#I poured my heart to you and you just said you didn’t know what to say

[juyeoz]

GOOD GRACES — YANG JUNGWON

45 ┆Oh. (0.5k words)

Honestly, you were confused as to why Wonyoung dragged you to the club room without any explanation. She even left you there, saying that she would be back to let you out.

Did you do something bad to deserve a time out from your previous club president?

You had so many questions to ask her when she returned.

On the other hand, Jungwon was nervous. What if you didn’t see him the same way? Him and Wonyoung had spoken about confessing to you when the two hung out, but he was unsure.

He couldn’t tell the boys either. They would tease him too much before offering him any help.

The ding from his phone gained his attention, making his over consuming thoughts disappear. It was from Wonyoung. Her message read the words, ‘coast is clear’, with a thumbs up and grinning emoji. 

Reality was now sinking in. Yang Jungwon was going to confess to the girl he liked. Something he had never experienced before. 

He rummaged in his pocket for the key to the club room and inserted it into the lock. 

“Jungwon?” You called, turning around to look at him. He was barely visible in your vision. The club room was dimmed due to the inactivity of the space. 

“Hey,” he greeted with a bashful smile. You examined his figure, taking note of how blonde his hair appeared and how his hands remained behind him.

“Oh, here.” He said while handing you a bouquet of daisies.

“I didn’t know what flowers you liked… I just went off of what you posted recently.” 

“What’s going on?” You asked, confused. It was a valid reaction. One, you were randomly brought to the club room you rarely visited ever since you began helping the yearbook club, and two, the boy who you thought liked another girl was currently handing you flowers.

What the hell was happening?

You looked at him with furrowed brows as his eyes stared into yours. He seemed hesitant and nervous. 

“Jungwon,” you began, about to ask him the same question from before.

“What’s—”

“I like you.” He interrupted, leaving you stunned.

“I truly do like you and get all flustered when we’re close to each other. It’s kind of bad, but I’m not ashamed of it. You’re genuinely an amazing person and I failed to realize it for the last three years. Instead, I shielded your true self with the one I made up in my head after we got off on the wrong foot.” Jungwon explained.

You paused as Jungwon watched you for any signs of emotion. However, worry washed over him in an instant. You stayed silent longer than Jungwon expected you to. What if you didn’t see him the same way and he had poured his heart out to you for nothing?

What if you were going to humiliate him after all of this?

“Sorry I—”

“What about Wonyoung? You don’t like her?” You asked, cutting him off while feeling all flustered and confused.

“What—No, of course not. Why would I?” His brows furrowed in confusion. What were you talking about?

“You two were always together and got pretty close to each other recently…”

“Would you believe it if I said she was helping me with my feelings this whole time? She found out because of the video I sent her of the arts night event… It was kind of embarrassing, but luckily it brought me here.”

“Oh.”

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

NOTE — me and those Oh. endings LMAOO

ENHYPEN PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @macapunoz @ch4c0nnenh4 @ancnymcnzjy

GOOD GRACES TAGLIST — @anuisamazing @garrdenwon @dreamiestay @starfallia @mrchweeee @mymelodyfanatic @getoxo @jiamini @imnotyizhuo @heartheejake @wonlluvie @theothernads @yvjw @riribelle @winuvs @shotaddicted @hollxe1 @pinknjm @en-dream @elegancefr @wensurr @enhaz1 @r1kification @sunghxxnie @unhakki @hoonieluv @veilico @ddolleri @ahnneyong @stvrriki @domfikeluva @mensisim @tasnemluvs @httpenhoon @sch1z0prenic @kazemiya @rairaiblog @enhypenlovre @starry-eyed-bimbo @cupidhoons @miyawwn @siekksjs @wonfused @renjuneoo @wildtigerlili @nishiriks @letwiiparkjay

© JUYEOZ

[meekydeeks]

2 hands

over it

before the album drop

when nagi drove to your house he didn’t know what to expect, what he certainly did not expect was for you to have your whole room set up.

fairy lights, projector, beanbags you name it, anything you could think of for a comfortable night in you had it.

“i thought maybe we could do face masks, order food and watch a movie?” he doesn’t know why you’re making it sound like a question, anything you want to do he’s down for.

“yeah, sure” he went to sit down onto one of the beanbags after leaving his shoes on your stand.

“ah ah ah, before you sit down i have something for you to change into” you handed him and bag with pink hello kitty pyjama bottoms to match your own.

“if you say so princess” he left to change into the pyjamas you gave him. when he’s done he settles onto the beanbag next to where your sat. “now what do you want to eat?”

just as neyo is closing the movie with never knew i needed, nagi turns to you, analysing the calm look on your face. the calm before the storm.

“are you ready?” your album was about to drop any minute and you had done nothing to promote it, nothing other than the vague time that you posted on twitter. you weren’t even dropping it at the time you said, you were a mystery.

“i mean this will be the first album that i’ve ever released so i’m a little scared, but i poured my heart into it and that all i can do right?” she finally directs her attention from the screen to look at him.

“you’ve got nothing to be worried about, you worked really hard and the album is amazing”

“thank you sei” you stared at him with those big brown eyes he adores so much, he could only hope that you couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest.

you curled into his side before pickering the next movie, “we’re watching brandy’s cinderella.”

“never seen it” he mumbles as he throws his arm around your shoulder, allowing you to sink into his side.

“oh you are in for a treat”

album drop | post album drop

masterlist

extras 𓂃𓈒𓍼ོ𓂃𓈒

as soon as you posted your tweets you switched your phone on silent

nagi didn’t want to be the one to ask but your hangouts are seeming like dates more and more each time you spend time together

all the songs listen on the fake album are in the spotify playlist

you like nagi and you like spending time with him, are you going to admit that to anyone? no

you and sae have been broken up for a while now, he’s not dating but still sleeping with your ex best friend

iwant to say about 9 months has passed since you met nagi

40 chapters is a rough estimate, ididn’t have a story line in the beginning but now i’ve got some idea about how this is going it might not be 40 chapters

icouldn’t figure out the fake spotify thing lol but itried

taglist: @starssfall @chokifandom @syarc0re @hanadulsetaad @ravenbc @aerisevx @tojirin @lorisheaven @star-is-crying

[365emotionlessfaces]

@schemmentits

The Aspiring Teachers Program

Part 8 WC:~1.9k

When lunchtime came, Melissa was glad to see she had made it to the break room before you. She took the opportunity to warm up your food for you, knowing she’d get to see your smile again. After the morning she had with her little eagles, she would be considering retiring to the Bahamas, except you were here.

She had just sat down with her own plate of food when you came through the door. Melissa could tell the exact moment you smelled the food on the table, as you broke out into a huge grin and made a beeline for the table. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach. That happened all the time with you, so she was getting good at ignoring them. Melissa let you take a few bites before she asked about your plans for the Franklin Institute. She dug into her ziti, as both you and Barb took your turns excitedly chatting about your plans for the night. Of course, Melissa took her turn, telling her friends the parts she was looking forward to most.

Just as Melissa finished, Jacob came running in the door, clinging to a piece of paper like it had just saved him from drowning in the Delaware. Janine piped up from the couch. Melissa hadn’t even seen her come in.

“What’s that?”

When he revealed that he was holding an invitation to the Aspiring Teachers Program, Melissa felt her entire body tense up. It had been years since she had attended, but Barb was the only other teacher Melissa had heard talk about the Program throughout that entire time. Apparently, Barb hadn’t heard about it much either because she seemed surprised that the Program was still running.

“I did that once. Worst week of my life,” Melissa thought back to her week in the Program. She thought about that week more than she liked to. Was this a sign she shouldn’t let go of Parent Trap? As Melissa was replaying that night in her mind, the night she broke two hearts, she heard you say that you had been in the Program, and that it had actually done what it was supposed to and inspired her to teach. ‘Lucky for her,’ Melissa thought, genuinely happy that you had a good experience.

Jacob mentioned that it was in Boston this year, and then revealed that he hadn’t read the entire paper by exclaiming confidently, “I’ve never been to Boston in the fall.” Melissa smirked as you corrected him about what time of year it took place in. When he had actually read the paper, he said something about a great opportunity for diversity, and Melissa just rolled her eyes.

Janine piped up again, looking directly at you, “Wait, isn’t that where you met that-”

Poor girl didn’t even get to finish her sentence before you interrupted. “Wonderful teacher who inspired me to follow my dream of inspiring children to learn? Yep, that’s the place!”

Yeah, because that wasn’t suspicious. Melissa gave you an inquisitive look, and she noticed that Barb was giving you a similar one. She also noticed that you didn’t notice either of them because you were too busy having a conversation with Janine through your eyes.

She and Barb decided not to press the issue, so the room turned to discussions of the rest of the day, field trip included. The rest of lunch flew by, and before Melissa knew it, it was time to teach once again.

“This was the best tasting ziti I’ve had in my entire life! You just keep getting better!” Melissa loved when you complimented her food. It made her weak in the knees. Good thing she was still sitting down.

“You say that every time. I think you lying,” Melissa turned to see Mr. Johnson, who had just finished pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Nope, Mr. J, she just keeps outdoing herself,” you replied to the janitor. Melissa found it extremely difficult to ignore the butterflies anymore, and she couldn’t help the blush rising to her face.

Melissa fought the urge to just tell you how she felt right then and there. Instead, she just smiled and managed to say, “Thanks, hon.”

“Of course! I wouldn’t lie about something so important.” Melissa’s smile broke into an all out cheesy grin. Whether or not you were joking, the idea that anything Melissa did was important to you made her feel all bubbly inside, and she just couldn’t help the big ol’ grin on her face. She watched as you finished cleaning up your spot at the table, and said goodbye to everyone. The redhead’s smile lasted long after she had returned to her classroom for the day.

Melissa didn’t see you again until everyone was boarding the buses. She was so busy getting a headcount that she had forgotten to try and get the seat next to you. By the time she was sure she had all of her little eagles accounted for, you were already sitting with a student. Melissa thought she might be able to sit at least in your vicinity, but one glance showed no available seats except the very front row.

Melissa watched as you talked animatedly with Janine and the students beside you, and took her seat. She attempted to read some of the book she had stashed in her purse, but it proved to be a fruitless labor. The children surrounding her interrupted every other sentence. After a whole three minutes of that, Melissa put the book away and decided to just entertain the children.

The Institute was as fun as Melissa remembered. She’s always down to learn something new about her hometown, okay, just not from some clown who’s not even from Philly. The girl was from New York, for Christ’s sake! Melissa was so frustrated by the fact that this girl from New York was the volunteer guide-‘they’re gettin’ what they paid for, if ya ask me’- that she was focusing like a hawk, paying attention to every word that came out of the girl’s mouth, waiting for her to slip up so she could prove she’s a big phony.

Despite Melissa being so zeroed in with the guide all day, she made sure she was never far enough away from you that she couldn’t see you. She looked over to where you had already laid down your blankets and saw a few children trying to lay practically right on top of you. They were surrounding you, each one trying to get closer than the last it seemed. Sleeping bag in hand, Melissa made her way to you, and when she got close enough, she heard a child whine, “But I wanna sleep next to her!”

She took her opportunity. “Jokes on youse guys. I get that spot,” she said, shooing the children so they would make room. She tossed her sleeping bag on the floor and glanced at you. You had turned to hug a kid who was crying because he couldn’t sleep right beside you. Melissa couldn’t help smiling at how sweet you always were with the kids.

She laid down, laying on her side to face you, and propped her head up in her hand. After you had mirrored her, facing her and propping your own head up, Melissa had to tell you all about the New York girl trying to teach her something about Philly, to which you just smiled at her, before sharing your own excitement from the day. She loved how your eyes shined when you talked about things that excited you, and she couldn’t help but give you a big smile of her own as she listened to you talk.

She was ready to kill the alien that tore her away from you.

A kid had screamed loudly, claiming an alien was here, and the rest of the kids went berserk. Melissa had never seen a group of children disperse so quickly, especially not a group of this size, so she shot up and immediately began trying to reign some of the little humans in. It took almost a half hour, but with all of the teachers from Abbott working together, they got the kids resettled. Melissa thought things were returning to normal, when Gregory came rushing up to you, admitting that he couldn’t find one of his students.

This wasn’t Melissa or Barb’s first rodeo- although it was the first time Barb had been compared to an alien- so they took charge of the situation. They split everyone into pairs, except for Ava who went off to get her eleven hours of sleep, and sent them to different floors to cover the entire Institute. Barb and Melissa went downstairs to search, leaving the younger teachers to search the upper floors.

