“She thinks you’re ‘weird and jittery’ and once asked if you had rabies.”

“She laughed when she said that!”

“She was holding garlic.”

“Listen,” Barty said seriously, crouching down like a manic goblin in too-long robes, “I can teach you how to feel the numbers. Don’t calculate. Breathe. Accept the equation into your soul.”

You blinked. “You need help.”

“I am help.”

You’re about to bolt when Barty clapped his hands.

“Time for flashcards!” he announced, holding up what is very clearly a shuffled tarot deck from Pandora.

“Those are not flashcards.”

“Tell that to the Ministry,” he muttered, flipping one over. “This one means ‘death’- which reminds me, if your magical signature doesn’t match the rune circle in exactly three minutes, the floor may implode.”

You just stared at him.

He grinned.

You pulled out your quill and immediately started writing.

BOOM!

You stormed into the common room with wild eyes, a soaked robe, and possibly the lingering scent of burnt toothpaste.

“Why,” you demanded, breath still short “did you make me do that?”

Pandora, on the floor surrounded by floating teacups, looks up serenely. “Did you learn anything?”

“Yes.”

“See?”

“I learned that Barty Crouch is clinically unfit to be near school supplies.”

Evan looked up from his chessboard, raising a brow. “Did he try the goat spell again?"

“I have seventeen mosquito bites and no idea how to add fractions now.”

Pandora smiled. “So productive, daisy!”

You hissed.

#did yall miss me #this came to me in a dream LMFAO #barty crouch jr fic #barty crouch jr fluff #barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch junior #barty crouch junior fic #barty crouch junior x reader #barty crouch junior imagine #barty crouch x reader #the marauders x you #the marauders #the marauders x reader #the marauders era

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startaegi · 9 hours ago

Text

CHAPTER 003. don’t say you love me.

where you and namgyu on brink of seperation find yourselves in way of death all to give your daughter a better life.

previous next masterlist wattpad playlist

the large hall is filled with the shocked whispers and uneasy glances of the remaining players. the guards hand each one a lunchbox — some rice, meat, and an egg. you can't even look at it, let alone smell it, not with the image of the fallen bodies still burned behind your eyes. the scent of rotting flesh still lingers in the air, clinging to your skin like a bad perfume. you tried to swallow it down, searching for namgyu in the crowd to distract yourself, but the feeling lingers, no matter what you do.

the silver tray shakes slightly in your hands, the rattling sharp against your ears. your stomach twists uncomfortably, unsure if it's disgust, guilt, or something else. the fallen had lives outside too. people who loved them, families probably waiting for them to come home, just like you.

beside you, myunggi sat eating from his lunchbox, seemingly unaffected by everything that just happened. you cast your eyes around the room, most of the other players doing the same, as if pretending everything was normal. you looked back down at your lunch again before pushing it to the side, a lump rising in your throat.

myunggi said something that you don’t catch, lost in your own thoughts. "hm?" you asked, looking up to see his face.

"i said, how do you know him?" he questioned, the hand holding his fork pointing in namgyu’s direction. you followed his line of sight, watching as namgyu animatedly spoke with another player. you vaguely recognised his face — purple hair, painted nails, a voice so loud it booms across the room — but you can't place him.

you hesitated before replying, "he’s my boyfriend."

myunggi snorted in disbelief, shaking his head, until he noticed the serious look on your face. "you’re not joking?"

you only shook your head in response.

"you and him? that addict?" myunggi asked, eyebrows raised.

you didn't have the energy to argue, you were tired of doing it. instead, you replied, fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on your sweatpants, "he’s not always like that," you said quietly, something like longing laced in your voice. "and he's a good father."

myunggi blinked taken aback, tray frozen in his hand. "wait, you have a kid?"

you paused, the thread between your fingers, "i forgot you didn't know" you said sadly. "hanuel, she's four"

there’s silence for a second, not uncomfortable, just like you were both processing everything you’d missed over the years. you wondered for a moment how myunggi had spent those missing years. was he also in a relationship? did he ever continue writing, despite his failed plan in crypto? did he ever think about you? it hurt your heart to think about.

