#And the only guy who doesn’t have a name

[lizardho]

I took a human development class at BYU. It was a good class. The guy who taught it did a great job with it, he was passionate, he was curious, he was kind, and to top it all off he was a fabulous Mormon. I had to sign up for his class the night it opened and I only barely made it into his lecture it filled so fast. I cannot for the life of me remember his name, but I remember how he challenged the class in some peculiar ways.

A funny experience of challenging the class was when we had our lecture on conception and development in utero. He taps the microphone like a comedian who just bombed a set, asks if we can hear him, get’s a resounding and excited “yes!” and says “Ok! Ok! Y’all sounds excited! Let’s do a chant, see if that helps with some of the other energy. Are you ready?”

Of course everyone cheers yes, we’re Mormon, being in a room of people saying the same shit over and over is our jam. So he nods, gets a beat going by clapping, and starts chanting the word “sex” into the microphone. The claps die. The chant doesn’t start. But he keeps going, and going, until he gets half the class chanting with him by brutal shameless persistence. Then he changes the word. “Vagina!” And resumes until he has half the class. Then “clitoris!” then “penis!” then finally when he has half the room chanting he stops the chant and says “I only ever go until I can get half of y’all chanting because this is BYU and I’d be here all day if I waited for everyone to be comfortable even saying the word “sex” out loud which is INSANE because today we’re talking about how life begins and I guarantee you almost every woman who flinched away from chanting “penis” wants to have kids and most of the men who couldn’t pronounce clitoris want to have at least two kids and that does not work out in my head! We need to get over this fear to talk about conception openly.” He talked about sex as a biological phenomenon and as a fun thing to do sometimes and it was a transformative experience for me, and it was very funny as an opener.

He challenged us academically too, though. He assigned us the task of observing children at the campus daycare and told us he wanted to know who we had observed just by our behavioral observations. He meant it, too. He didn’t want us to just know about kids he wanted us to be able to see kids as distinct people and that was amazing. He pushed us out of the mindset of “how do I pass this assignment” and challenged us to internalize “how do I learn to do this in real life?” and he pushed us to observe children as people and not as science experiments or obedient joyful output machines.

Another way he challenged the class, and this one sticks with me tbh, is he told us stories. His technique is one I often utilize as a therapist. He tells a story that’s related *enough* to keep you aware of how your question or need is related, but just unrelated enough distract you from the question so when he brings it back to you it hits as an experience instead of a verbal response to an inquiry. He did this sometimes in response to questions from students and it was always an interesting way to experience learning. One day a student, a worried newlywed man who JUST found out his wife was pregnant, asked what he could do to help her because he felt so excited and overwhelmed he couldn’t think clearly. And the professor stops the lecture and thinks about it, like, REALLY thinks about it, and he leads into his story - it starts with a brief discussion on the complexity and uniqueness of fingerprints. Then he tells us about how one of his graduate students a few years back came into his office complaining that his wife was getting lazier. Him, being a therapist and a curious man by nature, asked the student what he meant. The student responds by saying that he felt “duped” by his wife because she’d been energetic and motivated and passionate and attentive until she got pregnant and now she “doesn’t do anything” and “has no ambition” and “doesn’t even cook dinner anymore” and “always says she’s tired even though she hasn’t DONE anything” and how he felt like it was all an act to pretend to be a good wife until she got pregnant and had him hooked forever.

And this guy is reacting to this in real time - he goes point by point through this graduate student’s complaints and nods patiently, curiously, then sinisterly as he understands the situation. He tells the grad students to come a little closer so he can show him something in a book, then whaps him upside the head with the book.

The grad student of course reacts with shock and anger and demands a justification for being whacked with a book and the professor responds with “how far into the pregnancy is your lazy lazy wife?” The grad student gives a response to he opens the book and slaps it on the desk and says “at that point in pregnancy your child’s fingerprints are developing. Do you know how complex and detailed fingerprints are? Do you know how much time and energy it would take to make that from nothing? That is what your wife is doing all day. She’s making your child’s fingerprints. Get that in your head and get over yourself.”

He then stops the story, looks at the guy who asked the question, and asks how far along his wife is? And the student responds, and he says “if you go home today and your wife is tired, it’s because she was growing functional kidneys for another human being all day. So tell her you’ll do the dishes, and don’t whine about it. And remember that any time you’re doing any chore or task you’re not accustomed to for the next few months, any time you’re eating an uninspired dinner, any time you’re rubbing her feet or helping her get to sleep and thinking “oh geez she’s so dramatic” remember she is growing another person and ask yourself if your dinner or unfolded socks are more valuable than a functioning kidney or a distinct fingerprint because I guarantee you it is not. She is engaged in the act of creation, fold your own socks.”

Y’all I mean the fucking CRICKETS in that room. My ears were ringing from the revelation he had just unleashed into my brain. There was not a single body in that room that was not GRIPPED by the response to this question. And I fully recognize that he was asking for fairly little, like, yeah, you should be an involved parent and partner because “for time and all eternity” means “even when she won’t have sex with me,” but he was saying it as a Mormon man talking to another Mormon man and that was so exciting and new to me that it stuck with me. I remember this story in a myriad of ways - it’s a good example of using privilege to challenge privilege, for example. It’s a good example of “lifting where you stand,” so to speak, by making a difference where you are instead of making a hypothetical “bigger” difference elsewhere. It helps me remind myself that neutrality is progress, too, and that the best time to do something I should have always been doing is now. It also helps me be patient with myself when I am sick - healing is work, recovering is work, resting is work, even if the demanding husband in my head can’t see it yet.

If y’all are struggling to get better and feel your frustration building as each possibility of action passes you by while you’re stuck healing, you can ask yourself if making an amazing dinner is more important than having a healthy body, then eat your “guilty”/“easy”/“uninspired” Mac n cheese or delivery pizza or peanut butter and jelly sandwich because it’s not. If you find yourself struggling because your body is not behaving like a successful experiment or an obedient joyful output machine, try seeing yourself as a full person and not an assignment you’re failing. And if you’re embarrassed about sex, chant “penis” over and over again or something. The metaphor’s falling apart, so I’ll end with my typical advice: Be gayer, be good to each other, read more Terry Pratchett, and treat people as people.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior, suicidal thoughts

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- No Minors

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Masterlist

Chapter 5: Target Practice and Proximity

Off limits. Like you're property. Like you're a possession to be controlled and monitored.

They hadn't just trapped you in this house, they'd cut you off from the outside world entirely. From your friends, your support system, your entire life beyond these walls.

The audacity. The absolute fucking audacity.

They want to play games with your life? They want to isolate you completely?

“KIM HONGJOONG!”

Your voice echoes through the house like a war cry as you storm toward the gym, bare feet slapping against marble with each furious step. The rage coursing through your veins has reached a boiling point that makes your earlier knife-throwing incident look like a mild disagreement.

You slam the glass door open with such force that spider web cracks spread across its surface, the sound of fracturing glass punctuating your entrance like an exclamation point. Seven heads turn toward you in various states of surprise and alarm.

"Well, good morning to you as well, my lovely fiancé," Hongjoong says with faux sincerity, not even pausing in his workout routine. Sweat glistens across his torso as he continues his reps, treating your explosive entrance like a minor inconvenience.

You respond to his saccharine greeting with a perfectly articulated middle finger.

"I'm off limits?" you spit, the words dripping with venom.

“Because you’re mine now.” Hongjoong doesn’t even look at you, his focus remaining on his weights as if you’re nothing more than background noise. “And what’s mine doesn’t associate with other men.”

“Yours?” You let out a harsh laugh that echoes off the gym walls. “I’m not your fucking property, Kim Hongjoong.”

He finally stops his workout, setting down the weights with deliberate care before turning to face you. There’s something predatory in his gaze as he steps closer, invading your personal space.

“Aren’t you?” he asks softly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “Your father signed the contract. Your name will be Kim in three months. That makes you mine in every way that matters.”

“A piece of paper doesn’t make me yours,” you spit back, refusing to back down even as he towers over you. “And neither does some archaic notion of ownership.”

His lips curve into that infuriating smirk. “We’ll see about that, little one.” The casual dismissal, the way he speaks about your future as if it's already set in stone, as if your opinion matters less than appearances, sends your anger to stratospheric levels.

"So I truly am a prisoner?" Your voice rises with each word. "So that means what—I won't be allowed to see any of my friends? Will I have to move so I won't be around any of the guys here?" The implications hit you, looking around. "Are you planning to isolate me from everyone I care about?"

Hongjoong stands to his full height, his expression infuriatingly calm. "Maybe so."

Your nostrils flare at his words, the casual cruelty of them stealing the breath from your lungs. The gym falls deadly silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

"Hongjoong, you know she has an attitude problem," Wooyoung stage-whispers from across the room, clearly trying to ease the tension with his trademark humor. "Why would you anger it?"

Your eyes slice toward him like laser beams, and Wooyoung suddenly becomes very interested in his water bottle, examining it as if it holds the secrets of the universe.

"Oh, would you look at that," he says dramatically, holding up the obviously full bottle. "Completely empty. I should really go refill this. The kitchen water is so much better than... here."

He takes a step toward the door, but your voice stops him cold.

"Don't you dare move, Jung Wooyoung."

Hongjoong sighs, finally seeming to realize that his dismissive attitude has pushed you past your breaking point. "You can't be seen with other men, or texting Chris Bang. It wouldn't make our marriage believable."

"What I do with my personal business is—" You stop mid-sentence, a horrifying realization dawning. Your eyes narrow as you look between all of them. "How did you know I was texting Chris?"

Hongjoong just stares at you, his expression giving away nothing. The silence stretches uncomfortably until Wooyoung starts fidgeting, looking increasingly nervous.

"Well, the water in the kitchen really is much better," he babbles, taking another step toward the exit. "Much more... hydrating. I should really—"

You move faster than anyone expects, grabbing him by the shirt collar and yanking him back. Your faces are inches apart as you look directly into his wide eyes.

"Are you running surveillance on my phone?" you ask, your voice deadly quiet.

Wooyoung swallows hard, his usual confidence evaporating under your intense stare. "Well... I mean... I'm personally not..."

The admission hits you like a physical blow. They've been watching you. Reading your private conversations. Monitoring your every interaction with the outside world. Yunho. You look at the resident hacker and tech nerd, who has the decency to look sheepish. 

A growl of pure fury escapes your throat. "I would say I'm going to shoot Yunho, but we all know it was your leader's idea."

You release Wooyoung's collar with enough force to send him stumbling backward. Your gaze sweeps the room, taking in their various expressions—guilt, defiance, nervousness, and in San's case, what looks almost like admiration.

But it's Wooyoung's reaction that catches you off guard. Instead of looking ashamed or apologetic, he's staring at you with a dreamy expression, his eyes slightly glazed.

"God, you're so hot when you're angry," he breathes, apparently forgetting that he's supposed to be nervous. "Like, seriously. The way your eyes get all fierce and your voice gets that growly thing... it's doing things to me."

The entire gym falls silent. Even Hongjoong stops his posturing to stare at Wooyoung in disbelief.

"Did you just..." Yunho starts.

"He did," Yeosang confirms quietly.

"While she's threatening to shoot people," Jongho adds, sounding almost impressed.

San starts laughing—not his usual charming chuckle, but full-bodied laughter that echoes off the gym walls. "Only Wooyoung would get turned on by a death threat."

"It's not just the death threat," Wooyoung protests, his cheeks flushing but his eyes still fixed on you with unmistakable desire. "It's everything. The fire in her eyes, the way she's not backing down, how fierce she looks. She's magnificent."

Your anger falters for just a moment, derailed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Here you are, discovering that they've been violating your privacy, threatening violence, and Wooyoung is having what appears to be a very public moment of arousal.

"Are you insane?" you ask, genuinely bewildered.

"Probably," he admits cheerfully. "But you're still gorgeous when you're ready to commit murder."

The comment draws a snort of unwilling amusement from Mingi, who's been silent throughout the entire confrontation. Even Seonghwa's lips twitch slightly, though he tries to maintain his diplomatic composure.

But your momentary confusion quickly gives way to renewed fury as you remember why you're here.

"Do not," you say, pointing a finger at Wooyoung, "think that your inappropriate attraction is going to distract me from the fact that you've all been spying on me."

"It's not spying," Hongjoong interjects, apparently deciding to rejoin the conversation. "It's security."

"Security?" You whirl on him. "Reading my private messages is security?"

"When those messages involve contact with potential threats, yes."

"Chris isn't a threat! He's my friend!"

"He's an unmarried male heir with his own agenda," Hongjoong counters. "And you're going to be my wife. That makes you off-limits to men like him."

The possessiveness in his tone, the casual way he claims ownership over your social life, sends you spiraling back into rage.

"I am not your property," you snarl. "I am not a possession to be controlled and monitored. I am a person with my own thoughts, feelings, and relationships."

"You're a Ricci who's about to become a Kim," he replies coldly. "Your relationships affect our family's reputation. Everything you do reflects on us now."

"Then maybe you should have thought of that before agreeing to this farce of a marriage," you snap back.

The words hang in the air like a challenge. Around the room, the other members watch the standoff with varying degrees of tension and fascination. This is clearly a battle of wills that's been building since your arrival, and now it's finally come to a head.

Hongjoong steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This marriage is happening whether you like it or not. You can make it easy on yourself by accepting the rules, or you can make it difficult and face the consequences."

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

The words crackle between you like electricity. In this moment, with fury radiating from both of you, it's impossible to tell if you want to kill each other or...

"Oh my God," Wooyoung whispers reverently. "The sexual tension in here is incredible. You two are like fire and gasoline."

"Wooyoung," Seonghwa warns.

"What? I'm just saying what we're all thinking. Look at them—they're practically breathing fire at each other. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Your face burns with a mixture of anger and something else you refuse to acknowledge. "You're all insane," you declare, backing toward the door. "Completely, utterly insane."

As you reach the cracked glass door, you turn back to face them one last time.

"And Hongjoong? The next time you want to know who I'm talking to, try asking instead of spying. You might be surprised by how cooperative I can be when treated like a human being instead of a prisoner."

With that, you storm out, leaving eight men in various states of arousal, amusement, and stunned silence.

Behind you, you hear Wooyoung's dreamy voice: "I think I'm in love."

"You've been in love with her for years," comes San's dry response.

"Yeah, but now I'm in love and turned on. It's a dangerous combination."

You slam the door to your room hard enough to rattle the windows, but even through your fury, you can't quite shake the image of Wooyoung's glazed expression or the way Hongjoong's eyes had darkened when you'd challenged him.

Dangerous indeed.

* * *

You storm back to your room, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the windows. The confrontation in the gym replays in your mind—Hongjoong's possessive declarations, the casual way he discussed monitoring your communications, the infuriating smirk when you'd challenged him.

Your phone lays on the floor where you'd dropped it after Chris's devastating revelation. With shaking fingers, you scroll through your contacts until you find Marco's number. He picks up on the second ring.

"Sorellina? You're calling early today. Everything alright?"

The concern in his voice nearly breaks your composure. Marco has always been your anchor, the one person in your family who sees you as more than just a political asset.

"No," you say, your voice cracking slightly. "Nothing is alright."

"What happened?"

You take a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. "Hongjoong declared me off limits to all unmarried men in the alliance. Chris can't even talk to me anymore. None of my male friends can."

Silence stretches across the line. When Marco finally speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. "Y/n..."

"They've been monitoring my phone, Marco. Reading my private messages. And now they've essentially announced to everyone that I'm property of the Kim family." The words tumble out in a rush, years of frustration and fresh rage mixing into a volatile combination.

"Shit," Marco mutters, and you can hear him moving around, probably pacing his office like he does when he's thinking. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday, apparently. Chris just told me. He said word came down from the Kim family directly."

Another pause. "Y/n, I need you to listen to me, okay? And I need you to stay calm."

Something in his tone makes your stomach clench. "What do you mean, stay calm? They're treating me like a possession, Marco. Like I'm some medieval bride being traded between kingdoms."

"Because in our world, that's essentially what you are," he says gently. "Sorellina, this wasn't Hongjoong specifically. This is standard protocol for the Kim family—for most of our families, actually."

You sink onto the edge of your bed, feeling like the floor has shifted beneath your feet. "What?"

"It's like an engagement announcement, but more... comprehensive. When a family announces that their heir is marrying someone, especially someone from another powerful family, they declare that person off limits. It's about respect, territorial boundaries, preventing conflicts."

"But Chris said—"

"Chris is Bang family. They've been allies with the Kims for decades. Of course they'd receive the notification." Marco's voice is patient, explanatory, like he's teaching you something fundamental about your world that you should have already known. "Y/n, every family in the alliance probably received the same message within hours of your engagement being finalized."

The implications crash over you like a cold wave. This isn't Hongjoong being possessive or controlling—though he certainly is both of those things. This is protocol. Tradition. The way business is conducted in your world.

"I didn't know," you whisper.

"Why would you? Papa never explained these things to you because you were never supposed to be the one getting married. That was supposed to be my responsibility." There's a note of guilt in Marco's voice. "But with the Russo situation escalating and the need for immediate alliance..."

"He chose me instead," you finish hollowly.

"The Kim family specifically requested you, actually. Hongjoong's choice, from what I understand."

That stops you cold. "What?"

"Papa didn't tell you? The marriage proposal came from Hongjoong directly. He could have chosen any unmarried daughter from the allied families, but he asked for you specifically."

Your mind reels, trying to process this information. Hongjoong had asked for you. After seven years of silence, he'd specifically requested you as his bride.

"Why?" you ask, though you're not sure you want to know the answer.

"My guess? Papa has been thinking of marrying you to one of the mafia families for protection for a while now. Papa and Mr. Kim are close, so I assume Hongjoong got wind of it."

"Possessive," you say flatly.

"Protective," Marco corrects gently.

You snort. "If I have so many protectors, why am I always the one getting hurt?"

Marco is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Because none of us are very good at protecting against emotions, sorellina. Just against violence."

The truth of that statement sits heavily in your chest. Marco was eight years your senior, your father's son from his first marriage. Elena, your mother, hadn't been his biological mother, but he had loved her just the same—and he had been there for you when everyone else had disappeared.

After your mother died and the boys abandoned you, it was Marco who had picked up the pieces. Marco who had held you through nights of endless tears. Marco who had made sure you ate when food seemed pointless. Marco who had literally stood between you and the balcony railing one particularly dark night when living had seemed too painful to continue.

He was the reason you were still breathing. The reason you had found your strength again.

‘No, you're the only one who actually protects me,’ you think to yourself. 

Marco chuckles, the sound warm and familiar. "At the end of the day, Y/n Ricci doesn’t need protecting. Still throwing knives at him?"

"Just the once. Though I'm considering making it a daily occurrence."

"My money's on you if it comes to actual violence," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "But Y/n, try to understand—this off-limits declaration, it's not necessarily about controlling you. It's about protecting the alliance, preventing misunderstandings, making it clear that you're under Kim protection now."

"Protection," you repeat flatly. "It feels like imprisonment."

"In our world, they're often the same thing," Marco says quietly. "You know that."

You do know that. You've always known that. But somehow, experiencing it firsthand feels different than understanding it in theory.

"I hate this," you admit, the words barely audible.

"I know, sorellina. I know." Marco's voice is soft, sympathetic. "But you're a Ricci. We adapt, we survive, and we find ways to win even when the game is rigged against us."

"And if I can't adapt to this?"

"Then you'll do what you've always done—you'll burn everything down and rebuild it your way." There's pride in his voice now, the kind of fierce affection that's sustained you through the worst moments of your life. "The Kims think they're getting a compliant mafia princess. They have no idea what they've actually signed up for."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling slightly. "You really think I can handle this?"

"Y/n, you've been preparing for this world your entire life, even if you didn't know it. You're sharper than most of the men in these families, you're ruthless when you need to be, and you have a moral compass that will keep you from becoming a monster." Marco pauses. "Plus, you're scary as hell when you're angry. That's going to serve you well."

"The scary part seems to be working," you admit, thinking of Wooyoung's reaction in the gym. "Though not in the way I expected."

Marco laughs. "What do you mean?"

You find yourself telling him about the confrontation, about Wooyoung's completely inappropriate response to your threats, about the way the others had reacted. By the time you finish, Marco is laughing so hard he can barely speak.

"Oh my God," he gasps. "Y/n, you have eight of the most dangerous men in the city wrapped around your finger and you don't even realize it."