Barb seemed to think it was the proper time to bug Melissa with more questions about her love life. “You know you can’t have them both, right?” The woman had started.

“What’re ya talkin’ about?” Melissa already knew what Barb meant, but she’d be damned if she gave in to Barb so easily.

“You know exactly what I am talking about. That girl upstairs and the girl from Chicago,” Barb pushed.

“She's not from- Look, I know,” Melissa sighed. “I thought I was ready to- I thought I could move on, but then Jacob this mornin’ with the paper from the Program. What if it was a sign that I shouldn’t let her go?”

“Melissa Ann Schemmenti, you are my dearest friend, and because of that I cannot lie to you. Let. Her. Go. You didn’t even tell the young girl your name, and I’ve only ever heard you refer to her as Parent Trap. Do you even remember her name? How would you know if you found her? You think she carries around your stuffed toy everywhere she goes, on the off chance that she’ll see you, recognize you after all these years, and leap into your arms to ride off into the sunset together?”

“Well, when you say it like that…” Melissa couldn’t look the other woman in the eye. She knew that holding out hope that the young girl would waltz right back into her life one day was fruitless. Some fever dream, but God did she want it so bad.

Then there was you. The woman who took Melissa’s life and flipped it on its head. The woman who had been right by her side for the last two years. The woman who made Melissa smile so much that she might start losing her rough and tough reputation.

Melissa knew what she had to do. She and Barb finished checking all the rooms, and once they confirmed Jamir wasn’t on the first floor, they made their way back to their fellow teachers. As they walked down the hall towards the group, Melissa quietly admitted to Barb some of the thoughts going on in her head, and the plan to tell you how she felt about you.

As they approached, Melissa’s eyes were glued to you until she felt Barb’s hand suddenly grab her wrist. She looked up to see Barb more shocked than Melissa had ever seen the woman. It was like Jesus had appeared in the hall of the Franklin Institute. When Melissa followed her friend’s line of sight, her uninhibited hand flew to clutch Barb’s upper arm.

“Is that-” Barb asked as quietly as she could.

“Ronny,” Melissa whispered, not necessarily in response, more so in shock, but she had answered Barb’s question, nonetheless.

Part Nine

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

you sighed, head resting against satoru’s shoulder as you cuddled on the couch. you gestured animatedly with your hands as you vented, “and then mika just swooped in and acted like she did everything. i didn’t even get a chance to explain because everyone was too busy praising her. it was so annoying—”

“kiss me.”

your head snapped up, and you pulled away slightly, sitting upright to glare at him. “what?”

“I said, kiss me,” he repeated with a smirk, tilting his head back against the couch as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

your pout was immediate, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “you weren’t even listening, were you? here I am, opening up about something that really bothers me, and all you—”

satoru reached out, catching your wrist and gently tugging you back into his arms. you landed against his chest with a small huff, cheeks still puffed out in frustration.

“i was listening,” he murmured, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. “you stayed up late working on the project, skipped dinner, and poured your heart into it. then your professor barely acknowledged you, and that girl—what’s her name? mika— took credit for everything. now you’re mad because no one noticed how much effort you put in.”

your body went still, wide eyes staring up at him in surprise. “you… you really heard all of that?”

“every word,” satoru said, his lips brushing lightly against your temple. “now, can I please have my kiss?”

you bit your lip, the corners of your mouth twitching as a smile began to form. with a quiet laugh, you tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “you’re such a pain, you know that?”

“yeah, yeah.” he smirked, cupping your cheek. “now stop stalling.”

this time, you leaned in willingly, lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss.

[chastiefoul]

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

“hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive  you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

@errorunfound1

Yandere!neglectful!Batfam x mom!reader

Wayne Manor had always felt vast, but to you, it was more of a void than a home. It was easy to get lost in its endless hallways, in the constant hum of life orbiting Bruce’s nocturnal mission. You married him for love, despite knowing the weight of the life he led. You accepted his scars, his mission, his world. But what you hadn’t expected was how little space there would be left for you in it.

Bruce was always out, chasing shadows, leaving you to navigate a family that seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length. You poured your heart into them—Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian—but your efforts were met with indifference at best and disdain at worst. You had been a mother in every way that mattered, yet the coldness you received in return made your heart ache.

“You don’t have to act like you care,” Jason sneered once when you tried to patch him up after patrol. “We both know you’re just here for him.”

Tim barely acknowledged you unless it was necessary, his head buried in his work. Dick’s smiles, once genuine, now felt like politeness masking discomfort. And Damian, always the sharpest, had no qualms about cutting you down. “You’re not my mother,” he’d said, his words a dagger that twisted in your chest.

Bruce never intervened. When you tried to tell him, his responses were dismissive. “They’ll come around,” he’d say before disappearing into the night. But they never did.

So, you stayed quiet, swallowing the hurt, letting it fester.

One night, you stood in the empty dining room, staring at the cold, untouched dinner you’d prepared. The clock ticked on the wall, counting the hours Bruce was late. Again. You could hear the faint hum of voices from the Batcave below, the family gathered around him while you sat alone.

It wasn’t anger that bubbled up this time. It was resignation.

You left that night, not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a simple bag and a note left on the kitchen counter.

“I love you, but I can’t keep losing myself in a family that doesn’t want me.”

The days without you passed unnoticed at first. Bruce buried himself in his work, assuming you needed time to cool off. The Batkids carried on as usual, their lives too busy to miss the quiet presence you’d once provided.

It was Alfred who noticed first—the meals left uneaten, the flowers on the windowsill wilting. “Sir,” he said carefully one evening, “she’s not coming back.”

Bruce stopped mid-step, his expression flickering. “She just needs time.”

But days turned into weeks, and the absence became impossible to ignore. The manor felt colder, emptier. Jason snapped more often, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation. Tim’s focus wavered, his mistakes piling up in a way they never had before. Damian trained harder, his strikes sharper, but there was a new tension in him, an unease he wouldn’t voice.

“She left us,” Damian said one night, his tone sharp but brittle. “That’s on her.”

“No,” Dick said quietly, guilt heavy in his voice. “It’s on us.”

Bruce found you three weeks later, living in a modest apartment far from the grandeur of Wayne Manor. The door was locked, but that had never been an obstacle for him. He let himself in, his imposing frame filling the doorway as you stood frozen in the kitchen.

“Bruce,” you said, your voice tight.

“Come home.” His tone was soft but firm, the same voice he used to give orders in the field.

Your laugh was bitter, hollow. “Home? That place hasn’t felt like home in years.”

His jaw tightened, the only sign of his frustration. “You belong there. With me. With them.”

“I belonged there once,” you said, your voice breaking. “But I spent years trying to love a family that couldn’t love me back. Do you even realize how much it hurt, Bruce? To be invisible in my own home?”

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I didn’t see it. I should have. But I’m here now.”

“Too late,” you whispered, tears spilling over.

But Bruce Wayne was not a man who gave up easily. His hand reached out, brushing against yours. “You think I’ll let you go that easily?” His voice dropped, a dangerous edge slipping into his tone. “You’re mine. You always have been.”

You pulled away, shaking your head. “You don’t love me, Bruce. You love control. You love having someone waiting for you. But I won’t be that person anymore.”

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought he might let you go. But Bruce was nothing if not persistent.

“You’re coming home,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding.

Before you could respond, his hand shot forward, pressing a syringe into your arm. The sharp sting was followed by a wave of dizziness, and your legs buckled.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your vision swimming as he caught you.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmured, his arms cradling you as darkness pulled you under.

(A/n: this is why I don't take money 😅 writing shi asf 😔🔥 chat did I cook or am I cooked?)

[zarameraki]

♡🍼₊˚・₊✧ 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸 ₊˚・🍼₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 toji loves boobs

: ̗̀➛ words: 982

: ̗̀➛ notes: this was requested by anon and i did post it through the ask but I wanted to post it separately hehe. ok enjoy

Toji had an outlandish kink. 

It developed shortly after you’d given birth. You didn’t understand why he’d stare at you as you breastfeed your child. Well, he mostly stared at your breasts in his classic Toji style. 

“What?” you bit out as he continuously watched you from the kitchen. You helped your baby latch onto your nipple and stared at your husband with a defiant look. “Oh, for God’s sake, Toji. Spit it out.” 

“I want a taste.” 

“Taste of what?” 

“What that little brat is drinking.” 

Your brows hit the roof of your hairline at his bizarre request. He couldn’t be—Wow, your husband had truly outdone himself in his kinks game. “Yeah, no fucking way. This milk is strictly for our child. If you’re so eager, open the fridge and pour yourself a cup. I’m pretty sure we’ve got cookies, too. But the oatmeal ones are mine—”

“I don’t give a fuck, doll. I wanna know what your milk tastes like.”

“Toji, are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not—You’re a grown ass man. I’m not going to, I don’t know, breastfeed you.” 

“I’m not asking you to breastfeed me. I only want a little taste. I’m fucking curious, sue me.” 

You scoffed, giving a small rock to your baby as he gargled and took small breaths in between the feeding. “Toji, I love you, and I love your abnormal requests during sex, but I’m not letting you taste my milk.” 

Toji stared at you with a frown. A puppy-dog frown that melted your heart and added cracks in your defenses. He lowered his eyes and resumed washing the dishes. “I only wanted a small taste,” he mumbled in the most adorable manner. 

Growling from your throat, you folded at his request. “Fine.” 

“Really?” 

“Just—Just give me a minute.” 

Toji abandoned the dishes and quickly sat next to you, ogling your breast. “What if he drinks you dry?” 

“What if you drink me dry?” 

“I don’t mind sharing. He’s my son, too.”  

You rolled your eyes and smiled down at your baby. After a few minutes of drinking, he unlatched his mouth and you handed him off to Toji to burp him. “Wait here. I’ll go use the suction pump—”

“Fuck no. I wanna drink it straight from the source.” 

You took in a deep, aggravated breath. “Fine, you dick. Put him to sleep and meet me back here.”

A tiny part of you was intrigued by Toji’s kink, but another was scared that he would drink you dry. The man was downright obsessed with breasts since the first night you slept together. During your pregnancy, he’d lay you back on his chest and massage them with scented oils, commenting how heavy they’d gotten. It was only a matter of time his curiosity regarding your chest would grow. 

You unhooked your nursing bra and placed it aside, laying down on the couch with a groan. Toji entered minutes later and immediately covered your body with his looming figure, giving you kisses across your face for being such a kind wife. “Whatever. Hurry up so I can eat something.” 

“I’ll cook,” he said, trailing kisses down to your neck and chest. “l’m gonna finger you, too, baby.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. 

Toji smiled and pushed his hands down your panties, parting your folds slowly growing wetter and wetter from his heated presence. He sought out your clit like the expert he was and rubbed it with gentle circles. Your lips parted with small, soft sounding sighs, fingers running through your hair and staying there. “That feels good, doll?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Yeah?” Toji pushed his middle and ring finger into your entrance. He began stimulating you with his quick thrusts. Your heels scraped up the couch’s surface, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip. 

Toji ran his coarse tongue over your right nipple. You glanced down at him and scoffed from his cheeky wink. He kissed the sensitive bud, then locked his mouth on it, pulling it in. You wrapped a leg around the back of his thighs, and your hands cupped the back of his head as he suckled on your nipple. He moaned and took laboured breaths from his nose, and when you glanced down, you found trickles of white liquid at the corner of his lips. 

“Toji, save some—”

He switched to your left nipple, leaving his fingers static inside your walls. He was too drunk on the taste of your breast milk to care about anything else. Your back arched from the sensation of him teething your nipple to produce more milk. Toji took his fingers out of your pussy and massaged your right breast. 

“Toji, that’s enough,” you breathed, using his hair to pull him away. Thankfully, he compiled and released your nipple with a pop sound, licking around his mouth to taste the last bits of your milk. “How was it?” 

Toji had to close his eyes and reel in a deep breath. “I’m gonna drink from these tits every night until they stop producing milk.” He gathered your breasts in both large palms and kissed the tips. “Gonna put a baby in you again so I don’t die of thirst.” 

You chuckled in disbelief and smacked his back. He stared lovingly at you and kissed your lips. You tasted nothing, really. “Mmm. You know, if you make me a big dinner afterwards, I’ll have more milk for our baby when he wakes up.” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“What I’m saying is, you big buffoon, that whatever is left over now, is yours—ah!” 

You clutched to the back of his hair as he started drinking again, pulling up to sit on his lap. His strong arms stayed wrapped around your waist, mouth glued to your sore, puffy nipple. 