"i’m sorry i wasn't there," he finally said, glancing across the room, eyes focused on a young girl, player 222. his expression unreadable. she didn't look his way.

you didn't notice, still fixated on your lap, and myunggi didn't say anything else, quietly returning to his meal. you let a moment pass before standing up to stretch your legs, trying to shake the tension from your body. the atmosphere in the room was heavy, it made your stomach twist with discomfort.

you couldn't sit still, you would drive yourself crazy being left to your thoughts, imagining every worst-case scenario. just as you began to pace, namgyu and the boy you vaguely recognised approached, cockiness written across their faces.

namgyu set his gaze on you, eyes sharp. "how’d you know him?" he asked, catching hold of your wrist, his tone casual but demanding. when you don’t respond, unsure how, his grip tightened. voice no longer soft, he yanked you towards him. "i asked, how'd you know him?"

you flinched, attempting to pull your wrist free, but his grip was too strong. "let go of me, namgyu," you said through clenched teeth, eyes low in hopes of not catching attention.

like something else was possessing him, he refused. "answer the question," he hissed, pulling you closer. "don’t make me ask again."

before you could answer, myunggi stood up but was quickly pushed back down by 230. "leave her alone," he said through gritted teeth.

the purple-haired boy held him back while namgyu laughed, eyes darting from one sibling to the other.

"how cute," he snickered. "your new boyfriend wants to protect you."

you cast your gaze to the ground, unable to respond. he wouldn't listen, not in his current state.

namgyu continued, "did you know he stole our money? the money we saved for hanuel’s classes."

you wanted to laugh—you should've, just to spite him. he was the one who gambled that money away. he was the one who promised to pay for the expensive ballet classes you knew you couldn't afford. and yet here he was, as always, passing the blame to someone else.

myunggi spoke up defensively. "that crypto ruined my life too," he said, eyes dropping in shame. "that’s why i’m here, to make money."

the pair had basically cornered him into the bunk, player 230 towering over him. "that’s right. you’d better make a lot of money, because of that damn coin, i lost over 500 million won. money i earned busting my ass rapping."

namgyu still had a tight grip on your wrist.

"i lost 300 million," he added from the side.

"you’d better win these games and make a load of money to pay us back."

“i get it. can you go away now? i’m trying to eat—"

namgyu finally loosened his grip, but only to snatch myunggi’s tray from his hands.

you couldn't stand to listen to them any longer. a headache was beginning to pulse behind your eyes from their back-and-forth insults. you tried to pull away, only to be tugged back in again.

you watched as myunggi’s expression twisted with rage. suddenly, he leapt from the bed and tackled the purple-haired boy, hands gripping the collar of his zip-up jacket.

namgyu let you go free with a shove, quick to jump in and help support his new friend, holding myunggi back as the rapper landed blow after blow to his face.

you stumbled while carefully massaging your sore wrist. you heard the chaos as they tumbled around with one another. you wanted to scream, to tell them to stop but it was useless, they were too far gone to listen.

a collective set of gasps pulled your attention back into the room. you looked up from the red skin on your wrist to see player 001 walking toward the center of the room.

"boys, what are you doing in the middle of mealtime?" he questioned. "no fights during meal time. there are elders present, mind your manners."

you wanted to thank the gods for the interference — you had only just gotten your brother back, and you didn't fancy losing him again.

"and two against one?" he asked, pausing in front of them. his gaze turned to you before flickering back to them again. "aren’t you embarrassed?"

namgyu let myunggi drop to the ground, his attention now on 001, as 230 stepped toward the older man. "you’re lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too? dude, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn kids."

you moved quickly, rushing to kneel beside your brother's side. you helped him sit up, wincing at the blood and bruises forming around his eye. "you okay?" you whispered through the shouting.

myunggi nodded weakly as namgyu fell to the ground beside you, clutching his leg in pain. you looked up just as 001 knocked 230 to the ground, his fist raised and hand around the younger's neck while 230 pleaded for forgiveness. you watched him tremble, his fist shaking as he hesitated before finally letting go and standing up. the players around you cheered, some calling out their praise. the older man turned, as if searching for someone, and gave you a soft nod of acknowledgment before proudly walking back to his friends.

that same night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling above you. sleep wouldn't come easy, not with your thoughts going to the worst places. you couldn't stop picturing hanuel, waiting for her parents to come home... if they ever did. what she would wonder for the rest of her life? would she know you did this for her? put yourselves in way of death all to give her a better life? you fought away the tears, shifting on the thin mattress to face myunggi. he was asleep on his side, face somehow worse than it was earlier in the day but he looked peaceful, like you remembered him.

across the room, namgyu slept with his back against the wall, slumped over in your direction. you hadn't spoken to him since the fight, refused to even acknowledge he was there. the years hadn't been kind to him; you had slowly watched him become someone you no longer recognised.

the summer of 2017 was a distant memory, the shared kisses between fleeting drunk customers under the dark lights of the club's hallway, the weekends you spent together in the comfort of your tiny apartment, wasting the days away learning each other's bodies. he was here and yet you still missed him.

you turned back to the ceiling forcing down the lump in your throat. you closed your eyes, the images of the morning burning behind your lids. you thought of hanuel and her soft laughter, of eunwoo and his excruciating jokes only he found funny and of the version of namgyu you once knew. you had to survive, for them.

the next morning, while standing among the other players waiting to be called to the game hall, the air still thick with tension, a woman approached you almost cautiously. she hovered for a moment before speaking up.