"That's not—they hate me, Marco. They abandoned me seven years ago, remember?"

"Sorellina," Marco says, his voice turning serious again, "men don't monitor someone they hate. They don't specifically request someone they hate for marriage. And they definitely don't get turned on by death threats from someone they hate."

The words settle in your chest, creating an uncomfortable flutter that you don't want to examine too closely.

"Maybe," you say finally. "But that doesn't change what they did to me."

"No, it doesn't," Marco agrees. "And you have every right to make them pay for that. Just... try not to actually kill anyone. I don't want to have to explain to Papa why his daughter is wanted for murder."

"No promises," you say, but you're smiling now.

"Fair enough. Listen, Y/n, I have a meeting I can't postpone, but call me tonight, okay? And remember—you're not as powerless in this situation as you think you are."

After he hangs up, you sit in the quiet of your room, processing everything he's told you. The off-limits declaration wasn't personal—it was protocol. Hongjoong had specifically requested you as his bride. The Kim family, like most families in your world, operates by rules and traditions that value protection and territorial boundaries above individual freedom.

None of that makes you feel less trapped, but it does help you understand the game you're playing.

And if you're going to be stuck in this situation, you might as well learn to play it to win.

You look out the window at the oak tree, remembering Yeosang's words about Mingi and Wooyoung, remembering the careful way Hongjoong had watched you during your confrontation, the way Yunho's eyes had held desperate hope.

Maybe Marco is right. Maybe you have more power here than you realize.

The question is: what are you going to do with it?

* * *

The meeting room was thick with tension as all eight members of ATEEZ sat around the polished conference table. Hongjoong's jaw was still tight from the confrontation in the gym, while the others wore various expressions of concern, guilt, and in Wooyoung's case, lingering arousal.

"We need to discuss what just happened," Seonghwa began diplomatically, his fingers steepled as he surveyed the group.

"What's to discuss?" Hongjoong replied curtly. "She needs to understand her position."

"Her position?" Mingi's deep voice carried an edge of disapproval. "You mean as a prisoner?"

"As my future wife," Hongjoong corrected sharply.

"Same thing, apparently," San muttered, earning a glare from their leader.

Yunho shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "The phone monitoring... maybe we should have told her upfront."

"We went too far," Mingi said firmly, his usually gentle demeanor hardening. "Reading her private messages, isolating her from friends—we're treating her like the enemy instead of someone we're supposed to protect."

"Protect?" Jongho scoffed. "We're the ones she needs protection from at this point."

"She threw a knife at my head," Hongjoong reminded them.

"And you smirked about it," Yeosang observed quietly. "Almost like you enjoyed it."

"Because I did," Hongjoong admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Seeing that fire in her eyes, that defiance... it reminded me of why I—" He stopped himself abruptly.

"Why you fell in love with her in the first place?" Wooyoung finished with a dreamy sigh. "God, did you see her today? The way she grabbed my shirt, looked me right in the eye? I thought I was going to spontaneously combust."

"You have a problem," San told him flatly.

"The problem is that we're all still in love with her," Mingi said heavily. "And she hates us. We broke something precious seven years ago, and now we're making it worse."

"We didn't have a choice then," Seonghwa said, though his voice lacked conviction.

"And we do now?" Yunho asked. "Because we're still making choices that hurt her."

The room fell silent as the weight of their situation settled over them. They'd saved her life seven years ago by breaking her heart, and now they were slowly destroying what remained of her spirit.

"Maybe we should—" Hongjoong started.

*BANG!*

The sharp crack of gunfire cut through his words, sending all eight men to their feet in an instant. Training kicked in as they moved as one toward the sound, hands reaching for weapons

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

The shots were coming from the garden, rapid and precise. They burst through the patio doors to find you standing in the far corner of the grounds, your mother's pearl-handled pistol extended in a perfect two-handed grip.

You were still in your outfit from the gym confrontation—the crisp white blouse now rolled up at the sleeves, your hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. But it was the deadly grace of your stance that made them all stop in their tracks.

*BANG!*

Another shot rang out, the bullet finding its mark in the center of an improvised target you'd set up against the garden wall—what looked like a photo taped to a piece of cardboard.

"Jesus Christ," San breathed.

You lowered the weapon, examining your handiwork with critical eyes before reloading with practiced efficiency. Only then did you notice your audience.

"Don't mind me," you called out with false sweetness. "Just working on my stress relief."

Wooyoung's face split into the widest grin any of them had seen from him since your return. "That was incredible! Did you see that grouping? She's a natural!"

"Her form is off," Mingi observed, his trained eye catching the slight imperfections in your stance.

You turned to face him, one eyebrow arched in challenge. "Your form is off," you replied with cutting sarcasm, though you made no move to correct your position.

Instead of being deterred by your attitude, Mingi stepped forward with characteristic determination. "May I?"

Something flickered in your eyes—surprise, perhaps, at his calm persistence. After a moment, you gave a short nod.

He approached slowly, respectfully, until he was standing just behind you. "Your stance is good, but your grip could be tighter," he said softly, his deep voice rumbling near your ear. "And you're tensing your shoulders."

His large hands came up to hover near yours, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "May I adjust your grip?"

The question was asked with such gentle formality that you found yourself nodding again, though your breath caught as his fingers finally made contact with yours.

Mingi's touch was surprisingly gentle for such large hands, his fingers carefully repositioning yours on the weapon's grip. "Like this," he murmured, his chest nearly brushing your back as he leaned in to check the sight line. "Feel the difference?"

You did feel a difference, though it had less to do with the gun and more to do with the way his proximity was affecting your ability to breathe properly. He smelled like sandalwood and something uniquely him, warm and comforting in a way that made your treacherous heart skip.

"Now, relax your shoulders," he continued, his hands ghosting over your shoulder blades without quite touching. "The tension travels down your arms and affects your accuracy."

Despite yourself, you found your body responding to his calm instruction, muscles you hadn't realized were tight beginning to loosen.

"Better," he said, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Now try."

You raised the weapon again, hyperaware of his presence behind you, the way he seemed to radiate calm strength. The shot that followed was noticeably more precise than your previous attempts.

"Perfect," Mingi said, and the pride in his voice sent an unwelcome warmth through your chest.

From their position by the patio, the other seven watched this interaction with varying degrees of fascination and envy. Wooyoung looked like he might vibrate out of his skin with excitement, while Hongjoong's expression had darkened considerably.

"Should we interrupt?" Yunho whispered.

"Absolutely not," Yeosang replied quietly. "This is the first time she's let any of us close since she arrived."

"Look at her," San murmured, noting the way your rigid posture had softened under Mingi's gentle guidance. "She's actually relaxed."

"Mingi always was good with her," Seonghwa observed. "Even as children, he could calm her down when the rest of us couldn't."

In the garden, you lowered the weapon again, turning slightly to look at Mingi. He was still standing close—closer than you'd allowed anyone since arriving—and for a moment, something passed between you that had nothing to do with firearms training.

You glanced at Yeosang who gave you a nod. You remember your conversation. "Mingi and Wooyoung—they don't show it the way the others do, but they were affected the worst by leaving you."

"Thank you," you said quietly, the words carrying more weight than a simple acknowledgment of instruction.

"Anytime," he replied, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

The moment stretched between you, fragile and tentative, until Wooyoung's excited voice shattered it.

"Can I try next? Please? I promise I'll be good!"

You stepped away from Mingi abruptly, the spell broken, your defenses slamming back into place. "I think that's enough for today," you said curtly, engaging the safety and tucking the pistol into your waistband.

As you walked past them toward the house, you paused beside Wooyoung. “Maybe next time.”

With that, you disappeared into the house, leaving eight men standing in the garden, each lost in their own thoughts about the woman who continued to surprise them at every turn.

"Did anyone else notice," Wooyoung said dreamily, "that she said 'next time'?"

"I noticed," Mingi said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the door where you'd disappeared. "I also noticed she didn't flinch when I touched her."

"Progress," Yeosang murmured.

"Dangerous progress," Hongjoong added, though his tone held more thoughtfulness than anger.

In the distance, they could hear a door slam—your door, most likely—but for the first time since your arrival, it didn't sound quite so final.

Maybe, just maybe, there was hope after all.

Next>>

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[arachnidseyes]

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

LOVE AND CHANGE

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

A/N: Previous. Angst? They're both new to relationships. Fluffy batfam at the end! wc: 2.5k

Damian’s eyes flitter to his windows for what feels like the hundredth time that night. He sighs and taps his pencil against the page of his sketchbook. It’s late, most of the manor is asleep, out patrolling or in the cave at this hour.

He tries not to imagine himself swinging from rooftop to rooftop, punching bad guys and saving civilians. It’s not his night. He’s sworn to start taking nights off. If he’s going to make this doctor thing work he has to show commitment. Anyone who’s done it knows how addictive the life of heroism can be.

He stares down at his sketch book, at the rough sketches of various muscle groups and their names interspersed with doodles of rabbits and doves. He steals another glance at the rain speckled windows before sighing and closing his sketchbook, shuffling his way to bed.

He almost makes it there before he hears a little tap tap tap on his balcony doors. He tenses for only a moment before being filled with tentative relief. It can only be one person, although the lack of a snarky remark from behind the door strikes him as strange.

He opens the door and there you are, Constantine’s spawn, standing on his balcony again. He gives you a quick once over and is relieved when he sees no blood seeping from your clothes, although you are completely soaked and shivering slightly. He’s about to berate you about getting sick when he finally looks at your face and freezes.

“I know you said not to come to the manor but I just… I just wanted to see you.”

Your voice cracks and you try wipe away the tears threatening to spill. Damian stares, honestly completely unprepared for this situation. He decides that getting you inside and out of the wet cold should probably be his first priority.

He pulls you inside, closing the balcony doors behind you. He carefully cups your cheek but you can't meet his eyes, only worrying him further. He searches your face for some kind of explanation and apparently he finds something because he asks very softly,

“Where's Constantine?”

You lean into his hold, keeping his hand on your cheek with your own.

“He’s fine. He’s with Zatanna but… It was a close call.”

With that confirmation Damian relaxes a little, he brings your cold body closer, his hand on your back. The gentleness makes you let out a little sob,

“He was right. If I hadn’t been there…It could have been really bad, Damian.”

Fresh tears are flowing. You lean into him and it’s like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. He feels it when he holds you, just tight enough that he hopes he can carry some of the weight for you. He doesn’t know if he should say something reassuring or not? “It’s okay” seems like a rather patronizing thing to say. He instead asks you,

“But the fight is over?”

Once he knows for sure that you aren’t in danger anymore he can figure out what to do next. You nod against his shoulder and he holds you tighter.

He hopes that his beating heart can do the talking for now, he hopes his touch is reassuring enough, that it makes up for the words he doesn’t have. Mentally chastising himself, isn’t going to help so he needs to make up for his lack of right things to say with the appropriate actions.

After a few minutes he gently lets go, urging you to sit on the end of his bed. He ruffles around his dresser, pulling out some pajamas. He hands them to you and then walks into the bathroom to fetch some tissues and a warm cloth, taking extra long to give you enough time to change.

When he enters the room again you’re looking out the windows at the rain, at least you aren’t shivering anymore. He wordlessly hands you the warm cloth and you use it to wipe your face and warm your cold cheeks. He props some pillows up on his headboard and, as gently as he can, pulls you back so you're huddled in his arms. You have no issue easing into him as he brings the blankets up around you.

“Tell me what happened, habibti.”

His voice is so soft, you can feel it through his chest. You shuffle into a comfier position.

“One of John’s old friends he made a pact with when he was younger came back to bite him in the ass. Same old demon shit. Always with their stupid pacts.”

You sniff angrily, Damian nods along like he understands your frustration.

“I sent the bastard back down. Got John out of the pact. Saved the day and everything.”

That’s all you say, all the explanation you have and you give it through choked breaths as your throat tries to keep in another sob. Tears spill more freely and Damian hands you a tissue from the box.

You give a small thanks and blow your frustrations out onto the white paper. You stare at it blankly. Damian gently takes your hand and says,

“Talk to me.”

It’s the closest thing to a plead you’ve ever heard from him and it might be exactly what you needed him to say.

“Tell me everything.”

The dam breaks. You know exactly what he means. There’s so much left unsaid between you, not necessarily because you thought you couldn’t say it but because it seemed redundant. You both know what this life entails, you’re uniquely equipped to understand each other with very little words. But its clear understanding doesn’t carry as much weight as you both thought it would. Knowing can't really exist without communication. You sniff again and huff,

“It was almost fun when I was little. I followed him around, I dressed like him, cussed like him. I thought I was mocking him. Thought it would be funny if the child he never wanted was just like him.”

Damian eases back into the sheets, keeping your hand loosely held in his with his other hand resting on your shoulder.

“It's like he was always stuck between keeping me away to keep me safe and keeping me close to keep me safe. I think he still is.”

You sigh deeply, your tears have simmered down leaving your eyes tired and your cheeks raw.

“When he showed up in Italy, that was the first time I’d seen him in months. We had a fight, like we always do but this time… He said I was just like my mother. Not that I would fucking know, he didn't even explain. And I know he just said it so I would finally leave. Find something normal to do with my life so I would be out of the danger that surrounds him. Which is stupid, I can find my own danger.”

Damian feels the urge to come up with a solution for you even though he knows you’re not asking for him to fix your problems. You just want him to listen. He finds that idea appealing, just being able to talk without the pressure of needing to fix it immediately. He stares at your hand as he says,

“It took me some time to understand why my father was so furious at my mother for the way she'd raised me. But I’ve also come to understand that her upbringing was… difficult as well. The anger is there but it doesn't burn like there's does, it just simmers. I still miss her, even when I shouldn’t. Because I know she loves me.”

He's not sure if this is what he's supposed to say but he finds himself not caring. He just wants to talk to you, he wants to listen and for you to listen back.

And you do. You talk softly about your childhoods, your parents, heroism, what hell was like and how it changes you. You just talk. For what feels like hours, and the weight lifts ever so slightly with every word and moment of silence in between. You find yourself dozing off periodically, and you can tell by how soft his voice is getting that he’s drifting as well.

“Before I left him with Zee…He said I was good.”

Damian tilts his head slightly towards you, letting out a small “hm?”

“My act, he said he liked it. Said it was good.“

You eyes close and you surrender to the warmth of his body next to you and the softness of his sheets. He smiles against your hair feeling your heart beat against his own.

─⋅⋆⁺.

The morning sun beams through the windows, unobstructed by the curtains Damian forgot to close the night before. The Wayne son lies in bed, propped up on his elbows, staring blankly at the intruder next to him.

He’s trying to figure out how to wake you up. He’s been figuring it out for maybe ten minutes now.

Should he nudge you awake or would that be awkward? He briefly thinks of kissing your forehead to wake you more gently but immediately cringes to himself, that would definitely be awkward. He thinks he just might let you sleep past breakfast until his saviour comes waltzing into the room.

Alfred the Cat slinks in through the creaked open window, which is left open specifically for him, and saunters over to the bed. With no further ceremony, the cat plops right down on top of your sleeping face.

You startle awake and groan irritably, rubbing cat fur off your face. You glare at the feline, who bats at your attempts to shoo him away. Damian chuckles and the sound catches your barely conscious attention.

“Wht’s s’funny?”

You mumble, barely intelligible. You stretch yourself awake and rub the sleep out of your eyes as Damian sits up.

“They will be expecting us at breakfast.”

Before he can get up, he’s magically pulled back down and his face is smooshed against your chest with your arms wrapped around him, keeping him there right next to a purring Alfred.

“Five more minutes.”

He clicks his tongue. Glaring at the pampered cat next to him, who was supposed to be his ally but has apparently betrayed him for measly head scratches. It’s quiet for a moment as his head rises and falls with your breaths.

“Have you told them about…us?”

He clicks his tongue once more,

“I didn’t need to tell them, you made it pretty clear.”

He feels your raspy laugh through your chest as you seem to remember the torture you put him through after your first kiss.

“Oh yeah.”

You search for your phone on the bedside table and tap clumsily around the screen before turning it towards him. Damian squints at a picture of himself, black lipstick marks all over his face with the most horror-stricken expression he’s ever seen himself wear.

You scroll right to show him a second picture, this time he’s giving the person behind the camera a death glare, although the smudged lipstick on his scowl makes it very hard to take seriously. The third picture you swipe to is just a blurry picture of what Damian assumes is his own expensive dress shoe kicking Dick’s phone out of his hands. A story in three pictures.

You’re full on giggling at this point and Damian snatches the phone out of your hands, intending to burn it and then maybe murder Dick and anyone who's ever seen those pictures. Before he can delete anything, you snap your fingers and the phone is gone in a poof of smoke. He glares down at you and you offer nothing but a satisfied smirk.

“Aww, I could send you a picture of me, if it would make you feel better.”

Your tone is exaggeratingly sensual as you prop your head up on your hand. He scoffs and rolls his eyes at the insinuation and you laugh. A comfortable routine.

Three polite knocks on the door sound.

“Master Damian, breakfast is ready. Don’t worry, I’ve set an extra seat as well.”

You look at each other, less shocked this time around.

“I’m telling you, he’s some kind of sorcerer.”

Damian sighs, getting out of bed and fixing his clothes.

“Get dressed.”

─⋅⋆⁺.

“Morning.”

You greet everyone at the breakfast table. Bruce doesn’t even look up from his newspaper when he greets back and most of the bats at the table offer the same casual greeting, except Jason, who looks around confused. He watches Damian pour you and himself some water and looks around to the rest of the family before asking out loud.

“Is this normal?”

Dick gestures at you wildly and gives an exasperated,

“Thank you!”

The other siblings glance at each other with knowing looks of anticipation. Damian clicks his tongue and sighs,

“Maybe if you both could keep a stable relationship, you would know that it’s completely normal to have your partner over for breakfast.”

You and half the table struggle to hold back your laughter. You catch Duke's whispered "Damn" and Steph shushing him. Jason doesn’t even seem to register the insult, unlike Dick you brings his hand to his chest in offense. Jason looks between you and Damian and simply says,

“Cute.”

Before going back to him scrambled eggs. You see Damian clutch his fork, leave it to Jason to find the most effective way to infuriate his youngest brother. Dick seems to deflate a little at his brother’s lackluster reaction, clearly wanting someone to share his bewilderment.

He looks around the table for support and gets it in the form of Tim nudging his head towards you both with an encouraging look. Dick regains some confidence and crosses his arms giving you a smirk.

“So when’s the wedding then?”

Tim doesn't bother hiding his snort. You answer while buttering some toast.

“We’ll let you know.”

Damian interjects, pointing towards Dick.

“You’re not invited.”

Dick's offended expression is back in full force. He looks to Bruce for ally ship.

"Bruce!"

"Leave it Dick."

The batman says with finality. The eldest son sulks in his chair for the rest of breakfast. Half way through the meal you turn to Bruce,

“John’s going on leave for a little, by the way.”

Bruce looks to you, questioning but not outright skeptical.

“Any reason in particular?”

You feel Damian's foot brush yours under the table, a little show of support.

“I just thought he could use a little time off.”

Bruce nods his head at what he apparently deems a sufficient answer, though you’re sure he’ll be looking into it further right after breakfast is done.

As breakfast wraps up, most of the bats head to the kitchen to help clean up and Damian tries not to rush you towards the front door too hastily.

“It’s rude to leave without saying goodbye, y’know.”

You sound incredible amused by his attempts to avoid his family embarrassing him any further.

“I’m sure they will forgive you.”

He closes the front door behind him and sighs a breath of relief. You grin at him and he tries to ignore it.

“Will you be visiting him?”

You nod, “We have a lot to talk about.”

He nods back and tries to give you what he hopes is a reassuring look. You reach out for his hand and point towards his chest.

“And you have to plan our next date.”

You say it like it’s a challenge, clearly very proud of how your date went. He holds your hand to his chest and gives a determined nod, already planning a date so good it’ll blow yours right out the water.

You lean in closer, trying not to smile when you hear shuffling from behind the door. Damian grimaces and you take his cheek in your hand, bringing him into a kiss. He kisses back, a real goodbye-for-now kind of kiss…

It doesn’t drown out the sound of the various whoops and whistles that come from the other side of the door though. The loudest of which being Dick's "Ohmygodohmygod!!" and Stephanie's squeal. You think you even hear Alfred say something like "Good show, Master Damian."

Damian groans as you part from the kiss with a cackle.

“Let me come with you.”