Sighing, you smiled and kissed the top of his head. “You’re a kinky idiot, Toji Zenin.” 

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[d-z20]

More Than You Will Ever Know (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: For most of your time at college, you've been in a relationship with your sugar mommy, Agatha Harkness. Everything is going great except for the fact you are about to graduate and with that comes change

- OR -

What happens when you turn up at her door months later. It's sex, sex happens.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, sugar mommy Agatha with a few grey hairs 😍, sugar baby Reader, established dynamic, Mommy kink, strap riding (R recv), squirting, angst, a little hurt/comfort, both Agatha and Reader are switches, fingering (R recv), oral (both recv), multiple orgasms, soft aftercare

Words: 5.9k

A/N: This probably isn't the fic y'all were expecting when I said I was doing a sugar mommy Agatha post... but I hope you enjoy it anyway my lovelies ;) requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The restaurant you were at was one of those exclusive places with no menu—just a personal chef curating a bespoke experience, each dish a masterpiece plated with precision. You weren’t sure what half the things on your plate were, but Agatha, ever composed, swirled a glass of deep red wine and explained each one with a knowing smirk.

She sat across from you, effortlessly elegant in a dark silk blouse, her silver streaks catching in the dim candlelight. You’d barely sat down before she leaned forward, her fingers brushing over yours, and said, “You look stunning tonight, darling.”

You did, of course, because she’d made sure of it. The dress you wore—a sleek, custom-made piece in a colour that suited your skin perfectly—was her gift. She had it delivered earlier that day, instructing you to wear it to your graduation as well. “Something beautiful for someone extraordinary,” she had hummed as she held it up against your body, assessing the fit before insisting on getting it tailored just a little more.

Throughout dinner, she was her usual indulgent self, ordering the best of everything and ensuring you never had to lift a finger. When the waiter poured more champagne into your flute, she merely tilted her head with amusement and said, “We’re celebrating, aren’t we?”

And celebrate she did—showering you with praise between bites of delicacies, her voice rich with something dangerously close to pride.

“I always knew you could do it,” she said, her thumb lazily tracing the stem of her wine glass. “You’re brilliant, and I’ve seen it from the very beginning. Your mind—fuck, it’s a wonder and a privilege to witness. I hope you know that.”

Warmth spread through you, not just from the alcohol but from the way she looked at you—as if you were the only thing worth admiring in this whole damn place. You ducked your head, feeling the heat creep up your neck, but Agatha wasn’t having any of that. She reached across the table, tilting your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"None of that, baby," she chastised softly. "You’ve worked so hard, and now you're finally here. I am so proud of you."

Your heart squeezed, and before you could even form a response, she was placing a small velvet box in your hand. "Not yet," she hummed when you made to open it, her lips curling in amusement. "Save it for later."

You didn’t press, instead slipping the small box into your bag—another thing Agatha had insisted on buying for you.

And, in this moment, life was perfect.

—

Heat. Skin against skin. The soft rustle of silk sheets as your body moved against hers, your fingers digging into toned muscle. Agatha beneath you, her hands firm on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you, worshipping you in the way only she knew how. The air was thick with the smell of perfume and sex.

"You take me so well, baby," she rasped, her voice hoarse with want, nails dragging down your spine, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake.

Your head was spinning, pleasure pooling in your stomach, tightening unbearably. She always did this to you—reduced you to nothing but need, left you craving her touch even when she was already giving you everything. And right now, you could feel her inside you, the stretch of silicone filling you so perfectly it had you trembling, your body fluttering around the unyielding length with every slow, deliberate roll of your hips.

"Mommy," you mewled, your voice high and breathless, and Agatha groaned in response, her grip on you tightening.

"That’s right, baby," she purred, voice molten. "Come on, let me hear you. Let me feel you."

A desperate moan left your lips, your thighs shaking as she bucked up into you, her hands guiding your movements in a way that made you dizzy with need. Every stroke had you gasping, the friction deep and deliberate, hitting your g-spot over and over again. But it wasn’t just that—Agatha’s mouth was on you too, hot and wet, her lips closing around your nipple as she sucked, her tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, sending another sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"So fucking perfect," she praised, letting her fingers slide up to cup your jaw, tilting your head down until your lips were only a breath away. "You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you?"

"Y-Yes, Mommy," you gasped, barely coherent, but she swallowed your sounds with a kiss, deep and possessive.

The pressure coiled tighter, impossibly so, your body alight with sensation, every nerve ending sparking under her touch. You could feel another orgasm building, stealing the breath from your lungs, your nails sinking into her shoulders as you chased that final, devastating peak.

"That's it, my love," she groaned, her voice thick with satisfaction. "Cum for me, baby."

And you did. A shattered moan, body arching, the pleasure tearing through you like fire. The intensity was blinding, overwhelming; your entire body tensed, then gave way to the sheer force of your climax. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as the pleasure burst free, your thighs trembling violently as you soaked the strap buried deep inside you.

Agatha groaned low, feeling the warmth spread between her legs, the slick mess you had made drenching the harness, the sheets, and her own skin. “Fuck, baby,” she husked, her voice thick with satisfaction, her hands gripping your hips as if to steady you. “Look at you... so perfect.”

Your breath came in rapid pants, your limbs weak, your body still wracked with aftershocks. The evidence of your pleasure was undeniable—your arousal staining the sheets beneath you, glistening against Agatha’s stomach just above where the strap had pressed flush against her. She let out a pleased hum, her fingers tracing soothing circles on your back as you collapsed against her, utterly spent.

“There you go, baby,” she whispered, her voice softer now, almost reverent. “You did so well for Mommy.”

Her hands ran slowly, worshipfully, over your spine, grounding you as you shivered against her. She pressed lazy, lingering kisses to your temple, your cheek, your shoulder, anywhere she could reach, while both of you struggled to catch your breath. The world beyond these walls didn’t exist; there was only the warmth of her embrace, the way she murmured your name like a prayer, the soft hum of contentment vibrating against your skin.

You belonged here. With her. Always.

And yet, you didn’t notice the way her expression shifted, the way her hold tightened just a fraction, as if she were memorising the feel of you, as if she were already preparing to let you go.

—

The sun dipped below the skyline as you sat on the edge of Agatha’s expansive marble countertop, feeling a familiar weight in the air. Less than twenty-four hours ago, you had been wrapped in her arms, your body trembling with pleasure, her voice thick with praise as she called you perfect. She had spoilt you rotten—an extravagant dinner, a new dress, a reminder that she was proud of you, that she always knew you’d make it. Things had felt so whole, so right.

But tonight? Tonight felt like the cruellest contrast.

Agatha’s penthouse, usually brimming with her presence, warm and commanding, felt cold and distant. She was pacing the living room, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes avoiding yours. There was no teasing smirk, no playful remark about how well you took her the night before. The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing against your chest like a vice.

Finally, she broke the silence with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re about to graduate, Y/N,” she began, her voice smooth yet clipped. "I think it's time we stop pretending that this... arrangement... still serves either of us."

You blinked, your stomach plummeting. Just last night, she had held you so tightly, whispering sweet nothings against your skin. And now she was speaking as if the last three and a half years were nothing more than a fleeting indulgence.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the words came out too sharp, too raw.

Her eyes flickered toward you, her lips twisting into a teasing smirk, but it didn’t carry the same warmth it usually did. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, darling. You have a great job lined up and a whole life ahead of you. You don’t need me to be your sugar mommy anymore."

The words stung. You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat, masking it with a hollow laugh. "I don’t need you? Is that what you think?"

"You don’t need a sugar mommy," she corrected, her voice carrying that sharp edge that cut deeper than you wanted to admit. “I’m saying it’s time for you to grow up. To live your life without being bound to anything—or anyone.”

The finality in her words left you breathless. This wasn’t a joke. There was no hint of her usual playful cruelty. 

She really meant it.

“I don’t want that, Agatha,” you said softly, your voice cracking just a little, but your pride wouldn’t let you break. “I’m not ready for it.”

“Oh, I know you’re not,” she replied smoothly, turning away to pour herself a drink. The sound of liquid hitting glass was deafening in the quiet room. “But you’ll be fine. You’ll forget about me and find someone more your speed. Someone young and eager to be your equal, not just someone who's... well, who’s old enough to be your mother.”

A sharp sting bloomed in your chest, a dull, aching wound. Three and a half years down had come down to this. It started as just a simple arrangement—she took care of you financially, and you gave her company and affection in return. But somewhere along the way, something deeper had blossomed between you two, something neither of you had been brave enough to admit. And now she was discarding it like it had never meant anything at all.

She turned back to face you then, and for a brief moment, there was something else in her eyes—something softer, maybe even hesitant. But then it was gone, masked by that familiar smirk, the one she always used when she wanted to hide her vulnerability.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m doing this for you. You don’t need me holding you back. Go out there. Find yourself. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

Your chest was tight, the weight of her words suffocating. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I only want you.”

She scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but like I’ve said, you'll get over it.”

You let out a hollow, defeated scoff of your own, staring down at your feet as you willed yourself not to cry. When you finally spoke, your voice was eerily indifferent. “Okay.”

You grabbed your bag, turned on your heel, and stormed out, slamming the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls.

The moment you stepped onto the busy street, the cold air hit you like a slap in the face, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sting behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears, refusing to let the world see you like this.

But when you finally made it back to your apartment, the second the door clicked shut behind you, everything crumbled.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but you barely noticed as your knees gave out beneath you. You collapsed onto the hardwood, your entire body shaking, the weight of it all crashing down on you at once. The tears burnt as they spilt over, hot and unstoppable, rolling down your cheeks in thick, messy trails.

It wasn’t just crying—it was full-body, gut-wrenching, ugly sobbing. The kind that left your chest aching, your throat raw, and your limbs trembling. It felt like your heart had been shattered, and now it was cutting your hands to shreds as you desperately tried to gather the pieces.

You gasped for breath, curling in on yourself, hands clutching at your arms as if you could physically hold yourself together. But nothing could stop the pain or the gaping void that Agatha had left behind.

Your fingers reached for the armrest of your couch and found the hoodie she had bought for you last month, and you clung to it like a lifeline, burying your face into the fabric that still smelt like her. Just a few weeks ago, you would have never imagined this—never imagined she’d leave you, that she’d end things so cruelly.

You thought it would never end.

But it had.

And as you lay there, curled up on the floor, crying yourself to sleep in a hoodie that smelt like the woman who just broke your heart, you failed to notice how the small velvet box she had given you had slipped from your bag and slid under the couch, out of sight.

—

The days following Agatha’s decision felt like a blur. You tried to move on, to focus on your future. The job offer you’d received was a great opportunity, and Agatha had made a valid point about your independence. You told yourself this was for the best, that you could do this, that you could build a life outside of her.

But no matter how much you tried, every minute without her felt like a slow death.

Your apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt hollow. The bed was too big and too cold without her beside you. Mornings were the worst—waking up alone, reaching instinctively for her only to be met with empty sheets. You used to wake to the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, her voice teasing as she coaxed you into wakefulness with slow kisses and whispered praises. Now, silence stretched endlessly, suffocating in its vastness.

You kept yourself busy, throwing yourself into the final few weeks of college life as graduation loomed closer. You accepted invitations to go out with friends and tried to lose yourself in the crowds, in the laughter, in the distractions, but it never worked. Conversations blurred together, nights out felt dull, and no matter how much you smiled or how much you laughed at someone’s joke, you felt empty. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was Agatha.

You missed her. Desperately.

You missed the sound of her laughter when she was genuinely amused—not the polite, calculated chuckle she gave in social settings, but the real one, the one that made her eyes crinkle and her entire body shake, a soft snort escaping her. You missed the way she would kiss your forehead absentmindedly, as if it were second nature, the way she’d roll her eyes at you but always, always indulge you. You missed the way she touched you, not just in the heat of passion but in the quiet moments—her hand on your lower back as she guided you through a door, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against your thigh as she read, the way she’d brush your hair back just to get a better look at you.

But most of all, you missed the way she saw you.

Because no matter how much success came your way, no matter how proud your professors were, no matter how many congratulatory messages you received, it all felt muted. Distant. Like something was missing, like a shadow had been cast over every achievement. And you knew exactly what it was.

It was Agatha.

She was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

You reckoned she had completely moved on, that she was thriving in your absence. You convinced yourself of it because what other choice did you have? The world wouldn’t let you forget her. She was too deeply woven into it.

Her name popped up in conversations—friends of friends mentioning her in passing, mutual connections keeping her name alive. And then there was social fucking media.