"hi," she said softly. "are you okay?"

you knew she was referring to the night before.

you let out an awkward laugh, unsure how to respond. "i’m okay. thank you."

you began walking side by side up the familiar, twisting stairs. player 120 didn't push further, only nodded in quiet understanding.

"i heard some of the guys talking last night. they think the next game is dalgona."

"like the cookies?" you asked, brows furrowed.

she shrugged. "i think so?"

you reached the top of the stairs, the heavy metal doors sliding open to welcome you inside. cheerful kids' music played through the speakers, giant rainbow-colored lanes painted across the sanded floors. as the crowd slowly filled the room, people spread out in all directions. you were quickly swallowed by the mass, losing track of the friendly girl.

you tried to push your way back through, eyes scanning the crowd for a glimpse of dark hair but to no avail.

an announcement came through the speakers, "welcome to your second game, this game will be played in teams. please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes"

within seconds, you spotted myunggi across the room, speaking intensely with player 222. you hadn't known he was close with anyone else in here, and judging by their body language, they definitely had history.

you didn't stay to find out more, the clock on the wall ticking down. you had to find a group or risk meeting death sooner than you’d like. you wandered further into the crowd, meeting countless uninviting eyes and moving on to the next.

just as you began to give up, myunggi approached. "you’re coming with me," he said, taking your arm gently and guiding you to a group of three men. only one smiled as you came into view, the others scowling in disgust.

"we said bring another guy," one of the older men said.

"she’s going to get us killed," another scoffed.

neither myunggi nor you replied, instead taking your seats on the floor among the other players. you felt namgyu’s eyes on you from across the room, noticed his shaking legs and the way he scratched anxiously at the skin on his arms. his gaze was locked on you, anxiety written all over his face. you imagined yours didn't look much different.

you let your gaze linger for a second longer, heart hammering in your chest. this may be the last time you see each other and you didn't want to look away.

the buzzer sounded, pulling them from their moment and back into reality. your team was called first. you stood in a line, ankles tied together — myunggi at the far end, and player 246 to your left. each player had one minute to play, five in total, before the next could begin and they'd move closer to the finish line. a gunshot bounced off the walls, signaling the start of the game. you didn't have time to think before you took off across the track, chanting one-two as you went.

you snatched up the blue and red ddajki cards, fixed on the coloured squares, attempting to ignore the hundreds of eyes upon you. you threw the blue card to the ground, hitting it in an instant as cheers erupted in the audience.

you moved to the next in ease, player 246 rolling the stone in his palm before tossing it and narrowly missing the rock on the centre of the ground.

"fail!" the guard called.

you walked towards the stone, legs becoming one big tanglement. you tripped, 246 quick to catch your elbow.

"faster," one of the men on your team snapped, yanking you all forward and throwing you off balance again.

you felt herself wobble, panic rising in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

"she’s going to kill us all," the same man barked.

"then untie me and let me go!" you screamed back, voice cracking.

the man opened his mouth to respond but myunggi cut him off, "shut up or you'll be the one to kill us, we need to focus!"

you fell into a silence, moving to get back into the rhythm of the game. each of you struggled, but eventually you passed with seconds left to spare.

you fell to your knees the moment the rope was gone, no longer tying you down. you wished you could feel a sense of relief, feel grateful that your life was still yours but namgyu looked back at you, eyes dilated and panicked. you only hoped you’d see him walk back through the door again.

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❪ notes ❫ . i hate writing the games sm its so confusing 😭 anyways i’m so excited to get into the backstories of namgyu and myunggi!!

❪ taglist ❫ . @sollum @meadowfics @nuttybeans @namgyucat @uponmyheart @citarnosis @elmaa127 @luclue @marihoneywk @szkla-nka @lunaryoongie if you wanna be added to the taglist for all future chapters let me know!

#｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ dsylm #namgyu x y/n #namgyu x you #namgyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu x y/n #nam gyu x you #squid game fanfiction #squid game x fem reader #squid game x y/n #squid game fanfic #squid game x reader #squid game x you #player 124 x y/n #player 124 x fem reader #player 124 x you #player 124 x reader

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