He almost begs, just to get away from the barrage of idiots waiting for him behind the door. You take both his cheeks in your hands and kiss his little frown.

“Nope.”

You simply say with a laugh and a half apologetic look before poofing away, leaving the littlest bat alone to suffer the torture of a supportive family.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

[jordiemeow]

thinking about frat boy!patrick right now, always getting himself into trouble and then charming his way right back into your bed.

he’s your first serious boyfriend, though it’s clear things are a lot more serious for you than they are for him. you’ve been on and off again for months. he’s flaky with plans, always going on two-day benders with no contact, or looking far too friendly with the sorority girls he hangs around with. the type of guy to murmur "you know this isn’t just about the sex, right?" and then disappear on you for two weeks.

but if there’s one thing about him, it’s that he’s a god in bed. he’ll have you wrecked on your dorm single within ten minutes, crying his name into your pillow. bent in all sorts of positions to his liking, coaxing you into doing all sorts of things you’d never even thought about with a low murmur in your ear and a flash of a sharp canine tooth. it’s hard to stay annoyed at him when his big hand is snaking into your panties to feel how soaked you are, whispering smugly into your ear:

"god, you missed me, didn’t you?"

or there’s those messy, clothes half-on bathroom quickies during loud parties thrown by his brothers where he pulls your panties to the side and dares you to make a sound. he thrives on the way his name sounds in your throat, muffled against his shoulder as he fucks you right on the sink.

your texts consist of one-sided conversations of you asking how his day was or how his match went. his replies only ever come when it’s dark, and they’re never innocent, just ‘U up?’ texts or the word ‘Outside’ at 1am that always has you scrambling to change into a pair of skimpier pyjamas before you let him in.

if there’s one thing he loves, it’s seeing you in his clothes. your favourite is the stanford hoodie from his freshman year. nothing gets him harder than seeing you wear it with nothing underneath—he calls you ‘his lucky charm’ before pulling it off and dragging you under him.

but then there’s the off moments where he gets caught shoving his tongue down some girl’s throat.

you hadn’t planned on seeing him tonight. in fact, you’d planned on not seeing him for the rest of the semester.

said plan lasts approximately 43 hours when there’s a knock on your door at 11:43pm. you don’t even have to check the peephole to know who it is. it’s that signature loud, lazy rap of his fist as if he doesn’t give a shit about anyone else sleeping along the corridor. you open it just enough to look at him.

"what do you want, patrick?"

he drags a hand through his hair. "to talk."

you scoff. "you don’t talk. you disappear. and then hook up with girls at theta parties and forget i exist."

his jaw tightens, but he decides now isn’t the best time to argue. instead, he just sighs and mutters, "baby, just… just let me in?"

and god, you’ve always been a sucker for that look of penance on his face—lips pouting, brows furrowed in remorse. after a moment of hesitation, you oblige, because you’re weak. or because it’s friday night and you’re sick of pretending that your phone lighting up with his name (for once) doesn’t do something to you.

"you look good," he tries, eyeing your bare legs and your bed-mussed hair.

you cross your arms in a poor imitation of an angry stance. he can tell you’re caving already. "don’t."

"i fucked up," he says. it’s too casual for what he’s done, like it’s a fact. like grass is green, like frat boys lie. "i should’ve told you about chloe. it was nothing. she kissed me—i didn’t kiss her back."

"i saw the picture, patrick." you glare.

he moves towards you slowly. "i swear to god, i thought we weren’t even—" what? together at the time? no, he’d promised he was in it for real this time less than two weeks ago. he stops. changes tactic.

"you hate me right now."

you nod. you don’t trust yourself to speak.

"but," he says, and now he’s standing too close, a hand skimming up your forearm. "you still want me."

you shouldn’t. you do.

he leans in, lips brushing the edge of your jaw in a barely there kiss that’s more of a breath than anything else. "let me make it up to you."

"you think sex is an apology?"

he smiles triumphantly to himself when he hears your breath hitch in your throat. "no. i think it’s a step one."

his hands slide under your hoodie, fingers cold against your skin, like he’d spent too much time outside psyching himself up to come ‘apologise.’ you bite your lip to stifle a sigh, muscles tensing beneath the touch.

"you’re an asshole."

"yeah. but i make you cum like no one else."

unfortunately, his arrogance isn’t unfounded. he does.

moments later, you’re pressed against your desk, hoodie lifted up and his mouth trailing down your neck. he kisses like he means it this time—like he missed you, like his regret is something he can fix with tongue and teeth and whispered promises. it’s worked for him before, after all.

your hands are in his hair, tugging, angry and desperate. he drops to his knees without a word, palms gripping your thighs, squeezing at the soft flesh to coax them apart so he can ease your panties down.

"still mad?" he smirks up at you.

you gasp as his mouth finds your cunt. "shut up."

and you both do for the next twenty minutes, until the only thing you’re saying is his name, wrecked and whining.

it’s just too fuckin’ easy.

—

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[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi is it possible for you to do a wife/reader x Bucky/husband where she falls off the train but she is pregnant and never got to tell him about it (she tells Peggy).

Years later the avengers and Bucky invades a hydra base where Bucky comes face to face with y/n and a 5 year old girl (Bucky’s Daughter); they fight and the avengers gets the upper hand and they take the girl but Y/n gets away leaving unknowingly her daughter with the Avengers where she makes an unbreakable bond with them especially her father.

Tony does some research on the girl and finds in his father’s file that the girl is in fact Bucky’s daughter and that pisses him off making him more determined to find y/n.

When Y/n shows up again she tries to recapture her daughter unknowingly because HYDRA wiped her memory. However the Avengers tries to protect the girl while Bucky tries to get through to her.

However she knocked them out and captured her daughter making the girl scream and that triggers her memory but it doesn’t help however Bucky recovers and fights her again telling her about their past and how Hydra took it all away from them and she finally remembers.

It finally ends with them in bed together and a little boy in her arms

Finally A Family » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Husband!40s Bucky Barnes x Wife/Pregnant!Reader with Post Serum Steve Rogers, Avenger/Husband/Dad!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Mom!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: You never got the chance to tell Bucky that you’re pregnant before falling off of the train and he finds out years later that he has a daughter and you’re alive.

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, language, HYDRA, near death experience, crying, violence, nightmares, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the lovely request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: Bucky does not have a metal arm in this, but he’s still a Super Soldier

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

1945

“You’ve been very affectionate lately.” Bucky says as you kissed his lips.

“What can I say? I love my Sergeant husband.” You say, kissing him once again.

“And I love my agent wife.” He says softly as he kisses you passionately.

You two laughed as the Howling Commandos cheered you and Bucky on. You two pecked each other’s lips a couple times before putting yours and his focus back on the mission.

“Are you guys ready?” Steve asks.

“Yes.” You and Bucky answered in unison.

Steve ziplines down to the moving train, followed by Bucky and then you. The three of you landed safely on top of the train. You guys from a hatch on the train’s roof. Bucky opened it and you and Steve jumped inside and so did Bucky. You three quietly and cautiously walked through the train car with your weapons held in front of you. Suddenly, as Steve walked through an entrance of the train car, you and Bucky were separated from Steve when the door slides closed. Yours, Bucky’s, and Steve’s eyes went wide. That’s when a HYDRA agent appeared and aimed his weapon at you and Bucky. You and Bucky shot at him, taking him down with ease. Then another one appeared. You and Bucky shot at him till you two were out of bullets. You two hid next to the cargo that’s on the train to avoid getting shot. Bucky put his arm in front of you to protect you.

You put your hand on your belly. You recently found out that you’re pregnant with yours and Bucky’s first child. Your belly barely showing. You’re almost a month along. You do plan on telling him, but you got caught up with the mission of taking down HYDRA that you completely spaced it out. You do plan on telling him after this mission. The only person who knows you’re pregnant is Peggy. Should you be on a mission while pregnant? No, but you want to get as much work done as you can before the baby is born.

When you weren’t paying attention, Steve found a button to open the door and pushed it, tossing Bucky a loaded gun. Bucky shot at the HYDRA agent while Steve used all of his strength to push a cargo box into the HYDRA agent, knocking him out. You regained your focus when the HYDRA agent’s body hit the floor.

“I had him on the ropes.” Bucky says.

“I know you did.” Steve says.

That’s when another HYDRA agent appeared behind you three. The sound of his weapon firing up made the three of you turn around. Steve held his shield up and pushed you and Bucky behind him, shielding you two from the blast that sent the three of you to the floor. You looked up to see the HYDRA agent approaching you. You stood up, grabbing Steve’s shield and shot at him. The HYDRA agent shot a blast at you, sending you outside of the train. You were holding onto the railing for dear life. Bucky’s eyes widened and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He scrambled onto his feet and ran over to the hole in the train’s wall.

“I’m coming, doll!” Bucky shouts.

You nodded. Bucky carefully climbs outside of the train, holding onto the railing. He got as close as he could to you and reached his hand out towards you.

“Grab my hand!” He shouts.

As you were reaching for Bucky’s hand, your fingers grazed his fingers when the railing gave out and you fell, plummeting downwards. Bucky watches in horror.

“Y/N!” Bucky screams.

Steve helped Bucky back on the train. Bucky looks down at where you fell, his eyes tearing up. Steve’s eyes teared up too.

“This isn’t real. Please tell me that this isn’t real.” Bucky says, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve says, putting a comfort hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky let out a loud sob that sent chills down Steve’s spine.

“We need to finish this mission, Buck.” Steve says softly.

Bucky nods and sniffles. He stood up and wiped his tears away with the sleeves of his jacket before continuing on the mission with Steve and the Howling Commandos. Bucky isn’t the kind of person who seeks revenge, but he does now. He wants HYDRA to pay for what happened to you.

PRESENT DAY

That day still haunts Bucky. He thinks about it all the time. He has nightmares about it almost every night. He can still hear the sound of your screams as you plummeted downwards.

Bucky thought he seen the last of HYDRA that day, but he has to go on a mission with Steve and the Avengers to a HYDRA base. He’d much rather stay at the compound than to be within 100 feet of a HYDRA base for what they took from him years ago, but he doesn’t have a choice. He has to be on this mission with the Avengers.

Bucky stood at the entrance of the quinjet, staring at the HYDRA base in front of him. He squeezes his eyes shut and shudders when he hears your scream in his mind. The Avengers walked by him. Steve stood next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to bring him back to reality.

“It’ll be ok, Buck.” Steve says softly.

Bucky nods and takes a deep breath before walking off of the quinjet with Steve by his side. Bucky, Steve, and the Avengers cautiously walked around the base with their weapons held in front of them. Little did Bucky and Steve know that you and your daughter were just down the hall. You poked your head out from your hiding spot, seeing Bucky, Steve, and the Avengers walking the opposite direction of you and your daughter.

“You know what to do.” You whispered to your 5 year old daughter Mary.

As much as Mary doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to make you mad so she did what you told her to do. She ran up and down the hallway to make it look like she was playing. Bucky and Steve stopped when they heard her small footsteps. They were shocked to see a little girl standing a few feet away from them after they turned around. Mary stood there and stared at them without saying a word. They slowly approached her so they didn’t accidentally scare her in any way.

“Are you ok, sweetheart? Are you hurt?” Bucky asks softly.

Mary stared up at him and didn’t say anything. You stepped out of your hiding place a few seconds later. Bucky and Steve were in shock when they seen you for the first time in years.

“Y/N?” Bucky asks.

“Who the hell is Y/N?” You asked.

Hearing that felt like someone ripped Bucky’s heart out of his chest and crushed it in their bare hands.

“Barnes, do you know her?” Natasha asks.

“She’s my wife.” Bucky tells her.

Bucky slowly approaches you. You grabbed the gun out of your thigh holster and aimed it at him. He stops, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Doll, I’m your husband. Don’t you remember me?” He asks softly.

“I don’t have a husband.” You said.

Hearing that made Bucky’s eyes tear up. Bucky knew what he had to do. He slowly approaches you again. You cocked your gun as he did so. Before you could pull the trigger, Bucky managed to get the gun out of your hand and threw it as far as he could down the hallway. That’s when you started fighting him, along with Steve and the Avengers. Mary moved out of the way so she didn’t get hurt. Bucky wrapped his arms around you and held you against him, pinning your arms down to your sides.

“Y/N, it’s me. Please remember me.” Bucky pleads.

“No!” You shouted.

You threw your head back, giving Bucky a bloody nose.

“Ow, fuck!” Bucky cries out in pain.

Bucky let go of you to hold his blood nose. You got away from them. You assumed that Mary was running behind you, but she wasn’t. She was still standing there and looking at Bucky, Steve, and the Avengers.

“We have to go, Buck.” Steve says.

Bucky nods and wipes his bloody nose on the sleeve of his jacket. He picked up Mary and followed Steve and the Avengers back to the quinjet. Surprisingly, Mary didn’t put up a fight when Bucky picked her up. You gave her the stranger danger talk when you’re not brainwashed, but something about Bucky is telling Mary that he’s a trusting adult. Bucky carefully sat her down on one of the seats in the quinjet and crouched down in front of her.

“Are you ok, kiddo?” Bucky asks softly as he checked her for any injuries.

“I’m not hurt.” Mary says.

“Do you know who that woman is?” He asks.

“My mommy.” She tells him.

“Did she ever hurt you?” He asks.

“Mommy never hurt me.” She says.

“What about the other people in there?” He asks.

“Sometimes.” She answers.

“You don’t have to worry about those bad people ever again.” He assures.

Mary felt the quinjet beginning to go in the air. She started to freak out, because you weren’t on the quinjet with her. She jumps down from the seat and ran towards the closed door of the quinjet. Bucky picked her up before she could get to the door.

“I don’t want to leave mommy!” Mary cries.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok.” Bucky coos softly. “We’ll come back for mommy.” He says.

“Promise?” She asks.

“Promise.” He promises.

Mary relaxed in Bucky’s arms and grew tired. Bucky held her as she slept in his arms. When the Avengers got to the compound, Bucky helped Mary get cleaned up and made her something to eat. She settled in quicker than any of the Avengers thought.

Meanwhile, Tony was in the lab scrolling through files on a hard drive he found when the Avengers raided the HYDRA base. He came across his dad’s name on the file and clicked on it. As he was reading the file, he came across something.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, tell Barnes to come to the lab.” Tony says.

“Yes, Mr. Stark.” F.R.I.D.A.Y replies.

Bucky left Mary with Steve while he went to the lab to see what Tony wanted.

“I was told you needed me?” Bucky says.

“You need to read this.” Tony says, handing Bucky the laptop.

Bucky read the file, seeing Tony’s dad’s name on it.

“I don’t understand what information on your dad has to do with me.” Bucky says.

“Keep reading it.” Tony says.

Bucky kept reading it. His eyes went wide when he came across your name in bold letters. He felt his heart drop.

“N-No. This isn’t possible. My wife would’ve told me that she was pregnant.” Bucky says.

“Is it a possibility that she lied to you?” Tony asks.

“No, of course not. My wife and I told each other everything.” Bucky says.

He continued reading the file. That’s when he came across Mary’s name.

“Mary is my daughter?” Bucky says to himself.

Bucky is in complete shock. Finding out that you were pregnant when you fell off of the train and Mary is his daughter.

“Thank you for showing me this, Tony.” Bucky says, giving the laptop back to him.

Bucky went back to the kitchen where she’s drawing on blank pieces of paper. He still had a shocked look on his face.

“Are you ok, Buck? You look like you just seen a ghost.” Steve says.

“Y/N was pregnant when she fell off the train in 1945.” Bucky says.

“The baby survived that?” Steve asks.

“Apparently.” Bucky says.

“Where’s the child now?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods his head towards Mary. He sat down next to her.

“Mary, what’s your mommy’s name?” Bucky asks, just to be sure.

“Y/N.” Mary tells him.

Bucky’s breathing hitched in his throat. He lets out a shaky breath before telling her what he’s about to tell her.

“Your mommy-” Bucky takes a deep breath. “Your mommy is my wife. Which means, I’m your daddy.” He tells her.

“You’re my daddy?” Mary asks.

“Yes I am.” He confirms. “I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to protect you, sweetheart.” He says softly.

“Ok.” She replies.

A couple days go by and Bucky is getting the hang of being a dad. He bought parenting books to help him. Overall, he’s an amazing dad. He loves Mary. She’s an amazing kid.

In those couple of days, you planned on getting your daughter back. You managed to sneak out of the HYDRA base and snuck inside of the Avengers compound.

“Someone has entered the building.” F.R.I.D.A.Y informs the Avengers.

“Who is it?” Steve asks.

F.R.I.D.A.Y showed the Avengers the security cameras. Bucky’s eyes went wide when he saw you.

“It’s Y/N.” Bucky says.

Bucky quickly ran down the hall to the lounge room where Mary was watching cartoons. He picked her up and immediately took her to her bedroom.

“Stay here and don’t open the door.” Bucky says.

“Ok, daddy.” Mary replies.

Bucky closes the door, locking it to keep her safe. As Bucky was walking down to hall, he heard thuds. He ran to see what it was. He seen the Avengers knocked out on the floor. You came up from behind and jumped on his back, catching him by surprise. Bucky managed to get you off of him by grabbing your tactical vest and flipped you onto the floor. He pinned your arms against the floor above your head.

“Where’s my daughter?!” You asked, squirming in his hold on you.

“I’m not telling you.” Bucky says.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and used all of your strength to flip the two of you over.

“Where is she?!” You asked again.

Bucky desperately wanted to tell you where Mary is, but he doesn’t want to risk anything happening to her. He knows he shouldn’t keep his daughter from her mother, but this isn’t you. This is your brainwashed self. He doesn’t want to know what you’d do to Mary while you’re brainwashed.

“This isn’t you, Y/N. You have to fight it. Can you do that for me?” He says.

“The only thing I’m going to fight for is to get my daughter back.” You say. “Tell me where she is!” You demanded.

“No. I can’t risk you hurting our daughter.” He says.

Being accused of something you would never do set you off. You head butted him as hard as you could, knocking him out. You got off of him and looked around the compound for Mary. You looked in every room, but didn’t find her in any of those rooms. Then you finally checked her bedroom, only to find the door locked. You kicked the door down and walked in the bedroom. You could hear whimpering in the closet. You opened the closet door to see Mary on the floor with her hands over her ears. You bent down and picked her up. Mary seen you. Normally, she’s happy to see you, but this time, she’s scared. She squirmed in your grasp to get away from you.

“DADDY!” Mary screams! “DADDY, HELP ME!” She screams again.

Mary screaming triggers something in your mind. You weren’t sure if it was your memories or your motherly instincts. Either or, you tried to escape the compound. As Bucky was waking up, he heard Mary screaming for him. He scrambled to stand up and ran to look for her. Bucky found her in your arms near the back door where you snuck inside of the compound.

“Y/N, stop!” Bucky shouts.

You stopped and turned around.

“Daddy!” Marry cries.

“It’s ok, sweetheart.” Bucky coos softly.

Bucky walked towards you to take Mary from you. You walked backwards, not wanting him to take your daughter away from you.

“Y/N, give her to me.” He says.

“No.” You say, standing your ground.

“Give her to me.” He says again.

“No.” You said again. “She’s my daughter.” You say.

“She’s our daughter.” He corrects you.

You frowned when he said that. Then you found yourself handing Mary to Bucky. Mary broke down in tears in her dad’s arms.

“You’re ok, sweetie.” Bucky coos. “I’m going to help mommy. I want you to go to uncle Steve, ok?” He says.

“Ok, daddy.” Mary sniffles.

Bucky put her on the floor and she ran to find Steve. Then you and Bucky were having a stare off.

“Please don’t make me do this.” Bucky pleads.

You narrowed your eyes at him before charging at him and attacked him. As much as he didn’t want to fight you, he fought you anyway.

“This isn’t you, Y/N.” Bucky dodged a punch. “Your name is Y/N Barnes. You’re my wife. We’re high school sweethearts. We got married the same week we graduated from high school.” He tells you.

“Shut the fuck up!” You shouted, punching him in the face and giving him a bloody nose.

“You have to fight this, Y/N. Do it for me and our daughter.” He says.

You lowered your fists when he said that. Your memories flowed back into your head. Your eyes teared up when you realized what you were trying to do. You fell to your knees and started crying. Bucky got on his knees and wrapped his arms around you. You melted into his touch.

“I almost kidnapped my daughter.” You say after a few minutes.