You didn’t follow her, of course. That would’ve been masochistic. But that didn’t stop her from appearing on all of your feeds, no matter the platform—through tagged photos, through shared articles, through snippets of interviews that made their way into your timeline.

She was back in full force, attending galas, closing deals, and commanding every room she stepped into. She was radiant, powerful, and untouchable. The world saw her as she always had been: composed. And it made you sick.

Because if she could move on so effortlessly, why couldn’t you?

—

It only got worse after graduation.

You should have been happy. You had finally done it—achieved everything you had worked so hard for. Your professors beamed with pride, and your family sent messages filled with love and admiration. Your friends celebrated you, taking you out, making toasts in your name.

And yet, through it all, the joy never felt whole.

Your graduation gown felt wrong without Agatha there to see it. The dress she had bought you clung to your body like a second skin, but instead of making you feel unstoppable, it felt wrong. Hollow. As if the fabric itself had been stripped of its magic, leaving behind nothing but an empty, uncomfortable reminder of what you had lost. What once made you feel desired now only makes you feel abandoned. 

As you stood on that stage, accepting your degree, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd, your heart foolishly hoping, just for a second, that you’d see her there. That she would be watching, pride shining in her eyes, just as she had promised.

But she wasn’t there and that should have been your final sign, the last nail in the coffin.

And yet it wasn’t.

Because you still needed her.

Not for her money, not for the extravagant gifts or the lavish lifestyle. You needed her. Her wit, her sharp tongue, the way she challenged you, pushed you, believed in you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. You needed the way she made you feel—cherished, adored, hers.

But she was gone and the world just kept on turning.

—

It took a few months, but eventually, the truth hit you like a freight train.

You couldn’t move on. You couldn’t picture a future without her. Your job was exciting, sure, but it was nothing compared to what you had with Agatha. The thought of another person touching you, holding you, even kissing you—it felt wrong. You only wanted her.

You had only ever wanted her.

You were cleaning your apartment when you dropped a pen and it had rolled beneath the couch, disappearing into the shadows. With a huff, you crouched down, reaching blindly, fingers brushing against something soft. Velvet.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The box.

You pulled it out slowly, heart hammering in your chest. The moment you saw it, the memories rushed back; the dinner, the way Agatha had smiled at you with something unreadable in her eyes when she handed it over, the way she told you not to open it yet.

You swallowed hard and flipped the lid open.

Inside sat the most breathtaking ring. It was perfect. A piece so intricate and unmistakably you that it stole the air from your lungs.

Agatha had listened. She had remembered.

You had mentioned it once, maybe twice, in passing. About how you could never find anything quite right, how everything in stores always felt too impersonal, too generic. And yet, here it was. Commissioned. Designed just for you.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted it from the box, your eyes catching on the engraving along the inside.

"More than you will ever know."

Your breath hitched.

What did it mean? More than you would ever know… what? That she cared for you more than you realised? That she—

Your heart surged and shattered all over again.

How could she give you this and then break things off a day later?

It didn’t make sense.

And suddenly, you had to see her.

You barely remembered throwing on a coat, stuffing the box into your pocket, and hailing a cab. The moment you arrived at her building, you asked the concierge not to alert her. The doorman, who knew you after the countless times you came here for Agatha, hesitated before nodding, letting you up without question.

Your pulse was deafening as you knocked loudly on her door.

The seconds stretched unbearably.

And then—

The door swung open, revealing Agatha in silk loungewear, her hair in soft waves, her expression unreadable.

She was poised as always, but something was different.

Her eyes were tired. The dark circles beneath them barely concealed, her sharp features softer than you remembered. And suddenly, you wondered, had she actually moved on? Or was she just keeping up appearances?

Her lips curled into a familiar smirk, but there was no bite to it this time. No amusement.

"You look like hell, Y/N," she noted, voice unexpectedly soft.

You blinked, realising only now that fresh tears had fallen from your eyes on the way up to her apartment.

"Thanks," you replied, forcing a humourless smile. Your throat tightened. "I’ve missed you."

Agatha hesitated. Her gaze flickered over your face, searching, but for what, you weren’t sure.

"I thought I told you to move on," she said, voice quieter this time.

"I can’t," you confessed, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

She didn’t stop you.

"I’ve tried. You’re all I want, Agatha. I don’t need anyone else, and I don’t want to."

She sighed, crossing her arms, tapping her fingers against her sleeve in that way she always did when she was thinking too much. "This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, you know."

Her voice was weary, laced with something close to regret.

"You’re supposed to live your life. You deserve someone who can give you what I can’t–"

"You give me everything," you butt in.

The words left you without hesitation, your feet carrying you closer, your heart pounding as your fingers brushed against the silk of her robe. "I don’t need anything else. I never did."

Her eyes darkened.

The breath between you was charged, heavy, thick with something you both had been suppressing for far too long.

"Y/N, don’t say things you don’t mean," she whispered, but her voice wavered. "I’m not going to–"

But she didn’t get a chance to finish. You leaned in, and the moment your lips met, the world shattered.

She gasped softly, just before her hands found your waist, pulling you flush against her. The kiss was desperate, urgent, and needy. A collision of everything unspoken between you.

Agatha responded immediately, claiming your mouth with a hunger that sent a rush of heat straight to your core.

"Fuck," she breathed against your lips before kissing you deeper, her grip tightening, pulling you impossibly close. "You’re going to be the death of me."

Your only response was a soft whimper, fingers tangling in her hair as you pressed yourself against her, already drunk on the feeling of her after so long apart.

"I missed you," you murmured between kisses, hands slipping under the robe, palms pressing against her warm, bare skin. "I missed you so much."

Agatha groaned, walking you back toward the bedroom.

"Show me how much."

The second your back hit the bed, Agatha was on top of you, mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. She tugged impatiently at your shirt, and you helped her strip it away before her hands slid down, claiming you as if she never wanted to let go again.

Your legs wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as she kissed down your body, teasing, tasting, until all you could do was whimper and beg.

"Mommy," you moaned, arching beneath her as her mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.

She groaned at the sound of the title slipping from your lips, her fingers gripping your hips, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"That’s right, baby," she murmured, voice dripping with want. "Let me take care of you. Let me remind you exactly who you belong to."

You gasped as her hands roamed lower, her touch setting every nerve in your body alight.

But before she could go further, your fingers curled around her wrist, stopping her.

Agatha’s brow furrowed slightly as she looked up at you, lips parted, eyes burning with desire but shadowed with something else.

"Why did you give me the ring?" You asked, your voice a whisper, fragile but demanding.

She stilled.

Her breath slowed.

For a long moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze searching yours as if trying to decide whether to run or to finally give in.

You swallowed hard and continued.

"You had it made just for me. You knew exactly what I wanted before I even knew myself. And then you gave it to me, only to leave the next day."

A crack formed in her carefully constructed mask.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," Agatha admitted finally, voice raw. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"By breaking my heart?"

Her jaw tensed. "By letting you go before I ruined you. Before I kept you."

Your fingers tightened around her wrist. "I wanted to be kept."

Her eyes flickered with pain, but before she could protest, you reached into the pocket of your discarded coat and pulled out the small velvet box.

You flipped it open between you, revealing the ring—the proof that she had always known you, had always loved you, even if she had never said the words.

"Then tell me what it means," you whispered.

Her throat bobbed as she looked at the engraving.

"More than you will ever know."

Agatha exhaled sharply and sat up, running a hand through her tousled hair. 

"It means..." she hesitated, then shook her head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It means I’m a coward."

You frowned, shifting onto your side to face her fully. "Agatha–"

She cut you off with a sigh, her fingers ghosting over your wrist, like she needed to touch you to ground herself. "I was going to explain it all that night. Before I—before I convinced myself you were better off without me." She scoffed lightly, as if irritated at her own foolishness. "I thought pushing you away would make it easier for you to move on. That it would be easier for me."

Your breath caught. "And was it?"

Her gaze softened, and she gave you a small, sad smile. "No. It was hell."

Something in your chest cracked wide open. You reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together, grounding yourself in her warmth. "What does the engraving mean?" You ask again.

She let out a breath like she had been holding it for months. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, she said the words you had been waiting for all along.

"It meant... it means I love you, Y/N." She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "I love you more than you will ever know. I should have said it a long time ago, but I didn’t know how. So I put it in a gift instead, hoping you’d understand without me having to say it."

Your chest ached, but this time, it wasn’t just pain. It was overwhelming, all-consuming relief.

"I love you too."

Agatha’s breath caught.

"Say it again," she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You sat up, reaching for her, cupping her face between your hands.

"I love you, Agatha. I never stopped. I never could."

The tension in her body melted as she exhaled shakily, leaning into your touch.

Then she kissed you again.

This time, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed or frantic.

It was slow. Intentional. Reverent.

Agatha laid you back down with deliberate care, her hands trailing over your body like she was memorising you all over again. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered "mine" against your skin was a promise.

The rest of your clothes were shed in a haze of need, the soft rustle of fabric hitting the floor drowned out by breathless moans and desperate hands mapping out familiar territory. Agatha took her time with you first, pinning you beneath her as she trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your body, her tongue flicking over sensitive skin, her fingers following in its wake. When she finally dipped lower, parting your thighs with a knowing smirk. She took you apart with practiced ease—driving you to the brink again and again until you were a trembling, pleading mess beneath her.

But you wouldn’t let her have all the control tonight. With a sudden shift, you flipped her onto her back, straddling her hips, drinking in the sight of her flushed and breathless. You kissed like you wanted to drown in her, dragging your tongue down the column of her throat, over the swell of her breasts, sucking marks into her skin, and staking your claim the way she always had with you. 

And when you finally settled between her legs, when you pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and felt her shudder beneath you, you didn’t tease; you devoured. The taste of her, the sound of her moans, the way her fingers twisted into your hair as she cried out your name—it was everything, and you never wanted to stop.

Agatha’s hands tightened in your hair, holding you in place as she rolled her hips, grinding up against your mouth, chasing her release with unrestrained need. She was completely lost in the sensation, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps, her thighs trembling around your head. 

"Just like that—fuck—don’t stop, baby," she groaned, throwing her head back as her body tensed. And then she shattered, her orgasm hitting her in waves, her grip tightening as she rode it out against your tongue, moaning your name like a prayer.

Agatha was wrecked by the time you pulled away, her chest heaving, her lips parted as she reached for you, pulling you back into a bruising kiss. "You’re insatiable," she panted, her nails raking down your back. 

"And you love it," you teased, grinning against her lips. 

She flipped you once more, settling herself over you with a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I do. But  now it’s my turn again.” She trailed her lips down your neck, across your collarbone, then lower, nipping and sucking at your chest, your stomach, your thighs—leaving her marks all over you. 

Agatha hovered over your dripping cunt, her hands trailing possessively over your thighs, making you tremble, your body taut with anticipation. She took her time, lips and tongue teasing along the sensitive skin, her breath warm as she moaned something low and indulgent against you. The first slow drag of her tongue had you gasping, fingers fisting in her hair, and she hummed in approval, pressing deeper, savouring every reaction.

Her tongue worked you over with aching precision, lapping and circling before closing around your sensitive clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure. The pleasure was almost too much, the heat pooling in your stomach threatening to spill over as she pressed her fingers inside, curling them perfectly to have you crying out. Every movement was deliberate—slow and deep, then quick and teasing, keeping you on the edge but never quite letting you fall. 

Meanwhile, you could hear the subtle, desperate rhythm of her own hips grinding down against the mattress, a quiet moan slipping from her lips as she lost herself in you, the friction bringing her closer and closer.

"You're shaking, baby," she murmured, voice thick with satisfaction as she glanced up, her chin glistening, her expression utterly wrecked. "You gonna fall apart for me?" 

She didn’t wait for an answer, just sealed her mouth around you again, her fingers pressing deeper, relentlessly coaxing you toward that inevitable bliss. And then she gasped against you, her body tensing as she shuddered, her own release crashing over her from the way she had been grinding down against the bed. 

The realisation that Agatha was cumming while fucking you sent you spiralling, your orgasm ripping through you with an intensity that left you gasping, back arching as a broken moan spilt from your lips. She groaned at the feeling of you coming undone, drinking in every last wave of pleasure before finally pulling away, her hands smoothing over your shaking thighs, her own body still trembling as she pressed one last lingering kiss against your oversensitive core, a satisfied smirk curving her lips.

Agatha collapsed against you, her breath warm against your skin as she buried her face in the crook of your neck. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, both too lost in the haze of pleasure and the weight of everything that had led to this—every moment spent apart, every unspoken feeling, every stubborn refusal to admit what had always been so painfully obvious.

You carded your fingers through her damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, letting the steady rhythm of your heartbeats fill the silence. Agatha exhaled slowly, her hands smoothing over your sides, grounding herself in the feel of you, as if she still wasn’t convinced this was real. 

Without a word, Agatha stood, her movements graceful and purposeful as she left the room for a brief moment. You could hear the sound of water running in the distance, the soft splash of it filling the silence before she returned. She didn’t need to say anything; the warmth in her eyes, the gentle press of her lips against your temple, told you everything.

She guided you to the enormous, luxurious bath—spanning the width of the penthouse’s bathroom—an almost surreal oasis of warmth and comfort. The water was a perfect temperature, fragrant with oils and salts, designed to soothe the soul. She lowered herself into the tub first, pulling you into her arms as if you were weightless, holding you close.

The space around you was immense, but it felt like it was just the two of you in this intimate world. Her fingers traced lazy patterns along your back, soothing the tension in your muscles as she softly kissed your shoulder, your neck—anywhere her lips could find. Each tender touch seemed to speak of something deeper, an unspoken vow of care that settled around you like the warm water.

You let out a contented sigh, resting your head against her chest as she kept you in her embrace, the steady rhythm of her breathing grounding you. Your hand lazily traced over her skin, lost in the softness of her touch, the comfort of her presence.

“You’re not leaving this time,” you murmured, the words more of a gentle plea than a statement. Agatha’s voice was soft but unwavering as she kissed your forehead, her arms tightening around you, pulling you even closer.

“Never again,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m exactly where I belong.”

And in that moment, with the water lapping gently against the sides of the tub and the soft warmth of her embrace surrounding you, you knew—this time, she meant it.

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this fic had been teetering on the edge of my imagination for a while but I got a sudden burst of inspiration after daydreaming about it all day—lemme know what y'all thought :D

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taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @jujuu23 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19

[spicyspiders]

old man logan part 2

3.1k words

logan isn't as mean in this, but there are still moments when he is, like when he forces the reader to drink a glass of whisky he poured for him because he doesn't want him to waste it.

part 1

You wanted to give the guy a chance, but fuck, you just weren’t interested. You thought it’d be a good idea, after all, your mother told you she didn’t want you spending your whole summer at home. You assumed what she meant was a summer job, but you thought going on a date would be more entertaining. 

It wasn’t really the guy’s fault though, your mind was much too occupied by the thought of Logan. It has been two weeks since then and your mind hasn’t stopped thinking about it since that day. The only interaction you’ve had with him since then was nods and glances when you saw him outside. 

A week after that day, you learned of his change of heart. It became much louder outside after Logan returned all of the lost toys in his backyard, much happier. You even made a comment about it to your date. 

“That was sweet of him,” the man said from across the table at the bar. 

“Yeah. It sure was,” you responded, trying not to smile too hard. 

“Why do you think he had a change of heart?” Your date asked. 

You quickly changed the subject after he asked, not wanting to give anymore details away. “Sorry,” you pointed to one of your ears, “it’s pretty loud in here.”

”Do you wanna,” he pointed at the door, his eyes bright under the light of the bar. 

You nodded and gathered your things to pay your tab, the sweet taste of the drink you had earlier was still at the back of your throat. Only having one drink at the bar meant it was easy to come up with another excuse to get in your car and drive home. 

The man looked disappointed, but he quickly perked up after you pressed a kiss to his cheek with the promise of next time whispered into his ear. 

“How was your date?” Logan asked when you got out of your car, “not so good I guess since you’re home before sundown,” he let out a cruel laugh. 

“It was just one drink,” you responded as you shut your car door. 

“What,” he tossed the rag he had just cleaned his motorcycle with over his shoulder, “he not want to invite you inside for a nightcap?”

”A nightcap?” You grimaced, “how old are you?”

Logan chuckled, “don’t get mad at me,” he said, stepping closer and into your driveway, “I’m sure he would’ve invited you in if he knew how easy you were,” he said quietly, not close enough for you to smell the cleaner on the rag. 

“Next time he’ll know,” you said, crossing your arms. 

The laugh Logan lets out is loud and booming, much too loud for the time of evening it was, “you’re telling me,” Logan says once he’s gotten his laughing under control, “you don’t put out on the first day?”

“I do when I want to. My mind’s been just a little,” you pause, looking away from Logan’s eyes and definitely not down to his lips, “occupied.”

“Why don’t we go inside and talk about it,” Logan whispers. 

Logan wastes no time getting his hands on you once you’re behind his door. His hands are warm on your hips as he presses you into the door. The kiss is not at all like the one you pressed to your date’s cheek earlier, it’s rough and messy and just what you expected. 

“What’d you drink earlier?” Logan panted after pullings away from the kiss, “it tastes like you swallowed a pound of candy,” he says, looking disgusted. 

“That’s how I like my drinks. Besides, I only had one,” you watched as Logan stepped back and walked to his kitchen, “it shouldn’t be that bad!” You yelled at his back. 

You could hear the sound of cabinets slamming and glass hitting the counter before Logan’s voice followed he sound, “get in here.” He spoke again after you were beside him leaning against the countertop, “I’m putting you on the good stuff. None of that sugary bullshit,” he said as he poured a glass of whisky. 

“I think you just wanted an excuse to drink,” you said as he moved to the second glass. 

“I don’t need an excuse to drink. I’m a grown man, and so are you. You’re too old for that-”

”Sugary bullshit,” you say, cutting him off, rolling your eyes, “I know.”

“A toast,” Logan says after picking up his glass, “to trying new things.” 

You weren’t going to tell Logan you’ve had whisky before, but you play up your reaction just to save his ego. You cough even though you’re used to the burn and make a face of disgust even though you’re used to the taste. 

With a laugh, Logan claps a hand on your back, “it’s not a shot, you’re supposed to savor it,” which was ironic for him to say given how quickly he drank his. With his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle, he looked at you expectantly.

”What,” you snapped. 

“Drink it,” Logan commanded, “you don’t waste my whiskey.”

“You drink it,” you said back.

Slowly, Logan takes the glass as he steps in front of you and crowds you up against the counter. His eyes stay locked to yours as he takes the rest of what was in your glass into his mouth. You wait for him to swallow, but instead he wraps his other hand around the back of your neck and gets in real close. 

“Open,” he says around the liquid in his mouth. 

You have no choice but to comply, especially when his hand tightens on the back of his neck. The whisky trickles into your mouth, along your tongue, and then down your throat in a warm path. You lick your lips, the tip touching Logan’s as you try to gather the bit that fell from the side of your mouth. 

Logan’s thumb gathers it before he pushes it into your mouth, “good boy,” he murmurs when you suck the taste from his skin. 

He pulls his thumb from your mouth and then back down your chin where the liquid had dripped, leaving another wet trail. He kisses you again, this time much slower. His tongue runs along yours and all you can taste is a mix of whisky and something that is all Logan. 

“You really are easy,” Logan says when he pulls away from the kiss, one of his hands moving to your hard cock tenting your pants, “look at how hard you are,” he says like he’s in awe of a brilliant discovery. “Bedroom?” He asks with a smirk.

“Wouldn’t standing for too long hurt your back?” You respond, biting back your smile as you watch his smirk fall. 

“Little fuckin’ smartass,” Logan grumbles as he hoists you over his shoulder, “I gotcha,” he says at your noise of surprise, making sure to pat your ass for good measure. 

“I can walk,” you say to him after you’re thrown onto his bed.

”Not after this,” Logan responds, swooping down to mash your lips together. With his knee, he made space between your legs for his body and used his hands to lift your legs and get them around his waist. 

You moaned into the next kiss Logan initiated as he rolled his hips to grind your cocks together. For what felt like hours, Logan thrust your cocks together through your clothes. It made you feel like a teenager again, especially with how close you felt when Logan finally pulled away to pull his shirt off. 

You wanted to look over to see if you could see into Logan’s closet to see if tank tops were all he wore. You’d give him props though if they were at least different colors. It’s too bad Logan’s chest was too distracting. 

You ran your fingers up Logan’s chest, gliding through his dark chest hair until you reached his broad shoulders. You used them as a sturdy purchase to pull yourself up to get your mouth against his again. You ran your nails down Logan’s back and he pulled back and let out a noise of pain which had your cock throbbing. 

Free from the kiss, you leaned down to the expanse of Logan's neck to bite at the skin. Above you, Logan moaned when you ran your tongue along the mark you just bit into his skin, the flesh tasting like sweat. 

Logan pulled you back face to face with a hand on the back of your neck. His breaths hit your face as he panted from the pleasure, his eyes dark and full of lust. He pressed a chaste kiss to your kiss before pulling away again to get your clothes off. 

“No underwear?” He asked, a smile stretching out across his face. 

“You didn’t have any on either,” you responded. Logan’s hard cock bobbed in the air between your bodies, but he didn’t let you touch it as he pushed you back down onto the bed once your shirt was off. 

“I’m in my own home,” Logan said as he wrestled your pants off and threw them into the pile of your clothes. 

“You were outside when I got home,” you said, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck to pull him into another kiss. 

“I was waiting for you,” Logan said against your mouth after he pulled away, “you’ve been ignoring me,” he said, nipping at your bottom lip.

”I’ve been busy,” you said before grabbing two handfuls of Logan’s ass to get your cock against his. Your head fell back into one of the pillows on Logan’s bed as your cocks rubbed together, making a mess of precum.

”Whoring yourself out,” Logan said into the column of your neck before he bit harshly into the skin. He held himself up on his forearm, his other being used to go between your legs, past your cock and to your hole. 

He groaned around the skin between his teeth as he circled the pad of his finger around the tight furl of your hole, “you’re fuckin’ killing me,” Logan said, his forehead falling to your neck. “This all for me?” He asked, almost mockingly. 

“Sometimes I like doing the shower if I’m home alone,” you say with a groan when Logan rubs your cocks together again. 

“Yeah? You gotta go fast before mommy and daddy get home?” Logan asks as he presses the edge of his finger to the opening. “Who were you thinkin’ about hmm?” He asks, looking at you with his dark eyes. 

“You thinkin’ about that guy you were gonna go on a date with as you took your shower this morning?” Logan asked, his finger touching your hole, but not yet pressing inside. “Or me? Cause you already knew he wasn’t going to satisfy you,” Logan says, finally pressing his finger inside. 

Logan’s finger met the remnants of the lube you weren’t able to wash from your hole, slicking the way so that his finger could go all the way to the hilt. He moved his finger slowly, not pulling it out, but instead moving it around enough for you to become accustomed to it. 

He leaned down to kiss you just as slowly as he worked his finger, his tongue moving to the rhythm of his finger as he mapped out your mouth. He pulled his tongue from your mouth as his finger left and swallowed the soft noise you let out. 

Quickly Logan left and came back with a bottle of lube after rifling through his nightstand. Back on the bed, he got behind you and got you onto your side and lifted one of your legs up and rested it against his muscular bicep.

His finger, now wet with lube, touched the edge of your hole, spreading lube along the skin. It glided inside as Logan pressed his lips to yours. He kissed and kissed and kissed you as he got you ready for his cock that laid on his thigh. 

The only interruption to your lips was when Logan found your prostate with his two fingers. “There we are,” Logan whispered after he pulled away. For a moment, he fucked his two fingers into your prostate, milking the bundle of nerves until your cock gushed precum. 

You felt full by the third finger, not thinking you could take more, but when you looked down at Logan’s cock, everything in you wanted to try. Logan’s fingers went to your chin to turn your face away and back to kiss him, and all you could focus on was pleasure as his fingers on your prostate turned your brain to mush.

After Logan pulled his fingers free from your hole, he rolled you onto your stomach. He pressed kisses to the side of your neck, right on your hammering pulse as he slicked up his cock. Logan pressed his sweaty forehead to the back of your head as he lined his cock up to your hole. 

You bit into the pillow as the head of Logan’s cock entered your hole. If it felt intense, the rest of the length of cock was damn near overwhelming. You sobbed into the pillow when Logan bottomed out, clenching on his cock as you tried to adjust. 

“Fuckin’ hell, bub,” Logan groaned as he let his weight fall on top of you. 

“Don’t,” you started, but your words fell into a moan when Logan circled his hips, “call me bub while your dick is inside me.”