“It’s not your fault, doll. It wasn’t you.” Bucky says softly.

You looked up at Bucky, remembering him as your husband.

“You’re my husband.” You say.

“I am.” He confirms.

“I’m so sorry, James.” You apologized.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, babydoll.” He almost whispers. “Let’s get you cleaned up, ok?” He says.

You nodded and sniffled. Bucky picked you up bridal style and took you to his bedroom to get you cleaned up and changed into clean clothes.

“I should’ve told you that I was pregnant in 1945.” You say.

“I’m your husband. Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asks as he sat down in front of you.

“Please believe me when I say that I was going to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. I told Peggy not to tell you.” You say.

“Wait. Peggy knew that you were pregnant in 1945?” He asks.

You nodded your head yes.

“Did Steve know?” Bucky asks.

“No. I told her not to tell anyone.” You say.

Bucky wanted to be mad at you for not telling him that you were pregnant in 1945, but he didn’t want to punish you for that. You feel guilty enough as it is.

“I’m so sorry, James. Then we got caught up with that mission and I-” You got choked up before you could finish what you were saying.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap.

“Everything is fine now, doll. Our daughter is safe and you’re safe. I’m going to do everything I can to protect my girls.” He promises.

That made you a little bit better. You looked up at your husband, smiling at him.

“You always know what to say.” You say.

“Isn’t that why you married me?” Bucky smiles.

You leaned up and kissed him softly and passionately. His lips are still soft like they were years ago. One thing led to another and you two ended up under the sheets.

———

9 months later, you and Bucky welcomed a baby boy to the world. You two named him William. Mary nicknamed him Willy, which you and Bucky find cute.

“What are you doing awake, princess?” Bucky asks as Mary walked in William’s nursery while he’s feeding him.

“Can’t sleep.” Mary says.

“C’mere.” He says.

Bucky carefully held William in one arm and Mary climbed up onto his lap and he held her with his free arm. Mary got comfortable by laying her head on Bucky’s shoulder and gently held William’s hand. You walked in the nursery a moment later, smiling at the cuteness in front of you.

“There’s my favorite people.” You say softly.

Bucky look over at you and smiles. You walked over to him and gave him a soft kiss on his lips and then kissed Mary and William on the tops of their heads.

“I’m happy that we finally got the family we’ve been wanting for years.” Bucky says softly.

“Me too.” You smiled. “I love you and our babies.” You say sweetly.

“I love you and our babies too, doll.” He smiles.

-Bucky’s Doll

[revelboo]

revel! have you seen those reesee transformers plush everyone been raving about? its so cute and tiny but i hate gacha 😔 i just want tiny shockwave and rodimus ill get so upset if i buy whole ass box and dont get any of themmm :<

These guys? I have Shocky, Megs, and Sounders ordered, but the shipping hasn’t moved since the 4th. Only Star made it home so far. But you can buy singles open on AliExpress 😊

🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Cute

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Pushing up slightly and hearing your sleepy groan, your leg sliding off of him, he stares as you stretch, mouth opening on a yawned ‘morning.’ And he shudders, spike pressurizing. Hating that any time you do things like this, he wants to mark you, roll you over and rut against you. Doesn’t know what to do with you when you’re so fragging adorable. Isn’t used to anything like you, soft and needing him.

• Startling when he grabs your ankles and drags you to him, butt sliding against his crotch to feel the hard ridge of his spike, you’re suddenly wide awake. Hear him aggressively rumbling as he encourages your legs to lay against his chassis before he’s shifting you and sometimes his casual strength startles you. Like now as he lines you up and sinks you down on his spike with a growling moan. “Too early,” you protest, feeling his stretch you.

• Servos tightening on you as his hips slowly pump, he can’t tear his optics away from his big hands on you. Fascinated with the way his hands can almost wrap around you and touch on either side of you even mass displaced, he listens to your noises. “Sorry,” he groans as you squirm, body heating and growing slick so quickly for him and you’re tight in this position until he’s almost fighting to thrust even before you start gasping and fisting his spike.

• This might just be a new favorite position of yours as his wings flare, turbines whining softly as he growls. Because he feels almost too big right now, so you’re feeling every ridge rubbing inside you. Servos almost bruising on you. Sometimes he’s like this and you have no idea what gets into him when he does this. Just pouncing you and claiming you. Sometimes pressing soft bites against you, chasing them with kisses and his glossa as if in apology. It’s not like you’re complaining though, you feel powerful when he’s like this, because you’re doing this to him, making him lose control. “Just like that,” you groan, frustrated that you can’t get any leverage in this position, can’t move how you need to. “Right there.”

• Hips snapping against you as you wriggle against him, gasping and moaning his name, he gets rougher. Those eyes open to meet his optics doing things to him. Because you know exactly who you’re with right now. And when you cry out, thighs trembling, he can’t thrust for how tight you suddenly are so he’s just rocking urgently, denta bared before overloading to release inside you. Letting your legs slide down as he pulls out, he stretches out and drags you to him. Pressing his face against your neck and his mouth opens against you as you squirm, laughing and protesting when he bites. And bites again, leaving marks on soft skin. “Mine,” he murmurs as you hang onto him.

[itzariafiles]

who fell first v.s. who fell harder

— preference | fluff | gn!reader

— ft. k.bakugo, i.midoriya, s.todoroki, t.iida, h.shinsou, e.kirishima

— author’s note : first post, please be kind world!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

⭑ Katsuki Bakugo

You fell first.

Second week at U.A. and you were already head over heels for him. No one really understood why—it was Bakugo Katsuki, after all. Always yelling, always scowling, always furious at the world. He barely looked your way. Mina and Denki joked that you must have a death wish whenever you brought him up.

But then… things changed. Quietly.

For some reason, he never yelled at you. Not even once. Not even when you threw yourself in front of Tsuyu during a practice mission and ended up needing to be carried out of the building.

He just muttered, “Dumbass” twice, while lifting you up and walking you to Recovery Girl.

After that came the water bottles. Every time training ended, he’d toss you one and mumble, “Stay hydrated. I’m not carrying you again.”

Liar.

Kirishima was the only one who noticed he always kept an extra bottle, just in case.

The real turning point, though?

That poor boy from Class B who dared to ask you on a date.

Bakugo nearly exploded. Kirishima had to physically hold him back to stop him from lunging at the guy.

And before you could even respond, Bakugo grabbed your wrist and started walking.

You were stunned.

“Bakugo—what are you doing?”

“Me and you,” he said gruffly, eyes locked straight ahead.

“Date. Now.”

That night changed everything.

No one dared to tease him after that. Not when he made it so clear you were his. And he didn’t care what anyone thought.

He loved you loudly, fiercely, intentionally—until the whole damn school stopped questioning why you had fallen so hard for him.

And by then, he had already fallen harder.

⭑ Izuku Midoriya

He fell first.

He knew he liked you—really liked you—the moment you used your quirk to throw the ball so far that everyone realized: if someone was getting expelled that day, it definitely wasn’t you.

Admiration wasn’t the reason he noticed his feelings.

Most of your classmates were impressed by your control, your power, the precision with which you handled something so seemingly simple.

But Izuku? He didn’t reach for his notebook. He didn’t ramble about your technique or potential. He just… watched. No notes. No muttering. Just silence.

He saw the way your shoulders relaxed when it was over. The way you laughed at something Mina said, and how you smiled when Bakugo threw in one of his backhanded compliments. He noticed everything.

He never admitted it, but when he broke his finger to launch that ball across the field, it wasn’t just to prove himself.

Yes, he wanted to stay at U.A. Yes, he wanted to make All Might proud.

But truthfully?

He just wanted to stay long enough to see you again.

Even if that meant going through Aizawa’s “one of you will be expelled” threat every week.

(He was so relieved when no one actually was.)

But you—sweet, clueless you—you fell harder.

Everyone knew how smitten Deku was with you. And deep down, so did you. But when you called your mom late one night, asking for the recipe of a pastry you knew he loved, something shifted.

You spent hours in the kitchen baking batch after batch, trying to get it just right. You barely slept, but the next morning you showed up, cheeks red, handing him the best one you had.

You both blushed your way through breakfast that day, and when he smiled—really smiled—you knew you were done for.

Eventually, you started dating.

Yes, he is your biggest supporter. He loves you loudly and earnestly.

But you?

You’re his biggest fan—collecting every merch, magazine, and article with his name on it.

And he tries to act like it doesn’t get to him.

But it does.

And it makes him happier than he’ll ever admit.

⭑ Shoto Todoroki

You fell first.

You had already fallen for him years before he even looked at you that way.

It all started when your parents arranged for both of you to train when you were 8, to make out of you enemies who would eventually compete to be the #1 pro hero.

Both of you would fight each other, week after week. You, technically, weren’t allowed to exchange pleasantries—after all, you were there to compete. But you would always find a way to talk to him, about anything really. Once you started to talk about how much you missed eating candies, he didn’t answer, but a timid smile formed on his face.

As the years passed, you started to develop feelings for him. He would catch you staring for too long, you made it seem as if you were analyzing him or just zoned out, but deep down, both of you knew.

As both of you made it into U.A., your friendship finally had a chance to grow. To have actual, not rushed conversations. But you never pressured him, never talked about your obvious feelings, you knew he needed time to heal, as much as you did.

But, eventually, he fell harder.

Much harder.

Maybe it was during that night patrol in second year, when he almost got hit by debris and you shielded him without hesitation—burning the edge of your hero costume in the process. He didn’t say much that night. Just looked at you with those stormy eyes and asked, quietly, “Are you okay?”

Or maybe it was the moment he realized you had memorized his favorite tea, the exact way he liked it. That day, you passed him a cup without saying a word, and he froze, fingers lingering on the ceramic longer than they should have. You always noticed the small things—especially when he didn’t say them out loud.

It was never loud, the way he loved you.

But it was there—in how he always sat next to you during strategy meetings, how he started calling you after rough patrols, how he waited for you after every exam. You never asked him to. He just always did.

Eventually, one evening after training, when the sun was sinking low behind the U.A. dorms, he looked at you and said,

“You were the first person who treated me like I wasn’t broken.”

You looked at him, startled by the confession.

And then, softly: “You never were.”

He didn’t say anything back.

But that was the moment he knew he was yours—fully, irreversibly.

And that he had fallen far too deep to ever come back up.

⭑ Tenya Iida

You fell first.

Maybe it was the way he apologized with his whole soul after accidentally bumping into you in the hallway.

Or the way he always remembered to pull a chair for you before meetings.

Or how he waited outside your dorm when he knew you’d had a hard day—without saying a word, just… being there.

Maybe it was how fiercely protective he was of the people he loved. The way he fought for his brother’s name, for what he believed in, even when it left him bruised.

Or maybe it was after that mission, when you were gravely injured, and he carried you all the way to the nurse’s office, gripping you tightly, whispering your name, running faster than even he thought possible.

You didn’t remember it well—you were slipping in and out of consciousness—but he did. Every second.

And the next day, he came back.

With pastries.

And the neatest notes he had ever taken—if that was even possible, just so you could study.

And hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

He was kind. Loving. Unintentionally funny. A gentleman through and through.

Of course you fell first.

But poor Iida…

he fell harder.

He tried. Honestly, he did. You were both studying, you were both young—he told himself that again and again. But he never got past those two excuses. Not really.

He stayed up until 3 a.m. with Sato trying to recreate that chocolate cake you always praised, just to cheer you up after your injury.

He spent the entire night debating whether to visit you before classes.

He didn’t.

But he left the tray outside your door anyway, carefully arranged. And still came back later, awkward but devoted, with more pastries and a hundred unspoken words.

Somewhere between all the long hours, the careful notes, the conversations under low dorm lighting—

He fell. Harder than he’d ever thought possible.

For him, it wasn’t just affection.

You were a promise. A reminder that he could build something good in this world—with you in it.

And when he saw you cry once, quietly, under the staircase after another grueling day, something broke in him.

He sat beside you. Took off his gloves. Held your hand.

It was the first time he’d touched you, skin to skin.

And his hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

From then on, he never tried to hide it again.

He memorized your schedule.

He read your favorite books.

He learned to brew your favorite tea, even though he didn’t like tea.

You noticed. Of course you did.

But you didn’t say anything.

Not until he showed up at your door one night, fists clenched, eyes wide, tie slightly crooked, and said:

“I know this may be reckless and horribly timed, but I am—truly, entirely—in love with you.”

You smiled.

Because by then, he didn’t need to say it.

You’d fallen first, but he made it impossible not to fall harder, too.

⭑ Hitoshi Shinsou

He fell first.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t obvious.

And at first, he told himself it was just curiosity.

When he joined the Hero Course and became part of Class 1-A, you were the first to look at him—not like the guy with the “villain-ish” quirk, not like a threat to be watched, or a weapon to be handled carefully.

You didn’t treat him with stiff politeness or cautious distance.

You treated him like a classmate. Like a potential friend.

You laughed at his jokes, tossed back your own sharp comments.

You noticed when he pulled away from the group.

You called him out when he got too closed-off—but you always gave him space when he needed it. Just… quietly shared it with him.

The moment he realized something had shifted was probably stupid.

You complimented his eyes.

You had the audacity to step a little too close, stare straight at him like you were trying to see through all the walls he’d spent years building.

He had no idea what to say.

You just laughed—soft and satisfied—

and walked away.

He thought about it for days.

He didn’t understand what he was feeling.

But then he started bringing you extra snacks after training.

He slowed his pace just enough to walk beside you.

He stood just a little too close during sparring.

It wasn’t intentional. Not at first.

But for him, you were stronger than gravity.

He fell.

And he fell quietly.

But you?

You fell harder.

You knew it the night he texted you out of nowhere:

Toshi:

Hey. Don’t come to training tomorrow. You looked tired today. Take a break.

You stared at the message for ten minutes, rereading it.

He’d noticed. He noticed you.

And he was looking out for you, in his strange, quiet, Shinsou way.

You didn’t listen, of course.

You showed up to training anyway—just to see him roll his eyes when you winked at him.

After that, it was over.

You memorized the rhythm of his voice.

You learned the little signs—when he was overwhelmed, when he needed silence, when he needed you.

You started recognizing how he fidgeted with the capture weapon Aizawa was teaching him to use—especially when he was nervous about a mission.

You could always tell.

And somehow, that made you fall even harder.

He fell first.

But you fell deeper.

And now, he doesn’t know what to do with the way your hand lingers on his sleeve.

Or how his pulse stutters when you whisper his name.

He hasn’t said it out loud yet.

But you think…

He’s almost ready.

⭑ Eijirou Kirishima

You fell first.

When you heard him say he didn’t think he was “manly enough” to be a hero, you just wanted to hug him—wrap him up in every reassurance you had, tell him that of course he was manly enough to do anything he dreamed of.

You suspected your feelings then, but shoved them under the couch, hoping no one would notice.

Mina noticed. She always did.

When he laughed too hard at one of Denki’s terrible jokes and immediately looked embarrassed, you blushed.

Sero noticed.

You blamed the heat.

But when he stepped in front of a child during a villain ambush and said,

“Don’t worry. I’m unbreakable.”

that was it. You were done for.

But Kirishima?

He fell harder.

It didn’t show all at once.

It crept in slowly.

In the way he trained just enough to always be paired with you during sparring.

In how he memorized your favorite techniques so he could practice them with you.

In how his quirk—his actual, physical walls—cracked a little when you hugged him after a hard day, and how he turned bright red trying to play it cool.

The breaking point?

Someone else confessed to you.

And he just… walked out. Silent. Stiff.

He came back hours later.

Hands shaking.

Eyes soft.

“I know I’m not smooth like Todoroki, or cool like Bakugo…

but I think I’m strong enough to protect your heart.”

Boom.

Done.

Unbreakable?

Not anymore.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

steal this and katsuki bakugo will personally find you.

© itzariafiles 2025 ✧ do not copy, translate or feed to AI.

[its-in-the-woods]

About Damn Time

~ Series of smutty one-shots with Congressmen Bucky Barnes ~

Masterlist

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT.

Synopsis: You and the congressmen have been dating for a while now, and you cannot wait to jump his bones any longer.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 4.6k

Rating/Warning: Established relationship, somewhere between TFATWS and Thunderbolts*. CongressmenBucky, p in v, slight dombucky subby reader, Smut, oral (f), slight body image issues from everyone, ingering, creampie (wrap it), biting, kissing, cussing, fun to bad had

Author notes: This will probably end up being a series of cute, funny, and ridiculously smutty one-shots. Enjoy, tell your friends ;)

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

You met him at a veterans' fundraiser, he had been kind, caring, easy to talk to. He’d sit with anyone who wanted to speak to him, really let them be heard. It was clear that was why he had gotten the votes, his actual care for others seeped through his pores. It was so rare a sight in the modern day.  So when he came to sit beside you, you were surprised. You had arranged the event, invited many members who were running for congress, but Mr. Barnes had been the only one that had stayed.  The only one that couldn't keep his eyes off you.

“Thank you for organizing the event,” He said quietly, sitting beside you, right hand fiddling with the glove covering the left. 

You smile, “Thank you for staying. Means a lot to the vets to hear from you. “

Just like that it started. 

He’d show up at your job, always bringing coffee or something sweet. You were pretty certain that some of your co-workers had let slip what you enjoyed to the charming congressmen. It also helped that he never missed an event. Barnes was old-fashioned that way; he didn’t push, didn’t press things, just showed up. Until finally you gave him your number, and told him if he didn’t set up a date, you would. 

He picked you up at your place, flowers in hand, opening up your door and pulling out your chair. The place was small, tucked away in Brooklyn. The owner knew him by name, you caught him giving a thumbs up to James, Bucky. 

You knew then that you’d have taken him home that night. Months of talking and flirting, it had felt right. But after making out in his car like you were fourteen again, he’d walked you to your door, kissed your forehead, and walked back to his car. Promising it would be worth the wait.

That had been four dates ago, several coffees, and a dozen run-ins, and you were not waiting any longer. The man was going to be the death of you, and you were determined to get him through that door somehow. 

“So, I am leaving in about fifteen, going to stay at Chad’s place,” Your roommate, Dahlia, said from the other side of the door. “And I really need to pee!” She grumbles, “Isn’t this like your five hundredths date, is he impotent or something?” 

You open the door with a huff, “No, He is not impotent.” Stopping for a second you think of that. “Okay, just because he is over a hundred years old, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work.”

Her eyes narrow, “So then why has it taken him so long? Look at you, you’re a ten everyday. And he’s just dragging it out.” 

“Oh hush. I am six on a good day.” You roll your eyes. “He’s just.” Your cheeks flush, making Dahlia gag as she checks her hair in the mirror. “Different, doesn’t like to rush things. Beside, this, what, your eighth time going back to Chad? You can do better.” 

It was Dahlia’s turn to roll her eyes. “Unfortunately, guys from the forties don’t just appear at my work like they do yours. And the sex is good.”

You wrinkle your face, checking that you have all your stuff in your purse. Phone buzzing in your hand. 

Bucky <3 : Be there in five. Can’t wait to see you.

The flush that creeps up your neck is totally normal, you tell yourself.

“Alright, hot stuff, I am out of here.” Dahlia grins, twirling a piece of her hair with her fingers. “Going to want all the details about your old man.”

You groan and she winks before taking off into the night. Checking yourself for the tenth time, you wonder if you’re overdoing it. The dress is emerald green, sweetheart neckline, long flowing sleeves, and mid-thigh slit. You wore black heels that weren’t too high, and a clutch that matched it. Chewing on your lip, you almost decided to change into something different when a knock came at the door. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you decide it's now or never. Walking over to the door to open it. Bucky stands on the other side, wearing black on black, the top couple buttons on his dress shirt undone, hair ruffled back as he takes you in. 

“Wow,” He blinked, his tongue wetting his lips. “You look fantastic.”

You let out a small giggle, “Not so bad yourself, Sergeant Barnes.” 

He chuckles, holding his arm out for you to take. You close the door behind you, grabbing his arm to start the way to his car. 

“It isn’t too much is it?” You ask quietly, as he goes to open the door. 

His eyes crinkle as he looks at you over again, “Never is, when it’s you.”

You roll your eyes and pat his hand before getting into the car. 

Dinner was at a steakhouse downtown, it wasn’t where either of you normally went, but man was the food delicious. Bucky told stories of dealing with the press, you had no idea how he managed all of it, and learning how to be press ready. Something along the lines of saying worry four times in one interview, didn’t seem to work well for them. You told him about fighting for grants and funding. That, despite the endless amount of paperwork, you still had more to do.

He’d hold your hand with his gloved one, thumb running over the top of your knuckles. Watching you closely as you spoke of troubles and worries you had. Reaffirming that you would figure it out, and he’d do what he could help. It was easy, it always had been. The way he understood without being patronizing, supportive, and not overbearing. Like the whole world stopped when you spoke.

Meal finished you sat, finishing up your glass of wine and Bucky sipping on whiskey.

“I was thinking-”  “Would you-”

Both of you are stumbling over your words. 

You bite your lip before holding up a hand, “No, no, go first.” 

His cheeks stained pink, “Would you like to come to my place?” Swallowing, his eyes glancing down at were your hands are linked. “Umm, tonight.”

Grinning, you nod, “I would love that. Was going to invite you into mine.”

His eyebrows go up, “Really? Got tired of waiting?”

Your face flushes, “I’d wait for you.” You reach over and grab both his hands in yours across the table. “But I am certainly not going to say, no.”

The bill is paid for quickly, the air between you is now charged more than normal, his hands don’t stop touching you. He holds your hand at the table as the bill is paid, as you get up to leave, his hand slides gently onto the small of your back. In the car, his large palm slips gently past the fabric of your dress to rest warmly on your thigh. 

Your skin prickles with heat, goosebumps running up your neck, when he squeezes slightly. His eyes on the road, but they glance over at your more, that unspoken quietness that has you wanting to pull the car over. Low music playing in the background, but your mind is starting to melt. It was finally happening, and you were surprisingly more excited than anxious.

He pulls up in front of a small apartment complex, it’s in a quieter, older end of the city. It should surprise you, but it doesn't, it’s perfectly Bucky. Stepping out into the cool night air you look at the area. It’s older, less generatified than many, small stores underneath the apartments. An older lady walks by, with a small white fluffy dog, saying hello to Bucky. She gives you a smile and a wink, and of course he is known by everyone. 

Grabbing your hand, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, before guiding you inside. You follow eagerly, face already flushed as you ascend the set of stairs. Cursing slightly at the fact that you decided to wear heels. 

“Hold on,” Bucky whispers at a landing, before he is picking you up, one arm under your legs, the other holding your back. You let out a squeak before wrapping  your arms around his neck.

“Got to warn a girl, Bucky,” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Can’t have you worn out before we get up there now.” Bucky replies, before easily carrying you up the next flight of stairs 

He unlocks the door with one hand and pushes it open. He flicks on a light to reveal his home. The lights are dim, older fixtures that he has clearly restored, bathing the place in a warm glow. The kitchen is tidy, a rack of dishes sits on the counter, and a coffee pot half filled. The living room has a worn sofa, with a wall of bookcases, full of worn books, and a small tv in the corner that definitely has dust on it. It’s cozy and comfortable, a space clearly cherished and lived in. 

He carefully lowers you to the ground, you lean up to kiss him again, your fingers running through the hair along the back of his neck. He kisses you back, hand coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb making lazy circles over your cheekbones. You nip at his lips, hearing him let out a small groan, his free hand sliding to your hip. 

Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours, a small smile spreading over his face. “Let’s get these shoes off.”

You hum, watching him kneel down in front of you, heart stuttering in your chest when he looks up at you. Blue eyes framed by dark hair, a warm hand sliding down your calf, as a cool one slips down over your heel and pops it off. He moves over to the next one, cool hand sliding up along your leg, his eyes following it. The other heel hits the ground, the metal of his hand stays on your calf, moving up and pushing the slit of your dress open slightly. He leans forward and kisses the skin on the inside of your knee. 

A shiver runs down your spine as your foot hits the cool wood floor below your feet. You hold a hand out, that Bucky takes, standing up, he leans down to kiss you again. Pulling you tight against his chest, you hear your heart thumping in your ears as your hands reach up to cup his face. His hands move to your hips, fingers digging into the material as he opens his mouth to nip at your lips. A small groan escapes as your tongue pushes into his mouth. The taste of whisky and him making your toes curl.

“You taste so sweet,” He murmurs, slowly pushing you past the kitchen, towards a short hallway.

Your back hits the door, and both of you fumble for the handle. It opens, and you both topple forward. You are pretty sure the neighbors hear you nearly scream as you fall. Bucky catches you and rolls so that you land on top of him. A giggle erupts out of both of you as you lie there in a tangle of limbs.

“Not what I had planned,” Bucky murmurs, his cheeks gone pink. It only furthers your giggling fit, burying your head against his chest. 

“Guess you could say you swept me off my feet.” Your own face red from the ridiculous jokes.

Bucky groans, eyes rolling, “Been reduced to Dad jokes.”

You continue the gigglefest, as the two of you get up off the floor. It was hard not to feel a little silly around him, he had that effect. Walls sliding down easily, making you feel safe, like no one else could.

“Where were we?” You lean into him, one hand on his chest, the other coming up to cup his jaw. 

He leans against your palm, eyes closing, as he breathes you in. The stubble on his cheeks makes your fingers tingle, as you rub small circles into the skin. Fingers run from our hips up along your sides, a shiver running down your spine, making you squirm. Pulling you closer his hands move to your back find the zipper, he leans in close to your ear.

“Think you’re wearing too many clothes,” He whispers into your ear, his voice a deep growl that makes the hair on your arms stand up. “Turn around.”

A shudder comes out, you do what he asks and turn around. Warm fingers find the zipper and slowly pull it down, as the teeth click, a cool finger runs down the now bare skin. A gasp escapes from your lips, his hands moving from your back up to the sleeves of the dress, slowly pushing them down your arms. His lips find your skin, kissing along the top of your shoulder. You shrug the dress down one shoulder, his hand pushing the other down. The dress slides down to your hips, pooling fabric around your waist. Bucky’s lips don’t stop moving. He kisses slowly down your shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist. Clothed body pressing behind you, one hand moving to cup at your breast. 

“Bucky,” You whisper, your head tipping back against him. Groaning as his one hand moves down and pushes the rest of your dress down. 

“Turn around,” He hushes, kissing down along your neck. His teeth scraped against the skin, your mind turning to mush as you turn to face him. 

You stand there nearly bare, save for a matching set of black underwear and bra, watching him look you over. His cool eyes going down along your skin, eyes moving along you like he was trying to burn the memory of you into his mind, 

“You’re stunning,” He whispers, holding your gaze. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, it wasn't, it couldn’t be, not with him. Right there you’d do just about anything he would ask. “I will, but it’s not. It’s never too much.”

A small smirk crosses his face, his shoulders roll as he pushes his suit jacket off. Fingers moving up to do the buttons, you move forward wanting to help, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. Butterflies blossom in your stomach as you stand back. Watching as he undoes the buttons, fingers easily slipping them out of each slot. He pulls the shirt out from the waistband of his pants, pushing the material back off his chest. You swallow, watching the wide expanse of his chest appear, the way his movement flexes the muscles. Hands clenching against your bare thigh with the need to touch.

The shirt snags where his shoulder and arm meet on the left side, his face scrunching in frustration at the material. You don’t hesitate, moving forward, one hand rest on his pec and the other goes over to the caught fabric. Sliding a finger underneath, you carefully work the fabric out before pushing it down. His body stills, his eyes flicking down to you. You hold his gaze as the shirt drops down, finger moving along his skin. Feeling the different scars that dot his chest, you flick down to the large scar where the metal meets the skin. 

You don’t ask, instead leaning down to kiss at some of the smaller scars, watching his breath hitch as you move over. Keeping your eyes on his you kiss down the ragged edges of his scar, you can hear his heart start to pick up. You start at the top of his shoulder, going down along it, leaving your kiss light, soft, leaving room for him to tell you to stop. Moving your hands, you reach up to gently touch his face, leaning on your toes, you kiss him softly. 

“All the details, the stories,” You whisper quietly. “I want to know every one of them.” 

A shutter rattles his body, and his hands are on you. Finger digging into your hips, as his lips crash into yours, it is hungry and desperate. You kiss back against the onslaught, your hands weaving into his hair, pulling just enough to anchor you to him. He backs you up slowly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed. 

“Fuck, wanted to do this for so long,” Bucky groans, kissing down your neck, as you both fall back against the bed. 

Your hands move down to his belt, and he swats them away. You moan. “Buckyyy, please.”

“Not yet, sweetheart. Want to make it a night to remember.” He smirks, resting so that he is leaning over top of you.

“It already is,” You complain, hands running along his chest and down his arms, squeezing at them.

He leans forward, kissing down your neck, down along your shoulder, around your collarbones. Resting on his metal arm, he uses his free hand to reach behind you and unclip your bra. Arching your back, you help him free it before his mouth moves again. Hand kneading at your breast, making you hiss as he leans down to suck at one of your nipples. A whimper leaves your lips as he laps at it, teeth scraping at the sensitive bud. 

Whimpering your hands move to grab at his back. The metal hand moves quickly snatching both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“You squirm so much,” He grins, holding you steady as you pout. Kissing your pout, he switches to the other nipple, making you squirm more, breathy pants coming as you feel heat pulse in your core. 

“Goddamn, you’re such a tease.” You huff, now trying to arch your hips up for some friction. 

Bucky grumbles, shifting so that his legs spread yours open, making it difficult for you to try and move up. The more you struggle, the more he grins, and he goes back to kissing down your body, stretching as far as he can reach with your hands pinned. 

“I am going to let go,” His eyes are dark with need, desire, swirling in the air. “If you move I stop.”

“Ahh, I should have known you were kinky.” You yip back, trying not to squirm. “It’s always the quiet ones-” Your breath is suddenly sucked out of your lungs, when he tongues just below your naval. 

His teeth nip harder here, making you shiver, he licks and sucks after each bite, leaving a squiggling line of bruises across your lower stomach. Going further down, his tongue moves down and licks along the edge of your panties. 

Your body clenches as you try not to squirm, fist balling up the soft bedding underneath. Nearly losing it when you look down to see him lying between your legs, hands holding onto your hips, as he grabs onto your panties with his teeth. Bucky looks up at your eyes, connecting with yours as he works them down. Moving them just enough that he can get where he wants to go. Eyes pinning you in place as he leans forward, thumbs pushing your fold open as his tongue flicks out and tastes you. 

A whimper leaves your mouth, as his eyes close, he pushes forward eagerly, tongue taking a deep sweep as he groans. The vibrations have your hands fisted in the sheets, mind melting into a puddle as he continues to lick into your core. 

“Please,” You whimper, legs shaking as his nose brushes against your clit. “Let me touch you.”

His head raises, lips and chin soaked in your slick, which just makes you want to reach for him more. Bucky shakes his head. Before doubling his efforts, he moves his left hand down, running the cool metal along where your thigh and core meet. Mouth moving up to nip at your folds, making you buck up, just as one of the cold metal fingers slips inside.

“Oh fuck,” You gasp, he stops moving for a second, eyes focused on your face as he starts to work one finger in and out. 

Keening, your hips move down against the friction, it's not enough. As if reading your mind, he slips another finger in. Scissoring them and opening you up, heat starting to grow in your stomach. A cry leaving as he latches onto your clit, sucking and humming, the slow pace picking up as his fingers move deeper. They curl up looking for the spongy spot, when he hits your eyes slam shut body pulsing as he keeps moving. Fingers moving up and pressing at it over and over, combined with him sucking and humming on your clit has you teetering on the edge. 

“I am-” Your breath stutters as he pops off your clit. “Don’t you dare stop.” 

Grinning he moves his tongue down to wear his fingers are, scissoring you open so he can stick his tongue deep inside. 

“Goddamnit, Bucky please. Please.” You’re begging, the edge of release is right there, just under his tongue. 

The bastard chuckles, leaning forward to blow on your clit, “So pretty when you beg.”

You don’t have time to curse him out, as he latches back onto your clit, tongue swirling around as his fingers push up and against the spot. Eyes opening wide, mouth agape in a slight scream as pleasure washes over you. He doesn’t stop moving and sucking against you. The feeling keeps building, the fire growing, tingling out through your lower abdomen. It’s not enough and too much at the same time. You couldn’t help but let your fingers finally card into his hair, they clenched in and out. 

Bucky finally eases up, your thighs shaking as you try to find words in the haze. He moves up fingers, carefully slipping out of you, and you let out a huff at losing the sensation. Hands coming to cup his face, you bring him closer and kiss him, tongue pushing in so that you can taste a mix of you both.

“You broke the rules,” He teases, kissing the tip of your nose. His body is not quite laying on top of yours. 

A small giggles leave your mouth, “Still can’t think straight.” Your hands move down along his broad back, “Next time you’re just going to have to tie me up.”

Bucky grins, eyes crinkling as he kisses along your jaw. “Next time huh?”

Your hands roam down over his still cloth covered lower half, you squeeze his ass with one hand, the other moving to his front to work his belt open. 

“Many more times,” You grin, kissing his forehead as you slide the belt out. 

He sits back up, standing, and slides his pants and underwear down in one motion. Revealing his straining cock, it bumps against his lower abdomen, leaking enough to leave a mark there. You stare a little longer than you mean to, before your eyes flick back up to his. He smirks and crawls back onto the bed, his arms encasing you as he peers down at you. 

“So many promises,” He whispers, his metal arm hikes up one of your thighs as his mouth finds yours. 

Gasp escapes your lips as the thick tip of cock rubs against your folds, you are going to feel this, every bit of it. His hand drags you closer, letting you start to sink into it, and the feel of him starts to stretch you. Your hands digging into the flesh of his back. Moving your hips, you finally get him to sink deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He hushes, kissing down along your jaw, tongue running from below your ear and down your neck. He found the spot where your shoulder met your neck and latched onto it.

He sinks all the way in, your mouth opens, gasping his name, throwing your other leg over top of his hips. Rocking up to meet his hips, your bodies flush where you join. He waits a moment, and you want to scream for him to move, to do something. So full, body aching and fluttering around him, still sensitive from your release earlier. 

Finally, he moves, slowly pulling out, then sliding back in, he moans into your ear. Saying your name softly as he continues to move, at a steady, unrelenting pace. One of your hands grips his hip, the other running into his hair, pulling him into a devastating kiss. You pull back, resting your forehead against his, his face slack with pleasure, yet lined as he holds back. 

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper quietly, leaning in to bite at his lip.

Something snaps in the air, his hips still for a moment, then his hands are gripping your hips, dragging you up onto his lap. His hips snap up making you gasp, strong arms wrapping around you as he starts to fuck in earnst. You can feel how deep he sits inside you, the way your stretched out, mind going fuzzy with the sound of your bodies filling the air. Nothing holds him back, you just cling onto him, mind goes blank. Your hand moves between you, rubbing at your clit. Making your insides spasm around him. 

“I am so close,” He whispers, grunting with the effort, muscle straining as he pumps into you. “Where?”

You kean, feeling your own pleasure renewing and blooming out. “Inisde, fuck please, inside me.” 

His mouth latches onto the top of your shoulder, biting hard, and a shout rips out of you as you come. Your eyes rolling back in the fog of pleasure and pain, making your whole body clench around him. His body spasms as he holds you close. His own body tensing, breath in short pants, heart hammering as he keeps pumping into you over and over. Metal hand placed on your lower back, as his rhythm falters, you feel him slam in cock twitching as he spills inside you. 

Breath still in short pants, you both collapse onto the bed, Bucky still holding you tight against his warm body. His heart just under your ear, body aching in the best way possible. Sweat and hair mingled together as you lay there happily. 

“You okay?” He whisper hands rubbing gently up and down your ribs, you could still feel him inside you.

“Mmhmm,” You mumble, trying to find words that seem to have left your brain. “Think you broke me.”

You felt him tense up at the words, you smack at his arm. “Not like that.” You giggle leaving light kisses across his hot skin. “Just a little foggy.”

He relaxes, moving so he can look at you, “That good or bad?”

You lean back grabbing a pillow to shove under both of your heads. “So, so good.”

He kisses you quietly, carefully unwrapping your legs from his before pulling out. You grumble at losing the feeling , but don’t hesitate to smack his butt as he goes to leave. 

“Behave,” He says with a grin. “Be right back.”

You groan, shifting a little, kicking and moving the blankets so that you can crawl underneath. The sheets were soft and comfortable, your head still riding the high of the orgasm. You could get used to this, a small smile crosses your face. 

Bucky slips in, two glasses of water in one large hand, another holds a washcloth. He puts the drink down, flipping the covers up, he grabs your ankles and drags you closer to him.

“You love to manhandle me,” You giggles, letting him carefully clean up the mess between your legs. 

“Think you like it as much as I do,” He grins, before tossing the towel into a basket near the closet.

You nod your head as you take the water glass, taking a few stips, “Not used to being thrown around, can’t say I mind.”

He drinks his own water, before crawling into bed beside you. “Good, cause you still owe me for breaking the rules.” 

~*~*~*~*~*

Let me know if you enjoyed it <3 Reblog, comment, like, more to cum *cough*

[prettypasteibunny]

More of my hc on what the batboys types would be. (Not based in any canon)

Part one is linked at the bottom!

Tim, Damian (older), duke. (Should I do the girls too?)

This is all Written for fun, and for the 2 people who requested more (ily guys). And also the men’s sections are still quite short but I think a lot of it comes down to the fact I would just be repeating the women’s ones in different words.

Tim: women

- he would probably go for a girl his age who attends his high school/college. (So yous can hang out easy)

- I think he’d take a fancy to smart girls, people who can keep up with his wit.

- would like a modest girl but if he really likes them he could give less a shit what they wear. (Is scared to be seen as too controlling)

- idk I see him to be like a Victorian man, the SLIGHTEST bit of skin is show and this man cannot focus. He’s the reason schools don’t allow girls to show shoulders.

- I think he would like taller women, gets flustered around his taller wife. (Like a bird lol)

- also, women who have more muscle then him? He’s dead on the ground if you flex them.

- he doesn’t care about weight or size, if he sees a pretty woman, he likes.

Tim: men

- Tim strikes me as the type to go out with a jock (I don’t know if it’s just nerd x jock banging around in my mind, lol)

- again, somone stronger then him, just able and willing to throw him around.

- blonde hair, blue eyes.. name starts with ‘b’ ends in ‘ennard’

- nah but for real, I think he’s got a thing for blondes. Man or woman, he likes.

Damian: women

- due to being around women with loads of power his whole life he has grown to like women who are stronger/more socially powerful.

- a woman he spots at a gala who is much much richer and has more power then him or his father? Staring the whole time.

- likes modest women, but if you get together he won’t say anything about more revealing outfits.

- he tends to scowl at women similar to the type his father used to bring home (but will still talk if they approach)

- he prefers fit women, he doesn’t need a muscle mommy but someone with a bit of bulk has his eyes.

- people (man or women), who speak multiple languages. Especially his mother tongue. (He likes hearing you speak it)

- he would probably like a more feminine woman but he wouldn’t mind a masculine one.

Damian: men.

- I don’t really see Damian with men but I’ll try

- he strikes me as the type to like men who are just big airheads

- and by big I mean, tons of muscle.

- he does like a man with smarts, but if they can make up for it in muscle he decides he likes them.

- likes a more traditional man, gentlemen if you will.

- he watched boxing once to get closer with his father and was blushing at the men in tiny shorts fighting one another the whole time (Bruce was concerned) (dick was not)

- languages again, but also he likes people who can play instruments.

Duke: women

- he likes pretty girls, traditionally pretty or girls with pretty eyes.

- he also likes girls who can take care of themselves.

- I don’t think he’d find any of the people at galas very attractive, but alot of the reason for that comes from his lower class background.

- there are some exceptions to this but he tends to only find them attractive and then move on with his day.

- he’d probably like somone he can do romantic teen things with (like the movies), arcades, movie nights and cuddling, anyone up for this has his heart.

- as soon as he joins the batfam he closes off to any suitors because he’s not used to this many and is scarred they’re using him for money, until he finds that half of the people don’t even know he’s living with the Wayne’s.

- I think he likes chubbier/plus sized girls. (And making his girl chubby)

Duke: men

- he would turn away from snobbish men. He finds them hard to find attractive.

- but pretty boys? God save him.

- he doesn’t really like bigger men, someone his size (muscle wise) is fine with him.

- a man in his social class, he can’t keep pulling his phone out every time they say a fancy word.

- he probably likes people who have their own job, he likes the fact that they’re supporting themselves.

- a man who can cook and eat well, has his heart.