“What should I call you then? Boy?” He asked, his breaths hitting your ear, “you gonna be a good boy and take my cock?” He questioned, pulling his cock from your hole. “Or should I call you my bitch,” he said as he bottomed out again, “you already take me so well and we’ve just gotten started.”

Every time Logan pulled out and thrust back in, you could swear you could feel his cock in your stomach, like he was carving out a spot inside you just for him. His hips slapped against your ass as he held you down with his hands on your hips, selfishly taking his pleasure through the use of your body.

“Fuckin, wanted you since I first saw you,” Logan said after he thrust all the way inside and ground his hips on your ass, getting his cock as deep as it could go, “knew you would take my cock so well,” he said, biting into your shoulder. 

He roughly flipped you over and placed one of your legs on his shoulder. His cock was back inside with a swift thrust, Logan’s hand on the ankle on his shoulder. Once all the way in, he pressed his lips to your ankle and then nearly bent you in half to get his lips on yours again. 

Again and again Logan pulled his cock from your body to thrust it back inside, and again and again Logan’s cock would nail your prostate. Since the brush of his fingers, there was a burn in your stomach, one that Logan made grow brighter and hotter. 

“This everything you wanted?” Logan asked, not even giving you the chance to answer before he had his lips on yours. You moaned into each other’s mouths when Logan’s hand wrapped around your hard cock and stroked to the thrusts of his hips. 

Your orgasm hit you like a wave of the coldest water, washing over the burn Logan started. The force of it had your back arching off the bed into Logan’s body as stripes of white spurted messily over his fist and between your bodies. 

Logan answered the moans you let out with ones of his own as you clenched down on his cock over and over again, and it wasn’t long until his thrusts came to a halt. Logan came with a shout, his arms wrapping around your body as he let his weight fall on top of you once more. His body gave involuntary twitches as the aftershocks hit and whimpers of pleasure fell from his mouth and into the crook of your neck where his head was buried. 

You raised a hand and ran your fingers through Logan’s sweaty hair, the man raising his head at the contact. He kissed you softly, taking in the soft noise you let out as he shifted and his cock slipped free. After one last kiss, he lifted himself up and walked from the room. 

You stretched out like a cat on Logan’s bed, your cock twitching when you felt Logan’s cum leak from your hole. 

“Comfortable?” Logan asked after he returned, your face smushed into a pillow. 

Like earlier, you could hear the clink of glasses being set down, but new was the sensation of a warm cloth on your skin. You just hoped it wasn’t the one he used to clean his motorcycle earlier. 

“Should I clean you with this?” Logan asked, his lips dragging along your neck. Warm drops hit your back, making you gasp, “or my mouth?”

”What type of lube did you use? Strawberry lube doesn’t taste too bad,” you said tiredly into the pillow. 

“Slut,” Logan responded, sounding almost fond as he wiped you down. “I should take a picture before I clean you up,” he said to himself but loud enough for you to hear after spreading your asscheeks to look at your fucked out hole.   

You rolled over when Logan turned you over with a hand on your hip to get your front. You hissed as the wet warmth came into contact with your soft cock. “Ah,” you moaned at the overstimulation. 

“Hush,” Logan commanded, “you can take it,” he whispered, his body inching closer when your hips came off the bed. “That’s my boy,” Logan praised once you relaxed back onto the bed. 

He left once more to toss the rag away before he joined you back on the bed. He reached onto the bedside table for the bottle of whisky and glasses he brought up. It was quiet for a few moments as he poured you each a glass, save for the hum of the air conditioner. 

“You gonna see him again?” Logan asked after he took a sip. 

You glanced over at Logan, watching how his eyes were trained on the sloshing liquid in the glass, “something came up,” you responded, smiling down into your glass before you raised it and took a sip. 

Logan shifted closer and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He raised his glass and you clinked yours with his before you both took another sip.

[frmisnow]

BORDEAUX !

summary. after you realize that the man you had a drunk one night stand with, was in fact your new ceo. you settle on avoiding him as best as you could- but why do you feel so drawn to him?

notes. welcome to a new verse (aka. series), usually most of my series are more fluffy w a touch of smut (besides two whores, one job lol) but this one is gonna be a lot more angsty and smutty! so i hope y'all are into that kinda jam 🍷⭒⋆｡˚

warnings /includes. (1.7 k words / suggestive!) non idol! ceo! jungkook x non specified! reader, alcohol, shitty ex :/, jk is an alcohol nerd?, reader kind of uses him to kill bad memories ?, making out

the air was heavy with the scent of alcohol and smoke melted with the faint music somewhere in the background: jazz, how unfitting for this kind of environment. the enviornment which people go to specifically to escape reality, for a few minutes, maybe a few hours.

the alcohol wasn't bad, at least judging by the wine and it offered a sense of peace or rebellion, stupid fucking rebellion. your ex used to despise wine with all of his heart, he hated the scent of it, didn't want you to drink any of it near him.

he didn't like when you drank alcohol over all, he was stern on the idea of keeping you innoccent. you chugged down the glass like a shot at the sheer memory of the behavior you used to put up with.

the glass hits the table with a dull thud and you could almost hear his voice, scolding you for how reckless you were. you reach out for the bottle, pouring yourself another glass. and this time you savor the taste on your tongue, the rich flavor.

you feel eyes burning into your face, no- not burning, observing. it didn't feel uncomfortable but you could firmly feel them on you. the man's presence cut through the fog of alcohol and self-pity that had settled over you, and for a moment, you simply stared.

you should have looked away, but you didn’t. instead, you lifted your glass to your lips, taking another sip of wine, feeling the liquid slide down your throat, heavy and warm. he watched you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leaving yours.

he stands up making his way to you, and suddenly the crowd and all the shitty memories fade away, it was almost like he had a bigger effect on you then the alcohol did and that said a lot.

finally, he spoke, his voice low and smooth, like velvet draped over steel. “mind if i join you?”

the question was formal, did he work in business? no, that would be stupid to assume based of just a question. you nod, slowly but surerly, motioning towards the chair next to you.

he takes the seat next to you, signaling for a nearby waiter, requesting another glass, before turning his attention back to you. his gaze is intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to see straight through to your soul.

“rough night?” he asks, his tone conversational but his eyes still focused intently on you.

his thigh touched yours, the proximity with somebody you didn't know should make you feel uncomfortable but it strangely didn't. "yeah," you mouth. the whole truth was too complicated, too raw, to lay out infront of a stranger.

a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, before he speaks again, his voice was soft, almost soothing. "you're downing that glass like it's water."

you look at the almost empty glass that your fingers had been circling around while talking to him, he was right. you didn't even remember how many glasses you had, three perhaps?

"you have a pretty voice," you mumble, finshing what was left of liquid in the glass.

he raised an eyebrow at the compliment, surprised by the sudden comment from you. he can't help but chuckle a little, amused by the drunken confession. "thank you," he replies, sounding sincere.

you both barerly talked, you were two strangers in a cheap bar, why bother talking about boring jobs? the night was young.

the music in the background shifted, a slower, bluesy tune now. the more you looked at him, the more you could firmly feel his thigh pressed into your own. his fingers, tattooed, why hadn't you noticed that earlier? took the wine bottle from earlier, tilting it around to look at the label. he seemed to know the brand, humming in approval.

"it's a good vintage." he says, still holding the bottle but his eyes are on you, studying your face in the dim light.

and this actually managed to crack a smile out of you. it wasn't meant to be a funny comment, in fact he seemed serious about it. was he an alcohol expert? the fact that you knew absolutly nothing about wine made it better.

he takes a sip from his own glass, his eyes never leaving yours. he can't help but find your lack of knowledge about wine oddly endearing.

please, talk me stupid about alcohol. i want to know what rebellion tastes like. the words linger on your tongue but you don't cave into the urge of saying them. i want you to teach me what he was so afraid of showing me.

"i have a whole collection of rare and expensive wines back at my place. some you would never find even in the best bars," he pauses, his hand brushing slightly against your arm.

"are you trying to make me come home with you?" you ask though it's not a question you necessarily need an answer to, you knew what he had meant.

"and if i was?" his eyes stay on yours, tilting his head, "would you come with me?"

stupid fucking question.

the second you step into his apartment, the door closing behind you, he is already on you. his hands are on your waist, holding you firmly in place as his tongue invades your mouth, tasting the mixture of your saliva and the rich flavor of the wine.

when you both take time to breathe, you ask, "so where is the wine you were talking about?" your tone is clearly intoxicated, your eyes a little hazy as he doesn't let go of you and you both stumble towards his living room together. the action seeming strangely domestic.

"it's right there." his voice a tad bit breathless, he motions towards a large display of alcohol, his eyes scanning the selection before settling on a particular bottle.

he reaches for the bottle, the arm around your waist still keeping you close to him, the alcohol clearly making the both of you more touchier then you would be sober.

jungkook holds up the bottle, letting you get a good look at the label. it was an expensive brand, even you could tell that, the words written on it swirling in an elegant script.

you hum, "italy," leaning into his touch sub counciously whilst he drew little circles over the clothed skin, twisting the bottle, "when did you get this?"

"i have a guy who brings me the good stuff from time to time."

your eyes wandered over the display, you wanted to kneel forward to look over the bottles but didn't want to get out of his embrace either.

it felt good, doing everything your ex would scrutinize you for. he'd be disapproving off even letting you look over all of these.

his head made a little motion towards almost like a silent 'go on' like he could firmly hear your thoughts.

the bottles seemed rare, visably very espensive and whilst you looked over the alcohol, he looked at you.

"what do you think?" he asks after a few minutes, tone soft and quiet like he didn't want to disturb you.

"i think i've had enough to drink already but it's all really pretty," you trail off, "you're really pretty"

jungkook smiles at the comment, reaching forward to run his fingers through your hair, the gesture seemingly absentminded yet surprisingly tender, "is that the alcohol talking?"

you shrug, grinning, "i honestly don't know"

he studies your face for a moment, his eyes roving over your features. he reaches out, his fingers grazing your jawline, the touch light and gentle. "you know, you're very pretty yourself," he says, his voice almost a murmur.

the color of the red wine in your hands is now the exact color of your cheeks and your mind is empty as you lean forward to kiss him once more.

this time when your lips meet, it was rather delicate and slow. as you both sat on the ground next to the large display and kissed eachother like it was the end of the world.

and you don't stop when you felt like you couldn't breathe, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the pulse beneath the shirt. this was what drowning memories was all about.

your ex didn't kiss like this. he didn't hold you like this and he most certaintly will never get the chance to redeem himself ever.

you find yourselves sinking to the floor while jungkook craddles your face as if you were something precious, something worth cherishing.

your ex kissed you just to check of the foreplay box, jungkook kisses you because he wants to.

"i want you," you mumur against his lips as you both take time to breathe.

you wake up to harsh sunlight filtering through the blinds, you realize you're lying on a coach. his coach. the cool leather fabric is a stark contrast to your bare skin, that's when you notice — you’re only in your panties. red lace with little bows.

the rest of your clothes are scattered on the floor, your shirt draped over the armrest, your skirt crumpled beside it.

you try to piece the events of last night together, did you sleep together? ... you can't quite remember. you sit up slowly, your head pounding with the dull throb of a hangover.

jungkook's presence was no where to be found, the apartment was dead quiet. he left you here, naked and confused: what a dick.

you do your best to gather the clothes, slipping into them, you search for your phone, finding it next to the alcohol display. you take another look at the various bottles, now sober.

you shake your head at how easy you were yesterday, checking the time on your phone until your heart drops — the meeting. the meeting you could not afford to miss.

you let out a groan of frustration, fighting the zipper of your skirt, great- you were going to meet your new ceo looking and feeling like a mess.

you step into the large building with your heart still pounding, why did the metro station have to be so far away from your job? running as fast as you can had been your only option.

you push through the glass doors of the conference room, instantly sitting down, you did not want the people to look even more then a second at the wrinkled skirt of yours.

the important man stands facing away from you, writing something down on a white board. he seemed pretty tall, confident posture.

and then he turns around.

your expression drops. it's him. it's the man from last night.

🍓 tag list — @chansloverr , @marimarvelfan , @bxcndd

[stunie]

“DIDN’T MEAN TO HURT YOU!”

HAIKYUU + ACCIDENTALLY HURTING YOU. ft. hinata shoyo, kuroo tetsurou, & tsukishima kei x f!reader

filled request : “Since you said you write for haikyuu, can you imagine how sweet those tall (Hinata is tall in spirit) and strong green flag boys would be all very sorry and remourseful for harming their baby in accident? I think even Tsukishima (my fave asshole) would try to make it up even if it wasnt that serious.”

note : added kuroo ^ ^ <33 thank u for sending this in nonnie !!!