[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

Stepfather

BangChan x fem! reader. 9th member.

This fic is a lot shorter than my other Stray Kids fics. But still, enjoy anyway. This one is just for the giggles.

Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. MamaBear Collection.

Summary: The kids are having fun discussing who would be the best stepfather for them if you and Chris ever (hypothetically) break up.

When you and Chris walked into the dance practice room. You are greeted by a loud laugh. You walked over to the boys, Chan right behind you. Felix, Hyunjin and Seungmin were on the couch. Changbin, Minho, Han and Innie were on the floor. The way they were sitting, it was basically a circle. 

“What about Hongjoong?” Changbin suggested. Confusing you and Chris. 

“What’s going on?” You asked as you set down the food bags in your hands. You placed them in the middle of the circle before sitting down next to Seungmin after he patted the spot beside him. 

Chan and Minho began unpacking the food and drinks and handed them out to everyone. Chan sat down on the floor, but by the couch, near your legs. 

“We’re discussing who would be a good stepfather for us,” Hyunjin said with no shame whatsoever. 

Chan looked up in surprise. “Wait, what?” His face was pure confusion. 

Minho grabbed his drink and shrugged. “We were talking about whether you and Honey were ever to break up. -”

“And this is hypothetically speaking. So don’t panic. We know you two are going to grow old together.” Han quickly piped in. He let out a yelp as Minho pinched his arm. 

“As I was saying. We were saying, who would be the best pick for the role as our stepfather and Honey’s new husband? He has to be the best. Because our Mama Bear deserves only the best.”

“And you landed on Hongjoong?” You asked curiously before you began to eat your food. 

Seungmin shook his head. “No. Right now, his name has just been thrown out.” 

Changbin nodded. “I think it could work. He helps with their music, and he has experience raising kids because of Ateez.” He said with a shrug.

Hyunjin shook his head as he passed Felix his drink. “No. I’m not subjecting our mother to raising Wooyoung. You make enough problems, Binnie. You are a problem child. She doesn’t need a second one.” That made the group laugh as Changbin placed a hand on his chest, acting wounded.

“Speaking of Wooyoung. Binnie, you and he have a playdate at the arcade next Saturday.” You told him with a sweet smile.  The guys all laughed loudly.

“Playdate? What am I five!?” His voice filled the room.

You giggled and shook your head. “No. But I’ve heard you complain all month that you miss him. So I called Hongjoong to ask, and Wooyoung has the weekend off, and so do you. So we scheduled a playdate for you and Wooyoung. You’re welcome.”

“See, she’s the best mother. Be grateful, Changbin.” I.N. said, his voice full of sass. 

Changbin nodded and smiled. “Thank you for going out of your way to do this for me.” He was grateful. 

“Anyway. We can’t pick Hongjoong, we can't steal him from Seonghwa. They are the Ateez parenting duo. That would be like someone stealing Chan away from us.” Han added before gulping his drink. 

“Besides, he comes with six kids.” I.N. said, pulling a face. The group all nodded their head. "The only kids Honey needs are us and any kids that she and Chan have in the future."

That made Chan choke on his drink. You patted his back to help him.

“San would look good next to her, though,” Han spoke again with a small shrug of his shoulder. Causing the rest of the boys to think it through. 

Changbin shook his head. “It could work; he'd be a good trophy husband for her.”

The boys continued to eat their food as they all brainstormed. Chan leaned against your legs and looked up at you. “Can we return them?”

“No, we love them too much to return them.” You told him with a giggle before eating more of your food. 

Everyone froze as Felix let out a gasp. 

“He has an idea.” Seungmin pointed his chopsticks at the blonde. 

Felix shook his head. “No.” He mumbled out as he shoved food into his mouth.

Minho placed a hand on Felix’s knee. “Hey. Tell us.” He said, his eyes locking on Felix’s.

“I don’t want to betray Chan.” The blonde replied as he shook his head. 

Chan waved his hand. “It’s fine, Lix. It’s nice to know that at least one of my kids is loyal to me.”

Felix looked at the group. Minho squeezed his knee in anticipation. Then, Felix spoke up. “Lee Minhyuk.” 

The room was quiet. 

“As in, Minhyuk from BtoB?” 

Felix nodded his head, confirming Hyunjin’s question. 

Then the room became chaotic. Hyunjin and Minho both let out a scream. Han and I.N. clapped their hands hard. Seungmin was bouncing in his spot on the couch. Changbin let out a loud whoop. 

“That’s so smart, Felix.” Changbin told him. 

Minho nodded in agreement. “We saw how he interacted with her during Kingdom. Real gentlemanly. Plus, he voted for Felix to be the visual king. That’s him showing he supports Honey’s children, and he worked well with Han and Binnie...and Chan too, of course.” He commented with a grin on his face.

“Don’t forget how, even though it was their first time meeting, the way they acted was like old friends reuniting,” Seungmin added, a pleased look on his face.

“Maybe they have.” Hyunjin spoke up from his spot.

Felix frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?” 

“Think about it. We have lore for how this family came to be, right? Minho and I are Honey’s kids that she had before she got with Chan. So, Minhyuk could be our real dad. It would explain why I’m this pretty. Handsome father plus beautiful mother equals two very pretty sons.” Hyunjin explained as he nodded his head, satisfied with his own logic.

Minho winked at Hyunjin. “Happy to see you think I’m pretty.” 

Chan shifted slightly to get more comfortable. “Okay, okay. But why did they break up in the first place?” He asked curiously, and he was now fully invested in the lore of all of this. 

The boys went quiet for a moment and looked at each other. 

Felix piped up from his spot. “They fell out of love, and their paths were going in different directions. It was mutual. No heartbreak. Just a hug and a good luck.” He explained. 

Han clicked his fingers, his cheeks full of food. He nodded his head in agreement with Felix’s words. 

Chan looked at everyone. “Okay. Let’s see if I’ve got this right. Honey and Minhyuk were together and had Minho and Hyunjin. They break up after falling out of love. Honey got custody of the kids. Then she becomes closer to me, with whom she was friends. We end up dating after a while. I already had Changbin; his mother is currently unknown. Honey and I get married, and then the twins come. Han is our firstborn child together, with Lixie following a day later. Then we have Seungmin and then I.N.” He asked, looking at everyone. “Did I miss anything?”

Minho shook his head. “Nope, you pretty much got everything in the lore so far.” 

Changbin nodded his head. “Minhyuk, it is then.”

—------------------

It was weeks later at a concert when the new lore was slipped out. 

Han and Changbin had been chasing Minho and Hyunjin, who had been causing chaos. 

Chan shook his head and turned to look at you. “Leeknow and Hyunjin are yours when they're like this. Yours and Minhyuk’s.” 

You let out a laugh. “Don’t be like that, Channie. They take after you in many ways. They are completely yours when they are chaotic.” Your voice was teasing. 

“I’ll show you chaotic.” He then began to chase you. 

—-----

A clip from the concert had gone viral. A clip of Chan saying that Minho and Hyunjin were Minhyuk’s. Stay went crazy, happy to have more lore for the family. 

Minhyuk even replied, saying he was honoured to be the now-not-so-secret parent of two of the Stray Kids.

-----------

MamaBear Collection Taglist: Thank you for supporting me. @jinnie-ret @inejghafawifesblog @bbokarismeow @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @smalluglye @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @imma-much-happier-person @hwangrfrnd @stay-tiny-things

[beaviu]

wrong table, right person .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ — sjy

⋆˚꩜｡ 004 :: siri play into you by ari

ʚଓ m.list — prev — next

synopsis . ❀ ݁ ˖ yn finally agrees to a blind date to finally shut her bffs up about her tragic dating life. Dressed to impress but armed with zero expectations, she arrives at a café, scans the room, and sits across from a guy who checks every box: handsome yet cute, and surprisingly sarcastic in a way that keeps her on her toes. Only one problem: he’s not her date. Jake, a schools heartthrob laying low not to be caught by his fan girls, is just trying to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee when a stranger slides into the seat across from him and starts talking like they know each other. Intrigued — and a little bored — he plays along. What starts as a mistaken identity turns into a full-blown accidental date. And when yn finally realizes her mixup… she walks away mortified. But Jake? He can’t stop thinking about her. Now he’s determined to find her again — without revealing who he really is. As fate (or nosy mutual friends) brings them back together, their story becomes anything but accidental. Because sometimes, love finds you at the wrong table — at exactly the right time.

As yn takes a deep breath to compose herself, she opens the bathroom door and steps out, still feeling a wave of nerves after learning the truth.

“H-Hey,” she says, her voice slightly shaky.

“Hey, everything okay?” Jake asks, clearly concerned, his brows furrowed.

“Yeah, I—one of my friends ended up in the hospital... drank too much,” she replies, hoping the lie comes off as believable.

“In the middle of the day?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah, um... I have to go, but it was nice meeting you,” she says quickly shooting him a warm smile, turning to leave. But just before she walks away, she steals a glance at him—and is caught off guard.

His features are striking: that golden retriever smile he gives out of sympathy, and those eyes—warm, sincere, full of genuine concern and his smooth, flawless skin highlights a delicate nose and strong jawline, blending strength and softness in a striking harmony.

Something stirs in her chest, an unfamiliar flutter. Butterflies...?

She blinks, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingers—soft and persistent, like the echo of a song you can’t quite forget.

Jake shifts slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I hope your friend’s okay,” he says, his voice low, sincere. “If you need anything... or just someone to talk to—”

“I’ll be fine,” yn cuts in, a little too quickly, trying to shield herself with distance. She doesn’t want to stay, but at the same time... she doesn’t really want to go either. Not yet.

He nods slowly, clearly sensing there’s more going on than she’s letting on, but choosing not to push. “Take care, alright?”

She gives a small nod, offering a forced yet warm smile before turning away. Her footsteps feel heavy, but her heart feels... lighter? No, confused. That was it—confused.

Once outside, the cool air hits her and she exhales sharply, pressing her fingers to her temple. What the hell just happened?

But Jake’s face lingers in her mind—those eyes, that smile. And something else, too. Something she couldn’t quite name yet, but it scared her in a way that didn’t feel entirely bad.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ authors note — two chapters in a dayyyyy lessgooooooo 😛😛✌️✌️✌️ anyways taglist is always open for anyone who wants to join

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ taglist — @astrobebba @rikchic @zoe1love @t1iqaa @enhanoa @yuyita-rosier @smolderingoasislegion @synamon @blvengene @urfavmelaninatedgeminii @cupidmiyu @naevisringring @swiftcityy @luhvletters @sumzysworld @w3willris3 @skepvids @enhastolemyheart @kimuranirisi @rairaiblog @teenagecheesecakereview @kuroosluthoe @firstclassjaylee @kiromiix @firstclassjaylee @splzq @yenienha @aernx @jakeznii @berryzoo @haechsworld

[onceuponnpc]

🖤 Thorns and Fire 🖤

Malleus Draconia x Fem!Reader

Warning: Jealousy, possessive behavior, yandere themes, emotionally intense scenes, mild obsession, implied power imbalance, non-violent dominance, romantic tension, make-out content (non-explicit), dragon/fae fixation, manipulation through affection, light fear/angst elements. Reader discretion advised.

Masterlist

🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪🎪

It was supposed to be an ordinary afternoon.

You were tucked away in a shadowed corner of the vast, echoing library, thumbing through a thick spellbook for your enchantments class. The sun cast golden stripes between the tall windows, dust motes dancing in the light.

You barely noticed the sound of someone approaching until a shadow fell across the pages.

“Wow,” a smooth voice drawled behind you, carrying a casual kind of charm. “Didn’t expect to find a pretty face buried in runes. You always study this hard?”

You looked up half surprised half anxious.

Lance, you think that’s his name.

A third-year from Savanaclaw, all lean muscle and swagger, known more for dueling and barbed flirting than scholarly diligence. You didn’t know him well. A few shared classes. A smile exchanged once or twice. That was it.

But now, his eyes amber, sharp raked over you with unmistakable interest.

You laughed nervously. “I’m just trying not to flunk my enchantments midterm.”

“Still,” he said, sliding into the seat beside you without asking, his knee brushing yours. “Smart and cute. Dangerous combination. You must have guys lined up.”

Your smile faltered not enough to seem rude but not enough to reach your eyes, as something in your chest tightened uncomfortable. Not because of his attention… but because of something else. Something… other.

A shift in the air. A low, imperceptible hum, like magic sensing a disturbance.

The back of your neck prickled.

And then—

Silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t absence of sound, but the world holding its breath. Even the enchanted candles in their brackets seemed to flicker less brightly.

You didn’t see Malleus enter the library.

But you felt him.

You always did.

Like the pull of a tide beneath your skin. The gravity of a storm.

And Lance poor, reckless Lance did not seem to realise.

You looked up to an aisle in front of you, and there he was.

Malleus.

Standing at the end of the row, framed by shelves like pillars of an ancient cathedral. The green of his eyes glowed softly, inhumanly, fixed solely on you. The expression on his face was unreadable too calm. Too still. Like a dragon deciding whether to scorch the earth or show mercy.

Your lips parted.

“Malleus—”

His name was barely a whisper, but it cracked like lightning between stone walls.

Lance turned lazily, eyebrows raised. “Oh. Didn’t hear you walk in, man. You looking for something here?”

He said it casually.

As if Malleus were just another Night Raven student.

As if he hadn’t just addressed the heir of Briar Valley. A prince. A fae older than most bloodlines. A being whose restraint was the only thing keeping the world from shaking.

You moved to speak to smooth it over but Malleus was already walking toward you.

Slow. Measured. Regal.

Not a sound from his boots.

Not a flicker of expression.

But the magic curled tighter and tighter in the air, so heavy it made the back of your throat burn.

He stopped just before your table, his voice like velvet dragged across steel.

“Y/N.”

You stiffened.

“Come.”

It wasn’t a question.

It wasn’t even a suggestion.

It was a claim, an order.

Your heart stammered against your ribs. You stood, slowly, gaze flicking to Lance, who still hadn’t grasped the weight in the room.

“She can stay if she wants,” Lance muttered, brow creased. “She doesn’t belong to—”

Crack.

The temperature dropped so fast your breath misted in the air.

Malleus turned to him with glacial precision, emerald eyes flaring briefly into something ancient and monstrous.

And then you saw it.

Not a boy.

Not even a prince.

A dragon. A fae king cloaked in mortal skin.

Lance’s mouth shut. His face went pale as he stuttered and looked away.

Wordlessly, you grabbed your books and stepped beside Malleus.

He took your hand gently, but with strength that left no room for question and led you from the room.

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

You didn’t speak until he had taken you through the lantern-lit path near Diasomnia, the familiar archway cloaked in ivy and flickering will-o’-the-wisps. The mist was thicker here. It always was. Like the world was softer around him.

He stopped beneath the twisted branches.

You stopped, too.

He didn’t face you right away.

His hands, gloved in rich black, twitched briefly before clenching slightly at his sides.

“You let him sit beside you.”

You flinched at the bite in his voice. “I didn’t mean to… he just showed up, and I didn’t know what to say—”

“He looked at you as if you were a thing.”

He turned then. Slowly. His eyes pinned you in place like stakes through your chest. “Like something he could reach for. Take. As if you weren’t already claimed.”

You opened your mouth to say something anything but your voice failed you.

His eyes softened but it didn’t make it better.

In fact, it made it worse.

“Was I unclear,” he asked, stepping forward, “when I told you that you were mine?”

You tried again. “Malleus, I’m not—”

But you didn’t finish.

Because in one sharp movement, you were pressed against the cold stone wall, his body caging yours. His arms braced on either side of your head. His eyes burning into you from mere inches away.

Your breath hitched not from fear but from the sudden closeness.

“Say it,” he whispered, voice a growl of silk and heat. “Say you’re mine.”

You trembled not from fear. Not entirely. The intensity of him, the proximity, the scent of roses and thunderclouds curling around you like a spell it scrambled every thought in your mind.

You could lie, which would not help you.

You could attempt to run, but could you really get far?

But instead… Looking straight in his eyes you whispered, voice barely audible, but loud enough for him ti hear clearly “I’m yours. Only yours.”

And something in him snapped.

He kissed you like he’d been starving for centuries. Like he’d waited across time and dimension for permission. It was fierce almost angry in its passion but careful. His gloved hand cradled your cheek with reverence, while the other curved around your back, drawing you fully against him.

He was heat and silk and shadow solid and overwhelming.

His lips trailed to your jaw, to your neck, brushing that tender spot that made your breath catch in your throat and your knees weaken.

“Mine,” he growled again, voice cracking with restraint. “No one else. Not now. Not ever.”

You whimpered soft, involuntary.

His teeth grazed your pulse point. Not hard. But enough to leave your skin flushed and tingling.

His fingers traced your spine slowly, as if memorizing each dip, each curve, each place where you melted into his touch. His control was unraveling, piece by piece, and still he never let you feel afraid.

Just… needed.

Desired.

Chosen.

“You are not some trinket,” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “Not a prize for others to gawk at. You are the bride of a dragon. My bride. Bound not by words, but fate itself.”

You couldn’t speak.

Your body trembled against his, as his lips found yours again slower this time, deeper. A kiss like a vow being etched into your soul. You clung to him, fingers in his cloak, needing him closer, as if you’d fall apart without him.

When he finally broke the kiss, his eyes were still glowing.

And his voice was a promise:

“Let them try. Let them dare to touch what is mine.”

He tilted your chin upward.

“They’ll burn.”

Your legs barely held you up.

Your breath came in shallow gasps as you stared at him at his untouchable, terrifying beauty. And instead of fear, your chest ached with something deeper. Something addictive.

Was it wrong?

Maybe.

But gods help you…

You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

End……

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

🎪 Ringmaster’s Warning: No Copycats in This Tent 🎪

[cookiieduh]

𝚰𝐍𝐅𝐎 .ᐟ suguru x f!reader, jealousy, geto has piercings, jealousy, unestablished relationship, alcohol, smoking, etc, suggestive, lmk if i missed anything 𝜗𝜚

𝐀/𝐍 .ᐟ wc,, 1.1k,, a little something for my lovelies 𝜗𝜚

THE BLUR BETWEEN FRIENDS AND something more was one of those labels you didn’t bother with when it came to suguru. you weren’t kissing, definitely weren’t fucking, but since… always, there’s been this charge between you both, crackling like a live wire ready to hork sparks at any second.

suguru didn’t want to be here, in this mystified relationship limbo you’d ensnared him in, and definitely not this club, surrounded by sweat and cheap, cloying cologne. too much tasteless alcohol, and by some cosmic cruelty, none of that liquid buzz he was betting on being his saving grace. 

yet he still showed, sitting atop a plush, padded barstool beside shoko while you and satoru stormed the dance floor. why? if you asked, he’d tell you it’s because he couldn’t leave you three without a fourth. if it was someone else, he’d simply nod towards you, dolled up and dancing, letting them see why for themselves.

shoko’s shamelessly flirting for drinks while suguru sourly nurses whatever insipid whiskey the bartender had recommended. purple hues keep drifting to you when they really shouldn’t be. ah, who cares. it doesn’t seem like you’re even close to noticing when you’re batting lashes at…what, a btec version of him?

slim eyes narrow further when they really hone in on the guy; black hair that’s a little more cropped than his own, same style - he wants to think it looks tackier on the wannabe - and probably a few inches shorter judging from the way you barely have to crane your neck. but it’s enough to make him feel weirdly territorial. 

only when your sight finally catches his, does suguru finally realise he’s been advancing you and that crummy imitation on instinctual autopilot. his stride stutters and he spins back in a terse u-turn, simultaneously cringing at himself and playing off the scorch of your stare crawling into the skin of his back. 

instead of heading back to the bar, the respite of shitty drinks and rolling his eyes at the way satoru’s practically gathered a harem, he pushes past the swarm of bodies swaying to something doja cat, making a beeline for the exit.

taking a sickly long drag from a cigarette he fumbled to ignite, he didn’t bother turning to the brief blurt of bass lurching into the night when the door swung open from, who he guessed was, another stranger seeking the same recess from the club’s clammy taste.

puffing out the smoke in a swirl of plume that frayed in the dark, he almost choked when it was you that called out to him instead of a nobody asking him for a light.

“suguru..?” your airy cadence wrapped around his name like it was another one of those spells he was sure you were casting on him. yeah, he was more consoled to think that his feelings were the fruit of black magic and not a genuine, crippling, yearn for a longtime friend.

seconds slink by and he’s stone.

“what happened?” you press, soft in the way that makes him want to tilt his head back against the brick and laugh in exasperation.

you’d think he’d frozen over if it weren’t for that small nip of his bottom lip. and he’s sighing deep through his nose, butt of the tobacco poised between his thumb and pointer when he takes another fierce pull, then flicks it to the ground to snuff out the tired glimmer of orange with the heel of his shoe.

“nothing. nothing happened.” he turns, lips twisted in a wry smile that looks more like a grimace than anything. he tucks his arms over his chest, biting his inner cheek now that he’s taking you in; the glimmer of your makeup under the ambient hum of the street lamp, the way your pretty lashes flutter when you look up at him like that. this was unfair.

“sure.” the crease between your brows betrays that feigned stoicism you try to wear like an ill-fitted hand me down. “explain what ‘nothing’ means when you literally just stormed towards me like you were leading a horde with pitchforks.” you quip with an inkling of temper, shuffling closer to him under the sudden breath of the wind.

he notices it, the way you curl into yourself in defiance of the abrupt breeze, arms prickling in the chill. so he slips off his jacket like it's second nature, handing you the leather stained with smoke and sandalwood while he looms in his half-buttoned henley. you take it.

“didn’t like him.” he shrugs like it has to be that simple, and you want to believe it is when you push your arms through the sleeves, engulfed in the scent of everything that hisses his name. “the guy you were talking to. looked like he was trying too hard.” there’s a sprinkle of bitterness that belies the indifference he wants to play.

“that’s it?” the disappointment leaves your lips before you can mask it. you stiffen, he tilts his head, expression wooden save for those violet depths that peel back everything you’re trying to hide.

“you don’t want it to be?” he pushes off the wall, voice hushed to a purr under the weight of implication. the faint thump of an atmospheric rhythm bleeds through the bar’s stone now that he’s cornered you against it.

and it feels like the air’s been punched from your lungs when your eyes drag across the bob of his throat beneath that beaded choker, to the plush cushion of those pierced lips that stay only inches from your own as he braces his forearm beside your head. caged.

“i…” the words catch in your throat as your head tips back to snare his gaze with your own. all he can focus on is the way you chew your lower lip, those big rounded eyes and the way they look up at him like he’s something holy. 

he leans in until you’re sharing breath. indulgent, ready. 

“i don’t think you know what you’re doing to me. what you always have.” he murmurs, eyes low-lidded, pupils blown so wide it’s as if any trace of light would be swallowed in their abyss. the silver edge of his labret barely grazes your skin before he pulls away.

[marlynnofmany]

Minor Heights

As usual for times when something seems amusing to my Earthling sensibilities (but likely wouldn’t to everyone else), I kept quiet about it. Nobody wanted their delivery person to laugh in their face about whatever they’d ordered. Even blue-furred aliens with the wood-gnawing habits of beavers, who were receiving a cubic foot of carefully-packed tweezers. All I could think about was irony and splinters. I kept my expression at customer-service neutral and approached the info booth, with Mur tentacle-walking beside me.

“Welcome,” grunted the curmudgeonly fellow stationed there, eyes squinting from a face of graying blue fur. The stripes down his back seemed more gray than black too. “Is that for me?” He chuckled like that was a joke.

Mur leaned his squidlike head backwards, his version of craning his neck without actually having a neck. “Only if you’re working a double shift as head of the medical center,” he said.

I added, “We were hoping you could tell us how to get there.” Our ship had a decent map of this loose settlement, but it was hard to tell from the air which tributaries we’d need to cross in which order to get to it. The info booth was clearly stationed near the spaceport for a good reason. And not just for the high ground in rainy weather — it was built into a rocky cliffside that held many holes. A different species might have built their civilization right up that cliff, but these folks were strictly a “ground level or lower” sort.

The elder perked up. “Oh sure, I can tell you where it is,” he said. “But it might as well be for me, since my wife is the head bonesetter around these parts.” He reached furry little webbed paws in a gimme gesture.

I read the name on the label to him, and he confirmed it. Mur held up the payment tablet that he’d so carefully carried with his rear tentacles. (He’d refused to let me carry the box AND the tablet.) He handled getting the fellow’s name and other information to approve the delivery, while I set the sturdy white box on the counter and thought privately that there should be another word than “handled” when the person in question doesn’t have hands. “Tentacled” just didn’t sound right.

I also wondered about the scratching noise from the roof, but didn’t think much of it until the guy complained.

“That again?” he grumbled, glaring up at the rocky overhang as if he could see through to whatever was hiding in the low bushes on top. “Something’s been rattling about up there for an hour now, wrecking the ambiance.” He sniffed and looked up at me. “You’re a proper tree-height. Suppose you can get a look and shoo whatever it is away?”

“Sure,” I said, taking a step back to inspect the bushes. The ledge was higher up than I could reach, but one of those local trees with the spiral trunk grew next to it, making for plenty of handholds. “Before I go sticking my face up there, do you have any dangerous animals around here that you might expect to be waiting to jump out at me? Anything fond of leaping claws-first, or projectile attacks?”

“Nah, nothing small enough to be up there,” the guy said with confidence. “The only troublemakers we have are big ones, and there are defensive measures keeping them away from town.”

Mur spoke up. “That doesn’t rule out offworld fauna. The spaceport’s right there.” He pointed a tentacle back the way we had come. “Could be somebody’s pet or prize face-eater. Good thing we’ve got an animal expert right here, though!” He patted my ankle with a tentacle.

I looked down at him. “You know it would be simpler for me to just lift you up so you can stick your face in the danger zone.”

“No no, I wouldn’t want to rob you of your glory.”

“Of course not.” I peered back up at the foliage, which was holding still now.

The elder was concerned. “I didn’t think about offworld creatures. Now that I think about it, there was a cart full of stuff parked there awhile ago, and something could have jumped off it. Horrible thought. Glad you’re here! Do you need any tools?”

I sighed. “Let me just take a peek at what’s there. I don’t suppose you have a stick or something for moving the plants aside?”

“Oh, always,” said the old beaver, and grabbed a bouquet of walking sticks from under the counter. They were all intricately carved, bare wood. “Got to keep chewing when there’s nothing to do.”

“Very nice,” I said, picking up the longest one, which was still pretty short. “Thank you. I’ll try not to get it ruined by some offworld pest.” The shapes of alien vines spiraling around it were truly lovely.

“No worries; I can always make more.” He waved me on.

Hoping I wasn’t about to do something monumentally unwise, I stepped over to the side of the booth and got a grip on the spiral tree trunk. It was the perfect natural ladder, narrow enough that I could carry the stick and rough enough that my shoes didn’t slip. Moments later, I was raising my head up past the level of the roof, though at a good distance. I reached out with the stick to part the leaves. Mur and the elder beaver watched from below.

Nothing, nothing, just leaves … blue fur. A smaller beaver face glaring at me, managing to look scared and angry at the same time. I blinked.

The elder called, “See anything dangerous?”

I answered honestly. “No, no offworld pests here. I think you’re okay. Gimme just a minute. It this ledge strong enough for me to climb on?”

He said it was, sounding relieved. Mur launched into a story of the most troublesome animals we’d had to deliver as cargo, and the two of them promptly left me to it. Good.

Judging by the size and the sulky expression, I figured the person on the roof was roughly teenage, and regretting their choices. I climbed up another couple steps, then took a seat casually on the edge. Setting the stick down, I admired the view and kept the youngster in my peripheral vision. “Hi there. You okay?”

I didn’t get an answer, which didn’t surprise me. The furry blue alien was clutching the stem of a bush with both hands, and shivering ever so slightly. That made twigs scrape on the rock. The scowl dared me to mention it.

Instead, I asked, “So what brings you up here?”

She said, “Schoolwork,” and left it at that.

“Ooh, what kind?” I asked. “Is it to find out how far you can see from up high? This really is a great view.” I waved a hand, encompassing the trees, tributaries, distant spaceport and scattered buildings. “You can see what ships have landed, and who’s crossing what bridge, and even where all the fruits are on the top of that tree.” I pointed out what looked like an apple tree but probably wasn’t. Beaver-people were using longer sticks to knock down the fruit from ground level.

The teenager perked up a little at that, but didn’t let go of the plants. She also didn’t answer.

I prompted, “Did you finish what you came up here to do?”

“No,” she admitted. “The giant web-spinners are gone.”

I looked around, more concerned by that statement than I wanted to let on. “Are they? Hmm. Did you want to find them?”

She hunched her shoulders and said in a rush, “We have to find an efficient way to suspend something lightweight, and I thought the webs would be perfect, but they’re not here anymore, and now the cart’s gone so I can’t get down. And this is very high up.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, I can help with that if you like. Actually,” I added as something occurred to me, “I might be able to help with both problems. Did you just need one strand of web, or the whole thing?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “Just a couple strands would work. One to use and one for backup. Why?”

“What about really long fur?” I asked, untying my braid. This wasn’t the first time I’d found an unorthodox use for hair, and knowing my life, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“How strong is it?” she asked. I noticed that her grip on the bush was loosening, and she wasn’t as tense.

“Strong enough to hold up a pencil, easy,” I told her as I finger-combed my hair in search of loose strands. “Probably a few pencils. I haven’t tested it. But human hair’s pretty tough as these things go.”

“Human?” She said the word like it was unfamiliar.

“Oh yeah, that’s me. Hi, I’m a human.” I waved one hand in an awkward greeting.

“Right. I knew that,” she said, sounding utterly convincing, and not at all like she was trying to save face.

I shrugged, hands back in my hair. “There’s a lot of species to keep track of. For example, I don’t think I’ve actually caught the official name for yours. Which is embarrassing, since I’ve been here twice.”

“The interplanetary name is Rivershapers,” she said. “Which is boring, but they didn’t ask me. I guess not all the aliens making the decision could pronounce ‘hhuinhkt.’” The word in her native tongue was part hoot, part squeak, and yeah a little tricky.

I nodded. “Guess I’m lucky. My species got to keep our own name for ourselves, probably because no one could agree on a descriptive one. And actually, I’m doubly lucky because it’s a word from my own language. We have lots of them.” I separated three loose strands of hair. “Speaking of lots, here you go! One to use and two backups for weight testing.”

She took them between her webbed fingers and gave them a gentle tug. “Those are pretty strong,” she admitted.

“Yup!” Then I remembered we were on top of a roof. “Say, do you want me to hold onto them until we get down?”

She reflexively grabbed the bush again with one hand, leaving the one clutching the hairs out where they wouldn’t snag on leaves. “Yes, please.”

I took them back, wrapped them around a few fingers, then tucked the loose coil into a pocket. “Right, so there’s a couple ways we can do this,” I said as if I was a co-conspirator planning a heist. “I can carry you down. You can ride on my back. Or!” I held up a finger. “I can show you where to put your feet so you can do it on your own.”

I didn’t expect her to take me up on that last one, given the blatant fear of heights, but she surprised me.

“Show me,” she demanded. “I want to come back when all the low fruits are gone from that tree. Bet I can get a couple that everyone else missed.”

“Great plan. Scoot on over here, and grab this branch.” I tied my hair back into a quick ponytail, then stepped back onto the spiral trunk, taking the nearly-forgotten stick with me. “The most important thing about climbing is to focus on where your hands and feet are, and not on how high up you are. Put both hands here, then one foot over here…”

With detailed coaching, we made it to the ground one inch at a time. I was sure to keep a hand free in case she slipped, which meant I did a lot of my own climbing with one elbow looped over a branch so I could keep hold of the stick, but I’d had worse climbs. And nobody fell.

My feet reached the ground first, and Mur was waiting there with an expression that said he was very curious, but would wait for an explanation. I handed him the stick and finished guiding the young Rivershaper’s descent. The elder leaned on the counter and watched.

“Perfect, now keep hold of that and bend your knees until you can put a foot down here; see that? Yeah, almost got it. Great. Now you can move this hand over here, then I’ll bet you can reach the ground … Got it! Good job!”

Her webbed feet slapped the dirt and she stood tall (relatively speaking), breathing hard but looking triumphant.

I remembered to give her the hairs. “Here you go,” I said, passing over the delicate coil. “Best of luck with the project!”

She nodded curtly, ignoring the others, and scampered off.

“So!” Mur said. “Not an alien pest at all, then.”

The elder asked, “What in the floodplains was she doing up there?”

“Schoolwork,” I said simply. “She might be less afraid of high places now — or more likely to ignore that fear, which is almost the same thing. Anyways, if she gets stuck up there again, remind her the human said to watch her hands and not look down.”

He shook his head. “Kids. I’ll tell my wife to make sure the medics are ready for any fall damage.” Then he heaved a bundle of carved sticks onto the counter, all tied together top and bottom with festive bows. “Here you go, young feller! Enjoy.”

“My thanks,” said Mur smoothly, then waved a tentacle up at me. “My tall assistant here will carry them.”

“Tall assistant, am I?” I asked in amusement, though I did pick up the bundle. I moved to give back the stick I’d been holding, but the elder waved it away.

“Thanks for clearing out my foot space!” he said, settling comfortably into his chair and bringing out a fresh uncarved stick. “If those turn out to be wildly popular among the fancy spacefaring folk, you know where to find more. I might even charge you a price.” He chuckled, then began gnawing industriously.

Mur strode happily toward the ship.

I followed. “He gave you these?” I asked quietly. “They’re amazing.”

“Yup!” Mur agreed. “And they’re easy to make with teeth like that, and everybody here has something of the sort lying around, and why would he dream of selling them?”

I looked at the one in my other hand, with the vine carvings. “I’m surprised this isn’t already a thriving business.”

“Maybe it is, and nobody’s told him yet. But these are just the right size for Heatseekers to use as canes. Maybe we can keep a couple in case the captain or somebody sprains an ankle, then sell the rest. I tell you, this has been a surprisingly productive visit!”

I glanced at the fruit trees as we passed. There were still plenty of fruits in the top branches. “It sure has,” I agreed.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[nostalgiaforplacesweneverknew]

hcs (sfw or nsfw) for todd stevens where reader kinda plays hard to get with him/ sort of challenges his whole fuckboy frat guy persona (a man who years is a man that earns🙏)

lol I love reforming a fuckboy frat guy <3

Todd Stevens x fem!Reader | 0.6k | Headcanon, mentioned spiciness (18+/MDNI) but nothing too explicit, hints of fluff.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ▹ Wherein Todd meets his match.

I think Todd would initially not think much of it when you don’t show an interest in him. He’s rarely flustered by anything or anyone, and that arrogant, cocky part of him thinks you’re just trying to play it cool. 

Because girls don’t just walk away, all unimpressed and unbothered, when they meet him. They normally bat their eyelashes, press up against him in hopes of enticing him, giggle a little too loudly at his witty remarks. 

But then you just blink at him, give him a slow once over, and then tell him, “No thanks... I prefer guys with substance.” 

Brain.exe has stopped working, and he spirals in private. 

He can’t understand it. With substance? Like he doesn’t have substance?! He reads, he dresses nicely, he does well in his classes, and he volunteers at fundraisers—sure, that’s part of his duties as president of the frat, but he goes and that’s what matters?! 

Or when you tell him that he’s so unserious, thinking he’s such a big shot when the only reason girls sleep with him is because he’s the president of the frat and his parents have money. Not because anyone actually likes him.

“Not that anyone actually knows what you’re like, Stevens,” you smirk, crossing your arms over your chest, unknowingly squishing your boobs together and he’s short-circuiting. “Why is that, exactly? Afraid people won’t like what they see?” 

He’s so incensed, like “How fucking dare you?” but he’s also like, “Jesus H. Christ, why does she have to be so hot when she’s insulting me?” 

Todd’s never been a violent person, he’s the kind to silently fume and use his tone of voice and authority to keep people in line. But when he sees you laughing at someone else’s joke, when you just shrugged, unimpressed, at his own earlier quip, Todd suddenly wants this guy dead. 

No, those must be pity laughs. She’s better than that. Than him. She’s just trying to rile me up. 

If that’s the case, then it’s working because Todd’s slowly going crazy. 

He hears that you like cats and he’s like, “Psh, I could learn to love cats…” even though he’s actually deathly allergic, lmao. 

He walks by where you’re sitting more times than necessary, pretending like he’s not looking at you and not frustrated as hell when you obviously aren’t looking back. 

You’d literally just be existing—laughing with friends, reading, sipping coffee, typing up notes on your laptop during class, studying your textbook in the library—and Todd’s watching like you’re the most riveting film he’s ever seen. 

You’re walking across the quad lawn in the cutest little dress, and he’s so damn sexually frustrated because you’re not giving him the time of day. 

He’s the picture of cool, calm, and collected around his frat brothers, but he’s wrecked on the inside: 

God, her thighs. Her thighs are out. Fuck, I’d have those legs shaking. I’d ruin her for every other guy in the universe. I’d get on my knees and worship her like she’s my religion. I’d make her come so hard she forgets her own damn name… if only she’d let me. 

He has to keep adjusting how he’s sitting, his jaw clenched and the vein in his neck pulsing, because he’s half-hard just by looking at you. 

Obsessively checks your socials but doesn’t follow you, but he does view every story  almost as soon as it’s posted. He finds an 8-second TikTok that your friend posted of you dancing at a party. He rewatches it like a million times, trying not to think about the throbbing in his groin. 

I imagine he finally breaks one day, literally begs you for a date. I mean, sex would be good, it would be great, but right now? PLEASE just pay attention to him.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐕𝐈𝐕 ༊*·˚

[thewinter-eden]

You Live Like This? - PT III

Series master list PART 2 INFO

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: home invader!Chris makes good on his promise to rob your ex to avenge your painful breakup, only to find that you're already there trying to collect your belongings. In order to keep your ex-bf from including you as an accomplice in his inevitable police report, you have to pretend you don't know the robber who keeps flirting with you. (plus like a lot more)

warnings: camping, murder, Ateez mentioned, mature

word count: ~5k

Eyes dragging slowly from your Chef Boyardees at the shocked voice breaking through your serenity, you find yourself staring squarely at Chris.

“No way!” His mouth is hanging wide open, his hands full of grocery bags stuffed with garbage. “What are you doing here?”

The ravioli tastes like dirt in your mouth. “Chris?” You swallow your bite and blink at him in disbelief.

How is it that you drive three hundred miles away from home and the first person you speak to is the very man you’ve been trying to leave behind?

Why is your life a sucky sitcom?

He throws the bags down on the picnic table that belongs to the campground and moves towards you, your name an excited chuckle on his lips. “I can’t believe it’s you! How have you been?”

You lean back in your fabric chair to create the slightest bit of distance. “Why are you here? Are you following me? What the hell, Chris?”

He shakes his head quickly, a toothy grin slicing across his face. “No, no, me and some buddies are headed to a concert. It’s a whole thing. What about you? Why are you here?”

At your responding blank stare, realization dawns on his face. “No way, are you going to the concert too? Ateez?”

How are you supposed to stop fantasizing about this handsome deviant if he’s going to follow you all the way across the country? “Tell me you didn’t use—”

“ShowTripper? Damn right we did, that shit is awesome.” He drops into a crouch in front of you and takes in your choice of dinner.

Saucy ravioli served on blue and white speckled enamelware doesn’t seem to be his idea of proper camping cuisine. “That looks…hey, do you wanna eat with us? We’ve got burgers over there.”

You cannot be sucked into this man’s magnetic charm again. This can’t be happening.

There’s no way you’re going to spend nearly a week camping next to Chris, letting him play with your heart without even realizing it, only to go back home and have to forget about him all over again.

You drop your eyes firmly to your plate. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Chris is quiet for a minute, absorbing your shuttered demeanor, easily reading between the lines of your polite dismissal. “Alright, sure. We’re right next to you, so feel free to come over if you need anything.” When his offer is received by only a short nod, he takes in a breath. “Hey,” patting your knee lightly as he stands, he flashes you a dimpled smile. “It’s great to see you.”

“Channie Hyung!” The voice comes from the other campsite, and then a young man appears, eyes alighting on Chris with a flash of recognition. “Hey, hyung, burgers are ready. Stop bothering the neighbors for scraps.”

Your gaze snaps between the new guy and Chris, who is apparently known to his friends as Channie.

He rubs his neck with an awkward chuckle. “Yeah, Chris is my birth name, but I go by Chan. I actually prefer it, so…” he drifts off when he realizes that you’re not really listening. “Okay, I’ll head back to my guys. I’ll be seeing you.”