TSUKISHIMA KEI.

You don’t know when the brilliant idea of jump-scaring Tsukishima Kei first popped into your mind. Maybe it was because he’s been egging you on lately, resting a heavy arm on your head, then on your shoulders— snickering when you start huffing and puffing about how “You’re not a damn armrest.”

Cute- to him, probably. But today would be your turn to mess with him, show him a little taste of his own medicine, or something like that. You just think it’d be funny to hear him scream for once.

You’re as quiet as can be when you tiptoe behind him from where he’s pouring himself a bowl of cereal, your fluffiest socks already on to ensure maximum silence with the extra cushioning. All it would take was one singular hug around his middle— and then you’d squeeze, force the scream right out of his body.

You’re so close to him that you can hear his breathing now, each soft breath making your heart race a little faster, and you’re suddenly reminded of just how big your boyfriend is. You have to glance upwards to check how he’s doing, and you confirm the fact that he’s indeed.. still focused on perfecting his cereal to milk ratio.

Too much to notice you right behind him, at least.

It all happened too quickly for either of you to have reacted differently. You’re pouncing forward, arms reaching to circle around his waist, and you just barely register the sound of a loud gasp before there’s an impact directly to your nose, your body recoiling back as your vision flashes white.

“F-fuck!” You wince, staggering a couple steps back before you crouch down, hands flying to your nose to clutch it tightly as soon as the throbbing pain sets in.

“What the hell?” He sputters, eyes flickering from his elbow to your face a couple times before he’s rushing to crouch beside you. His hands are awkwardly hovering over your body as he tries to get a better look at you. “What were you doing there? Let me see.”

“Kei,” you sniffle, letting him pry your hands away from your face with a pained hiccup, “Was just gonna scare you….ouch…”

“You’re an idiot,” he snaps, but his eyes are full of worry when he leans in to examine your face. His finger comes to gently trace over your nose, other hand tilting your head up. “..At least it’s not bleeding.”

“Mhm,” you give him a nod, “..So did i get you?”

His eyes narrow at you, but he shifts, leaning forward and nodding for you to climb onto his back. “Idiot,” he’s grumbling to himself, “Do you even have to ask?”

The way you pout at the nickname has his eyes softening ever so slightly before he’s tearing his gaze away from you. “Get on already. There’s enough cereal for both of us.”

“Hm? But you only got one spoon,” you wrap your arms around him, letting him lift you up onto his back.

“And?”

KUROO TETSUROU.

“Look at this one,” Kuroo laughs, tightening the arm around your frame to pull you closer against his side. “He looks like Garfield, doesn’t he? What a neat cat.”

“Mhm,” you hum, nuzzling your nose into his chest as you scroll through your own socials. It was a routine the two of you had, to scroll absentmindedly while tangled in each other’s limbs until someone falls asleep first— except Kuroo’s been laughing uncontrollably for the last ten minutes.

You shoot him a nervous glare each time his phone threatens to slip from his grasp, the scare he gives you always accompanied with an “Oops! That was close.”

“Tetsu…” you warn when he suddenly jolts again, frantically adjusting his grip with a shaky chuckle. Your head was right below his phone, after all. “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” he smiles, free hand rubbing your head. “I’d never let it fall on you.”

“You’d better not..” your voice trails off into a sleepy mumble, and you switch your phone off, letting it plop onto the mattress as you wrap your arms tightly around his middle. “I’m starting to feel a lil tired..”

“Hmm? I’ll be joining you soon, sleepy girl,” he soothes, hand moving to rub your upper back as you melt into his touch. “Ah! That Garfield-looking cat is back,” he gasps, followed by a hushed whisper when you stir, “Oops. Inside voice, inside voice… hm? What’s this?”

You start to fidget, awkwardly adjusting your position against his side when he suddenly falls eerily silent. maybe too silent. You count the seconds of silence— ten seconds, then fifteen. You perk up a bit, one eye opening to check on your boyfriend, but he’s suddenly jerking back and yelping the moment after, phone slipping from his hands and landing right on your head with a loud thud. “Ah-!”

“Oh— sorry, sorry!” His large hand is covering your head instantly, the other tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “Didn’t mean to drop that on you. Just scared the living daylights out of me. That garfield, damned jumpscare… you okay?”

You glare at him, but it doesn’t come off threatening with the tears filling your eyes. “Tetsu…” you growl, and he flinches. “I know, I know! I’m so sorry,” he says, pulling you closer to pepper kisses over the top of your head. “I told you…” you pout, “I’m gonna get a bump on my head now.”

His lips tug into a sheepish smile at the thought of a lump forming on your head. “That’s my bad…”

“You’re laughing!”

“I’m not!” He protests, his hands rising up in defensive as you angrily puff your cheeks out. “Nope. No way. This is no time for laughing.”

He pulls you into a hug, chuckling as you weakly push at his chest with a whine. “There, there. You can be mad at me all you want. I deserve it.”

“Although, I think you’d be cute with a bump on your head too.”

HINATA SHOYO.

If you ask him, Hinata would still swear on everything that his intention back then was nothing more than to squish you in a suffocating bear hug. He definitely did not mean to knock you onto the floor your very first day back from vacation or anything like that.

You just looked so pretty waiting for him at the airport, soft smile tugging at your lips as you checked on his location through your phone one last time before tucking it away into your pocket. The way you shifted between your toes and the balls of your feet was just so cute, too cute that he couldn’t help but start running towards you, arms stretching out to give you the biggest hug of your life.

His eyes were slammed shut the moment he leapt towards you, so he didn’t catch the way your mouth fell open in a gasp or the way your eyes widened as your weight suddenly shifted backwards. “S-Shoyo?!”

The sound of your voice has his eyes shooting open, a surprised “E-eh?” coming out when he realizes the two of you are falling— and fast. He’s barely able to snake a hand underneath your head before the two of you crash onto the floor with a loud thud.

“Ouch— oops,” he grumbles, eyes slowly blinking open as he shifts onto his elbow. There’s a sigh of relief from him when he sees that your fall was at least partially cushioned by his hand, and you seem unhurt with the way you’re blinking up at the passerby before shying away from their gaze when you realize they’d stopped to stare at the two of you sprawled out on the floor.

“Sorry— are you okay?” Hinata’s looming over you now, carefully setting your head on his lap. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

“N-no…” you mumble, eyes narrowing into a glare as he freezes in place. “Shoyo,��� your voice falls to a whisper, “They’re all looking at us now. really closely too…”

“What?” Hinata laughs, “Shy again?”

You tear your gaze to the side, cheek puffing out a bit. “A little…”

“Want me to carry you?”

your eyes widen. “H-huh?”

“Mhm,” he’s smiling brightly, arms snaking around your body to lift you up in bridal style as you yelp, scrambling to hold onto your bag, “I gotcha. Let’s go home now!”

“..Shoyo!” Your cheeks burn when you notice the onlookers now giving you a soft smile— and the elderly couple behind them are exchanging looks before they’re whispering something to each other- you recognize it as an ‘aww’ by the way their lips move.

“This is more embarrassing!”

“Hm, is it?” He looks confused by your shyness, but his hands are tightening around you anyways, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry! I’ll get us back fast.”

[brunchable]

Captivate Me | Stalker!Bucky Barnes x f!reader. [R 18+]

Word count: 23.6K (oops) Pairings: Obsessed Bucky Barnes x Movie Star Reader. Summary: You've been seeing Bucky for a while. You thought meeting him was pure fate but little did you know every single detail was premeditated. Trying to end things with him would be the greatest mistake of your life. Themes/Warning: SMUT OVER 18s ONLY. Dark Romance, slow-burn STALKING, KIDNAPPING, A LOT OF MANHANDLING *DUBCON?* BDSM (Blindfolded, Bed Restraints), Daddy Kink, Masturbation (M), Filming during sex, domineering acts, degradation, praising, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral (M+F), overstimulation, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampied. A/N: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE. It is giving Joe Goldberg. Also Bucky speaks Romanian here, I used google translate. Please don't come at me.

A/N: AGAIN IF YOU DON'T LIKE DARK ROMANCE, MOVE ON.

I’ve seen you in a thousand different ways, in a thousand different roles, but none of them—none of them—compared to the real thing. You, walking out of that boutique gym, wiping sweat from your forehead like it wasn’t some holy ritual. You didn’t know I was watching. You never do. That’s the thing about being the most famous actress in Hollywood, isn’t it? People only see the surface, the glitter. The carefully curated perfection. But not me. I see the real you. The one behind all that.

When I first saw you, it wasn’t planned. Not exactly. I mean, I knew I’d see you eventually. I made sure of it. The gym, the coffee shop, your early morning run route that you think is private. I don’t leave things to chance. I orchestrate them. And you—oh, you walked right into my world, didn’t you?

You smiled that smile, the one that makes directors fall to their knees for a chance to cast you. But when you smiled at me, it felt different. Real. Like we were speaking a language only we understood.

It wasn’t hard to make you like me. It never is. I’ve done my homework. I know what you need, what you crave. Stability. Someone who gets it, gets you, in a way that all the shallow, empty faces in your world never will. I became that someone for you, carefully crafting each word, each look, until you were hooked.

It’s funny, the little things you let slip. You think you’re so careful, but I see it. The way your shoulders relax when I talk about my “well-paying job,” when I drop hints about my “family's” holiday home. You like that, don’t you? You like that I’m different from the men who chase you for clout or connections. No, I’m something else. 

You didn’t realize I’d planned our first date down to the minute, did you? Or the second, and the third. You thought it was all so natural. You thought it was just happening. Like we were meant to meet, to be together, to be something special. That’s the thing about fate, though—it’s just another tool. And I wield it perfectly.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for me, just like I knew you would. After all, I’m everything you need. Smart, kind, successful—or at least, that’s what you think. I’m whatever you need me to be. So when I suggested a weekend away at my “holiday” home, you said yes. Hesitant, but yes. You must’ve thought it would be a nice escape. Just us, away from the world that always wants something from you.

Except, you didn’t know it wasn’t an escape at all. It was a step closer to where we were always meant to end up.

That’s what I kept telling myself as we stood in the kitchen of that house, the rain drumming softly against the windows. I poured you a glass of wine, said something about how perfect it all felt, about how right we were together. And you—you just stood there, silent, your eyes distant. Something had shifted.

Then you spoke.

“Bucky,” you said, and my heart stopped because I already knew what was coming. “This is going too fast.”

The words hung in the air like poison. I felt my pulse in my throat, the warmth of the kitchen suddenly stifling.

“I don’t think I see a future with us,” you continued, and each word was a dagger. You tried to soften the blow with that sweet voice of yours, telling me I’m a “great guy,” that it’s “nothing personal.” Nothing personal? How could it not be personal? 

You know, I’ve always been good at controlling myself. That’s one of the things you liked about me, isn’t it? How I’m always so calm, so collected. You don’t want the chaos, the mess of Hollywood drama in your real life. No, you want stability, something solid, someone who can be your anchor in the storm of flashing lights and fake smiles.

And I gave you that. I am that. I’ve been perfect for you��perfect in every way.

So why—why are you standing here, telling me that it’s going “too fast”?

The words echoed in my head, making it hard to focus. You kept talking, kept explaining, but it was like I couldn’t hear you anymore. My mind was racing, my chest tightening with something dark, something unfamiliar. 

No, no, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say it’s too fast when I’ve been so patient, so careful.

You have no idea how long I’ve waited, how meticulously I’ve crafted every single moment between us. Every word, every smile, every touch. This is what we’re supposed to be. You can’t just walk away from that. You can’t just throw it away.

I could feel it bubbling up inside me, the rage, the frustration. It started small, like a flicker of heat behind my eyes, but it was growing, spreading, filling me with something raw and dangerous. I tried to keep it in check, tried to swallow it down. I didn’t want to scare you. That’s not what this was about. This was supposed to be perfect.

But you kept talking, kept saying things that made it worse. Words like “future,” like “great guy,” like “nothing personal.”

Nothing personal? Again.

How dare you? How dare you make it sound like I’m just another guy, like I didn’t plan every single moment of our time together? You think this isn’t personal? You think I’m just going to let you go like all the others? No.

I clenched my fists at my sides, trying to hold it in, trying not to let you see what you were doing to me. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t shut up. And then you said it—that one final thing that broke me.