Chan backs away from you, collecting his trash bags again. “Stay safe tonight, okay?”

You have nothing to say.

Your perfect roadtrip has just turned into an emotional bear trap.

As he disappears behind the trees to rejoin his group, you’re assessing your site. Maybe you should call it quits.

You can spend the night and then pack it all up and head back home, chalk the whole thing up as an epic failure.

It’s bound to happen at some point in your adventures. It would be no great loss to abandon this one and try again some other time.

Except that you’ve been so excited about this concert. And you’ve already sunk so much money into this trip.

Are you really gonna let one guy ruin this for you?

Are you really so incapable of just setting boundaries and refusing to be drawn in, and enjoy this trip for what it’s supposed to be?

No.

This is your adventure.

Your first big venture into the unknown by yourself, and you plan on facing all the obstacles and hurdles head on. You can’t just give up when it gets sticky.

Scraping the rest of your dinner into the embers of your fire, you snatch up your overnight bag and head to the showers.

Chris—or Chan—isn’t going to derail your life.

Not this time.

Mornings are the best part of camping. The smell of the sun hitting your tent, the rush of cool air that washes over your face when you first unzip the flap, the fresh atmosphere of a chilly morning and nature all around—nothing beats it.

Not even the nighttime campfire under the starry sky comes close to the feeling you get when you first pour your percolated coffee and sit huddled in the opening of your tent, burrowed into a warm hoodie and listening to the bird song.

You thought nothing could ruin it.

“Good morning, neighbor!”

You were wrong.

Chan shuffles over to your campsite in a pair of oversized sweats, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his hood bunched thickly around his neck, hair mussed from sleep. You hate—hate—how cute he looks like this.

He does not look like the missing piece from your perfect campsite.

He does not look like a soft and cuddly companion who should squeeze into the doorway next to you and wrap the other corner of your blanket over his shoulders.

What he does look like is the fucking home invader who inadvertently, or carelessly, played with your heart like a soccer ball.

“Good morning, Chan.” You mutter, hearing your voice come out throaty and cold. You need more coffee.

He offers a smile that scrunches his eyes and pauses to yawn, rubbing his face tiredly. “God, I got the best sleep last night, how about you?”

You shrug.

Your sleep had been fine—cozy, even, but you don’t need to be volunteering information to him while you’re trying to keep him at arm’s length.

“Woke up to the smell of coffee only to find out that Minho hasn’t even started making ours yet.” He gives you a significantly pitiful look. “I will pay you for a cup.”

“You told me you don’t like coffee.” You deadpan, remembering the hot tea that he had purchased on your coffee date. Whatever game he’s playing now, he can take it to some other poor sucker.

His expression freezes, like he can’t believe you remembered a detail from so long ago, and then his hand lifts to rub at the back of his neck again. It seems to be a habit of his, you’re noticing. “Alright, you got me. It does smell good, though. I just wanted to say hey.”

“Hey.”

He sighs, bunching his shoulders under his ears, and slides his hands back into his pockets. “Look, I get it if this is weird. We didn’t exactly have a conventional introduction. I get that. I get that you know things about me that you probably wish you didn’t—or that you know things about me that legally speaking are undesirable. But you’re a friendly, familiar face, and I think we could have a lot of fun doing this crazy roadtrip together. If you don’t want to be friendly, that’s fine. I’m just saying I would enjoy it if we shared this experience.”

His words roll around in your head with equal displeasure and desire.

It would be fun to be friendly and have camping neighbors, if he wasn’t a criminal.

It would be reassuring to know that if something went wrong, there would be someone you could ask for help, if he wasn’t a criminal.

It would even be enjoyable to convoy-camp all the way across the country, if you didn’t know that you’re likely to never see him again.

How nice for him that he would enjoy this experience with you, and then just run off and forget about you when it suits him.

“I don’t know, Chan.” You grumble into your cup. He’s ruining your coffee. He’s ruining your perfect morning with his stupid cute smile and his stupid cute sleep-mussed hair. “You’re not exactly good company.”

Hooray for you, sticking to your guns.

He clutches at his chest. “Ouch. And I thought our date went so well.”

Fuck him.

Fuck him for that.

How dare he bring that up, like it was last week? Like there’s still time for him to arrange another after an appropriate waiting period?

You quirk an eyebrow at him, soothing the indignant rage in your chest. “If it went so well why was it the only one?”

Chan doesn’t answer, hand slowly falling back to his side.

The satisfaction of earning that wounded expression is delicious.

You shake your head. “I think we should keep to our own sites and mind our own business. It was nice to see you, Chris, but you and I shouldn’t be friends.”

Besides your feelings, the warring hurt and attraction, it’s just not smart.

You can’t be friends with someone who breaks into people’s houses and threatens them—albeit emptily—with weapons. You can’t be friends with someone who looks like him. You can’t be friends with someone who talks to you like you’re the only person on the planet one second and then forgets you exist the next.

Not when your eyes keep searching for him, and your heart keeps laying down the welcome mat for him.

He’s too dangerous.

Disappointment furrows his brow, chin tucked to his chest. “You thought the date went well, too, didn’t you?”

Fuck him all over again.

You should say no. You should lie.

You should tell him that it was just another entry in the long list of bad first dates that you don’t care to remember. Give him a taste of his own bitter medicine. “Yeah. I thought it went really well.” You should listen to yourself when you’re trying to make smart decisions.

Hope flickers across his face. “Look, I’m not asking for a summer romance.” His tongue traces playfully along his bottom lip. “I just think it could be fun if we could be friends.”

You know your feelings for him aren’t friendly, that letting him in again will sink you right back into that hole of heartbreak.

You take a moment to inhale the nutty steam of your coffee. As you hear his site start to fill with noise as his companions wake up and start getting around, smelling the crackling bacon that someone is cooking, your eyes shift in the direction of his camp. “Do your friends know what you do in your downtime?”

Chan shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “No,” he says quietly. “Obviously I would prefer it if they didn’t know.”

“Your extracurricular activities aren’t just a scandalous hobby, you know. They’re serious. You have a harmful affect on people’s lives.”

He has the grace to look appropriately abashed, glancing down at his sneakers as your judgment strikes him. “Yeah, I know.”

This can’t be the first time he’s thought about this. He has to know that what he does hurts people; scares people. You can’t even trust this show of penitence that he’s giving you—because how could he do what he does without being apathetic about what it means for his victims?

“What do you expect me to say? Pull up a chair? Warm yourself by my fire and regale me with stories of helpless, frightened people whom you’ve terrorized? How did you expect this to go?” Your voice is steady, strong, betraying nothing of the warmth you’d felt towards him because he’d chosen to show you mercy.

His mouth falls open, struggling for words and stunned at your cruel appraisal. After a moment, he glances at the sky and sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t hurt people. And, if it makes any difference, I haven’t done…that in a long time. Not since I finally got my job. I was taking from people who could afford it, because I couldn’t afford anything. It wasn’t for shits and giggles. I slept in my car, and most days I didn’t eat. I did it because I thought I had to. But I don’t anymore.”

A pang of sympathy hits you like a crowbar prying up an edge of your armor, understanding of a situation like that softening your contempt.

If what he’s telling you is true, you can’t assume he had good choices to select from. You can’t assume he had friends and family to fall back on, like you did.

“I’m glad you got a job that’s working for you.” You say quietly, and it’s almost an open door.

He relaxes just slightly. “Thanks.”

You roll your shoulders back with a sigh. Assessing him once again, considering the possibilities, you find it in yourself to afford him the benefit of the doubt.

You don’t have to somehow become accountable for his life, or commit to being there for him in any long term capacity, not when he almost certainly won’t commit to you, but it doesn’t seem like being friendly for the duration of this trip would be harmful.

As long as you’re careful with your heart and stop yourself from holding it out to him every time he gives you that dimpled smile, it should be safe to at least be neighborly.

“Friendly,” you finally acquiesce, the word spoken into your coffee cup. “Just for this trip.”

He beams at you, eyes disappearing behind the magnitude of his grin.

He doesn’t like coffee, as you remember correctly—because of course you do; he asked you out for coffee and then informed you he doesn’t even like it after you got there—so you don’t have anything to offer him.

The things that you brought are only your favorite things that you couldn’t comfortably afford before, and tea only reminds you of the cheap alternative you had put up with while trying to live inexpensively.

But you gesture to your little camp chair, indicating for him to sit.

It’s better than nothing, especially when you would be perfectly happy to send him on his way and try to forget about him all over again.

He hurries to sit, eyeing the bike lock that has your table, chair, and tent all lashed together. “Wow, you’re really locked down over here.”

“It’s so you don’t steal it.” You snap back instantly, almost regretting the sheepish smile on his face that doesn’t look humored at all.

He looks the same as he did all those months ago—hair a little bit longer and clothes more casual than you’d seen before, but otherwise the same. You can tell how successful his efforts have been towards his personal training dreams, from the thick muscles peeking out around the neck of his hoodie to the strong vascularity of his hands as he rubs his knees awkwardly.

“So, you got the job you wanted.” You break the silence flatly, your face still covered by your cup. Sitting with him, conflicted by feelings of rebellious attraction and discomforted hurt over his gradual disappearance from your life, you know your cheeks are heating with color. If you’re lucky, he’ll attribute the flush to the direct contact of the steam from your coffee.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. The tone you hit him with has him on edge, and even if he can’t see inside your head, even if he doesn’t know how often he’d been in your thoughts and dreams for the past few months, he knows there was a disconnect somewhere that you don’t understand.

“Yeah.” Chan ducks his head to dodge the harshness of your gaze. “Yeah, I got all certified and did a few apprenticeships with some mentors, just for credibility, and now I’ve got a gig at one of my local gyms.”

You got your career. He got his.

Things have changed for both of you since the last time you both saw each other, destitute and scraping the bottom of the barrel.

“That’s great.” No matter how hard you try to be neutral, to allow the conversation to start fresh without the weight of the past six months hanging off of it, your voice keeps coming out hard and sharp. “Seems like you really worked hard for it.”

His lips purse thoughtfully, hearing the sound of you more so than the words you’re saying. “I would have asked you out again.” He says softly, tipping his head to stare down at his sweats again. “I know you’re probably thinking this is weird, that I’ve been inconsistent.” His fingertips rub the outline of his phone in his pocket.

Your response comes before you even realize you’d thought of it. “I think it’s weird that you keep coming to my campsite when it’s impossible to hold a conversation with you over the phone.”

He physically winces at the words. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Coffee heats your throat and stomach as it goes down, distracting you from the tight clench of bitterness that’s been calcifying in your chest. Instead of totally ignoring the part of you that demands a reckoning, you set your cup back down on your knees and frown at him. “Why are you here? You clearly don’t give a shit—from that stupid thumbs-up after youinvited me to text you, to that stupid coffee date that you obviously prefer to pretend never happened, to all of your non-starter ‘hey what’s up’ texts that don’t go anywhere—I don’t think it’s cute. I don’t want to play games. You’ve been wasting my time from the start. If you can’t be real for five minutes, then just go. I’m not interested in whatever you think this is.”

His mouth falls open, searching for an answer but not finding one.

You throw the rest of your coffee into the dirt, mood effectively ruined.

You need to focus on getting on the road, and forget about his corrosive presence on this trip. Turning to find your overnight bag, you rifle through it for your next change of clothes.

“I’m not good for you.”

Your hands freeze in your bag.

You can’t see him, not the way you’re halfway in your tent, but his voice pierces the polyester like there’s nothing between you.

“As soon as you sent me that first text, I knew I was in more trouble than I realized, and I knew I had to step back. I’m not good for you. Every time I wanted to reach out to you, I just remembered that I’ve got all this shit behind me that could fuck up your life even more than you were already dealing with, and I…” he pauses, a low breath whistling past his lips. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

You don’t try to look at him yet. “Then why respond at all? You could have just disappeared and pretended you never met me. Why would you keep digging it all back up the moment we were silent long enough to put it behind us?”

Chan laughs shortly, and you hear your chair creak as he moves. “Couldn’t help myself?”

Finally leaning back through the open flap to meet his eyes, you watch an embarrassed flush seep into his cheeks. He’s being honest with you, finally. Raw and vulnerable, no sign of that cocky banter that had come as part of the armor he donned to break into people’s homes.

“I wanted to get to know you so badly that I would just…” His eyes roll to the sky like he can’t bear to hold your gaze, teeth flashing in an awkward smile. “I would text you and be waiting for your reply, and as soon as I hit send, I knew I shouldn’t have. It was a shitty thing to do, I know, to keep starting and stopping like that, and I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make an excuse, because nothing has changed—my past is still my past. But I just wanted you to know,” His chest swells with an anxious breath. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And I know I’m no good for you. But, shit, I really wish I was.”

You’re frozen, stuck staring at the way he’s watching his tennis shoes make footprints in the dirt, his words rolling around in your head like an avalanche of memories and emotions that now all look a little different than they once had.

How much time had you spent believing you were just some play thing to interrupt his occasional bouts of boredom? How long had you been resenting his non-commitment to you, despising the way that he refused to cut you loose?

Chan breaks the awkward silence with a quick hop out of the camp chair, stretching his arms over his head before tucking his hands firmly into his pockets and grinning down at you like he hadn’t just cracked open his chest and spilled his heart all over your shoes. “Wanna come over for breakfast or do you have some other canned atrocity to reheat? We’ve got bacon, eggs, and potatoes in the works over there.”

Your cautious frown turns disapproving. “I’m fine with my canned hash, thanks.”

He shrugs. “Suffer if you must, it’s your choice.”

“Go away, Chan.”

The second day of your roadtrip carries on without a hitch. You pack up your gear and get on the road before they do, having a smaller setup and remarkably fewer people in tow than Chan’s convoy situation.

You spend the first few hours getting back into the happy headspace of solo travel, blasting your music and setting your cruise control to highway speeds, immersing yourself in the passing scenery and the familiar notes of Ateez’s latest few albums.

They’ve caught up to you by the time you make your first pit stop. The gas station is calm and serene, welcoming you with a familiar chill and the smell of freshly mopped floors and bad coffee, until their vans roll up.

Eight guys spill out of two vehicles, making enough noise to pass through the glass windows of the convenience store. When you glance up from a shelf of electrolyte drinks, you see Chan and two other guys jogging towards the building.

A tense sigh heats your lips, battling the old exciting feelings that are dusting themselves off to sit, front and center, in the threads of your thoughts.

After the conversation this morning, Chan’s presence feels like even more of a question mark than it was before. Choosing to be mindful of his impact on someone’s life is an understandable reason to be distant. Even wanting to reach out to you enough that he did it multiple times against his better judgement, if what he told you is true, is understandable.

It might even be forgivable, if you can figure out how to stop aching when you remember how special he had made you feel and then concurrently completely irrelevant. Forgettable. You had felt forgettable.

It wasn’t even necessarily that it was Chan who forgot you, in your perception of the situation.

Just that another person in your life could forget about you so easily.

The confusion lies in how he left the conversation. The abrupt abandonment of his moment of vulnerability, telling you he’d believed he wasn’t good for you without giving any indication that his mind on that had changed.

It left you with the distinct impression that you’ll be preparing yourself to consider this trip your final encounter with him.

The bell above the door jingles as they enter in a rush of laughing voices, and then the two guys that you don’t know disappear towards the restrooms.

It takes only a minute of browsing the aisles before Chan spots you. “Hey,” he greets amiably, pulling open a refrigerator and loading himself down with enough drinks for all of his friends.

“Hey.” Glancing back out to the pumps, you find a few more cars pulling up, all filled to the brim with young adults. “Jesus, how many of you are there?”

He follows your gaze. “Only eight in my group, but there are a bunch of people on our route.” His eyes return to you. “There’s a forum on the app for people to connect. It looked like there were like thirty of us. We met some of them last night, too.”

You have no intention of turning this adventure into some kind of congregational event, so the thought of sticking around to meet all the people who think they’re all in this together makes you anxious. “That’s a lot.”

The apprehension must show in your face, because Chan steps closer to you. “It’s not as crazy as it sounds. Nobody has to connect if they don’t want to. It’s not like we booked one giant tent and started a traveling commune.”

You grab a few snack foods and move in the direction of the register. “The moment I see someone throw up a tabernacle, I’m out of here.”

He snorts, following you to the checkout.

An electrolyte drink and two protein bars of dubious consistency drop onto the counter. The cashier flashes you a sweet smile, scanning the items with quick movements. “Camping trip?” He guesses astutely.

You take inventory of your choices again, searching for whatever it was that gave him the impression that you’re roughing it in the wild. “I’m sorry?”

He laughs lightly, nodding out the window to your car. “I saw the tent in your back window. You’re headed for Hydrangea Falls?”

Once again, you’re left blinking at him.

He may have seen your supplies, but none of them should have led him to correctly guessing your next campsite, which is still at least two hundred miles down the road. Even so, you’re not eager to confirm the destination where you’ll be sleeping alone in the open tonight. “Sorry, I don’t—”

He shakes his head and gestures for you to tap your card on the reader. “I’m not trying to freak you out. Everyone who comes through here with camping shit is going there. It’s kind of famous.”

This is new information to you. “Is it?”

The cashier points to something behind you, and you turn to see an entire rack of pamphlets and souvenirs for Hydrangea Falls campground. “Super popular among the ghost hunting crowd. Total tourist trap. You’re going to see the stairs?”

You keep waiting for enlightenment to strike you at some point in this conversation, where you won’t be left completely baffled by everything this stranger says to you, but you’re just staring at him. “The stairs?”

Chan sidles up behind you, a ridiculous amount of drinks and snacks cradled in his arms. Catching your eye, he throws you a clueless shrug and nods to the cashier. “We’re not up on the reputation of the place, I guess.” He tells the employee with a friendly laugh. “What’s the deal with the stairs?”

The cashier glances from you to Chan, his charming smile thinning. “The campground is famous for the Kingston Steps. It’s just a bunch of ruins—used to be an old mansion, but the only thing standing now is the stone staircase. It’s accumulated a crap ton of lore over the years; apparently the mansion was owned by this guy Kingston, who used to lure travelers into his home for a hot dinner back in the 1800s. They say he would convince them to spend the night and trap them in the rooms upstairs and keep them there until they died. Now, the lore is that if you go up to the top of the steps, you’ll be cursed by Kingston forever. Doomed to die bloody, all that shit.”

Chan gives a low whistle, elbowing you lightly. “You couldn’t have picked a better romantic getaway, babe—now we’re gonna be cursed.”

Your poor brain is staggering with whiplash, still processing the outlandish ghost story and now reeling with the absurd insinuation that Chan has spread before you with the ease of laying out a picnic blanket. When your eyes snap to the cashier, scrambling for a way to either collect your things and run, or debunk Chan’s implication, you find that his smile has gone completely tense.

He bags your items and pushes them across the counter to you with a tight flash of his teeth. “It’s just fodder for the morbid fanatics. Are you guys together?”

Chan beams innocently. “Just married, actually.”

Your brain explodes. No hope of pulling together enough comprehensible words in a sentence to refute such a thing.

The cashier’s jaw clenches. “I meant are you paying together.”

That’s your exit. You snatch up your bag and wheel away from Chan’s raucous, mock embarrassed laughter.

“Oh! No, I’m paying for this stash here.”

You’re moments away from freedom when a hand grabs your arm.

“I saw your car outside.”

This trip is going to kill you.

When you turn around to face the familiar voice, your gaze bypasses the almost accusing expression on your ex boyfriend’s face and find Chan frozen behind him, eyes wide.

Shit.

If Woosung recognizes Chan, you’ll both be in trouble. Not only will he try to haul Chan to the closest police station, but he’ll know that you were somehow an accomplice to the burglary that relieved him of all of his favorite things.

You back up, closer to the door, creating distance between your ex and Chan. “What are you doing here?” You return just as sharply.

He hooks a thumb at someone behind him. “My girlfriend dragged me into going to some concert. That group that you always used to listen to.” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at you. “Wait, you’re going too, aren’t you?” He breaks off with a laugh. “But I had to see you for myself. You, driving and camping. Give me a break.”

Unwilling to stand here and be ridiculed by someone you’ve already cut off, you yank your arm out of his grasp and shoot a searching gaze around for his new girlfriend. “Drive safe, Woosung.” You don’t see her.

It doesn’t matter.

You leave the store and get back in your car, squeaking out of the parking lot with derision swirling in your gut.

to be continued

< last part

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