“I just don’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth, out in the open, sharp and jagged like broken glass. And something inside me snapped. I could feel it, like a wire pulled too tight finally giving way. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breathing shallow and ragged. You didn’t get it. You didn’t see how much I’d done for us, how much I’d sacrificed. You didn’t understand how perfect we could be if you just—just—

I slammed my hand down on the counter next to you, the sound slicing through the air like a gunshot. You jumped, startled, your eyes wide with fear as you flinched, taking a step back from me.

And that—oh, that—was new.

Fear. Real, genuine fear appeared in your eyes like you were finally seeing me for the first time. I should’ve hated it. I should’ve backed off, apologised, done something to make it go away.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because part of me—some dark, twisted part of me—liked it. I liked that you were finally seeing me. The real me. Not the carefully crafted version I’d shown you before, but the one who needed you, the one who couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

I blinked, the words cutting through the fog of anger, but they didn’t have the effect you wanted. Scaring you? No. No, you’re not scared of me. You’re scared of losing control, scared of what it means to be with someone like me, someone who actually cares enough to make sure you stay.

But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I watched you take another step back, your hands trembling slightly, your eyes darting to the door like you were planning to run.

I watched the fear ripple through you, your breathing quickening, your eyes scanning the room like you were calculating the distance to the door. Like you thought you could just run. Like you actually thought you could escape me.

But you can’t.

No, we’ve come too far for that.

I took a step toward you, slow and measured, watching the way you flinched, the way your body tensed like a deer ready to bolt. I didn’t want to hurt you—I didn’t. But you were leaving me no choice. You were making this hard, when it didn’t have to be. I didn’t want it to be this way.

“Bucky…” Your voice was small, fragile. You were trying to reason with me, but it was too late for that. Too late for words. The world outside, the life we had before stepping into this house, it was all fading away. It was just us now, just the truth between us, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t understand,” I said, my voice low, my hand still pressed firmly against the counter. I could feel the cool granite beneath my palm, grounding me, barely holding back the storm inside. “This is right. We are right for each other. You just… you just don’t see it yet.”

Your eyes darted toward the door again, that brief flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get away. I could see it in the way your muscles tensed, in the way your feet shifted like you were getting ready to run. And I hated it—hated that you still didn’t understand.

I moved faster than you expected, my hand reaching out to grab your arm before you could make a break for it. You gasped, your eyes wide with terror as I pulled you back, your body colliding with mine. You struggled, kicking, twisting, trying to break free, but I was stronger. I’d always been stronger.

“Let go of me!” you screamed, your voice shrill, panicked. But I didn’t let go. I couldn’t.

You don’t get it. You can’t leave. 

“Stop fighting,” I growled, pulling you closer, your back pressed against my chest. I could feel your heart hammering beneath your skin, the rapid rise and fall of your breath. You were terrified, and part of me—some dark, primal part of me—thrived on that fear. But another part of me hated it. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I wanted you to see that I was doing this for us.

“Please, Bucky… you’re hurting me.”

Those words. They cut through the fog of anger, piercing something deep inside me. My grip loosened for just a second, just long enough for you to break free, to twist out of my hold and make a desperate run for the door.

And you did it.

You yanked the door open, sprinting out into the rain like your life depended on it. You were fast, I’ll give you that.

Desperation makes people faster. 

Your bare feet slapped against the wet pavement, splashing through puddles as you made your way to the car. You thought you were getting away. You thought you were winning.

I followed, just a few paces behind. I let you think you had a chance. Let you scramble to the driver’s side door, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the handle. You were soaked, the rain plastering your hair to your face, but you didn’t stop. You threw open the door, slipping into the car, your fingers trembling as you searched for the keys.

But I was there. Right behind you. And you didn’t have the keys, did you?

“Bucky, please!” you screamed, your voice high and panicked, but it didn’t matter. I yanked the door open before you could lock it, my hand reaching in and grabbing your arm with a force that made you cry out.

You kicked. You screamed. Your nails clawed at my hand, your legs thrashing as I dragged you out of the car, but you weren’t strong enough. You were never going to be strong enough.

“No!” you shrieked, your voice cracking as I hauled you back toward the house, the rain pouring down around us. You fought me every step of the way, your feet slipping in the mud, your body twisting, trying to break free.

But I didn’t let go.

I couldn’t.

“You’re not leaving,” I growled, my voice barely audible over the storm, my grip tightening as I dragged you back inside. Your body was limp now, weak from the struggle, but your eyes—oh, your eyes were still filled with that same fear.

We’re not done. We’re never going to be done.

Not until you see it.

Not until you see me.

× × × ×

Your POV

You wake slowly, your head throbbing, the world around you blurry and disorienting. The sound of the storm outside reaches you first, the rumble of thunder vibrating through the walls, the rain pounding relentlessly against the windows. You blink, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sheets beneath you are soft—too soft—and they smell like detergent, unfamiliar.

That’s when you feel it. The cold metal around your wrists.

Panic surges through your veins as you jerk upright, or at least, you try to. Your hands are cuffed to the bed, the harsh clink of metal echoing in the dimly lit room as you struggle against them. Your heart pounds in your chest, the fear hitting you like a wave, choking you as you realize—this isn’t a nightmare.

Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you take in the room. It’s dim, lit only by the soft, flickering glow of a bedside lamp, the corners of the room swallowed by shadows. You’re not in the same clothes you remember. You’re dressed in something clean now, something soft, but it’s not your own. Someone…he changed you.

And then you see him.

Bucky.

He’s sitting in the corner, hidden in the shadows, watching you. His silhouette is dark, unmoving, and it sends a chill down your spine. The storm outside feels like a reflection of the chaos inside your head, the way everything is spinning, nothing making sense.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and when you finally manage to choke out his name, it sounds small, pitiful. 

“Bucky?”

He doesn’t respond. He just keeps watching, like a predator studying its prey. Like he’s waiting for you to say or do something, but you don’t know what. Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst out of your chest. The fear grips you tighter with every second that passes, the realization of your situation crashing down on you like the thunder outside.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice is trembling, tears burning at the back of your eyes as you tug helplessly at the cuffs, the metal biting into your skin. “Why are you doing this? Let me go, please.”

Still, he says nothing. The silence stretches on, oppressive, suffocating. You can feel his eyes on you, piercing through the darkness, and it makes your skin crawl. 

You don’t recognize this man, not anymore. The Bucky you thought you knew, the one who smiled at you over dinner, the one who laughed at your jokes, who held your hand… that Bucky is gone. Or maybe he was never real to begin with.

“You’re scaring me,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears finally spill over, sliding down your cheeks. “Please, just let me go. I won’t— I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I just want to leave.”

His figure shifts slightly in the chair, the movement so subtle you almost miss it, but it feels like a thunderclap in the tense stillness of the room. Finally, he speaks, his voice low, dark, carrying with it an edge of something you don’t want to name.

“You need to stop thinking of escape,” he says, his words measured. “I’m not your enemy, I’m the one saving you. And one day, you’ll understand that.”

Your stomach drops. There’s something final in the way he says it, something that makes you realize there’s no reasoning with him. No escape.

You’re trapped.

A sob escapes your lips, your body shaking as you pull at the cuffs again, but it’s no use. The storm outside rages on, the wind howling like some terrible omen, and you can’t help but wonder if anyone—anyone at all—can hear you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears as Bucky stands up from the chair, his silhouette dark against the dim light. His movements are slow, and you can’t tear your eyes away from him as he steps out of the shadows. Something glints in his hand, and when he comes closer, you see it.

Your phone.

He’s holding your phone.

Bucky twirls it in his hand like it’s some casual toy, but the sight of it makes your stomach churn. He tilts his head slightly, his gaze fixed on you, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—not the warm, charming smile you once knew, but something colder, calculated.

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s standing right next to the bed. His presence looms over you, the phone still in his hand as he looks down at you, handcuffed and helpless.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, unsettlingly calm. “What should you post tonight? Hm?”

You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of the words. Post? He can't be serious. He wouldn’t—

Bucky’s eyes flicker down to the screen, and with a swipe of his thumb, the display lights up. “You wouldn’t want people to think you’ve gone missing, would you? That might cause a… panic.” He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

Your throat tightens, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. You shake your head, more in disbelief than as an answer. He’s playing with you, toying with the very thing that connects you to the world outside this nightmare. And the way he’s handling your phone, so casually, makes it clear—he’s already thought this through.

“Maybe a picture of your feet by the fire?” he muses, tilting his head as if he’s considering the best angle. “Or better yet, one of those ‘cozy night in’ captions. That’ll sell it. Everyone will think you’re just relaxing after a long day. Just another night for Hollywood’s sweetheart.”

His words send ice through your veins. He’s already planned it all out, how to keep up the illusion that you’re fine, that nothing’s wrong. No one will even suspect you’re missing. No one will come looking for you.

You try to speak, to find words, but your voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper. “Please, Bucky, don’t—”

But he ignores your plea, his eyes focused on your phone as he pulls up your social media app. “Smile,” he says mockingly, as though you’re some doll he can dress up for show. “Or don’t. I can manage this on my own. I’ve been watching you for long enough to know exactly what your fans want.”

You feel the tears slip down your cheeks, helplessness gripping you as he takes control of your life in the most terrifying way possible. The world outside keeps spinning, oblivious to the fact that you’re trapped in this nightmare, and he’s holding the one lifeline that could save you, dangling it just out of reach.

“Don’t worry,” he continues, his voice a twisted mockery of comfort. “I’ll keep everyone updated. No one will know anything’s wrong. Not until you’ve had time to understand why you’re really here.”

And as he taps away at your phone, the storm rages on outside, but inside this room, it’s the calm before the real storm—the one you know is coming but can’t escape.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV 

The thing about phones—your phone, to be specific—is that they’re intimate. More intimate than a diary, more personal than any conversation you’ve ever had. Every swipe, every message, every like, is a little breadcrumb leading back to the real you. The parts you don’t share with the world. And here I am, with your phone in my hand, holding every piece of you in the palm of mine.

I can feel your eyes on me as I scroll through it, your fear practically radiating off you in waves. But I ignore it. I’ve already moved past that phase, the part where I worry about what you’re thinking. You’ll come around eventually, once you see that I’m doing this for us.

For you.

The soft glow of your screen illuminates my face as I unlock it easily—your passcode was one of the first things I learned about you. A four-digit combination, barely a barrier, really. I swipe through your photos first, and there’s a strange comfort in seeing the world through your eyes. Pictures of sunsets, candid moments with co-stars, perfectly posed selfies for your millions of followers. Each photo carefully curated for the world. But I keep scrolling because I know that’s not all there is.

And then I see it. A photo you took of me.

It’s not staged, not some posed couple’s picture for social media. It’s real. I’m asleep—my head turned slightly to the side, my face peaceful, unaware. You took this when you thought I wasn’t watching. The corner of my mouth twitches up, and I can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. You couldn’t resist, could you? Even when you didn’t know it, you were drawn to me.

This proves it. We’re connected. Whether you want to admit it or not, you feel it, too. I wasn’t wrong.

I glance up from the phone, just for a moment, to see you watching me, your eyes wide, terrified. You have no idea how much I know, how deep inside your world I already am. I almost want to say something, to tell you how this photo means something. How it confirms that we’re meant to be. But I stay silent, letting the moment stretch between us, savouring it.

I keep scrolling. And that’s when I find them.

The unsolicited photos.

You thought you were careful, that you’d buried them in your messages. But nothing stays hidden from me. A flood of messages from random men—pathetic, desperate attempts to get your attention. Men sending you things you never asked for. 

Filth. 

Unworthy of even a glance from you. The sheer arrogance of it, the entitlement, makes my blood simmer. How many of these men thought they had a chance with you? That they could own a piece of you like I do?

One particular message stands out. A man whose name I don’t recognize, someone you’ve never mentioned. He’s sent you photos of himself, explicit, disgusting. And you—you didn’t block him. You didn’t stop it.

I stare at the messages longer than I should, the jealousy curling tight inside my chest, sharp and poisonous. These men, they think they can have you, that they can come into your life with their disgusting offers and expect something in return. You might not have invited them in, but the fact that they’re here at all makes me sick.

You should’ve told me. You should’ve trusted me to take care of this for you.

I glance back at you, still handcuffed to the bed, tears slipping down your cheeks, and I wonder if you even understand what’s happening here. These men, they aren’t a part of your life anymore. I won’t allow it. You’re mine now. Completely. There won’t be anyone else.

I keep scrolling through your messages, and that’s when I find something else.

A text thread with your friends. The casual banter, the kind of stuff you think I don’t care about. But buried in there, a series of photos you sent them. I pause, my heart speeding up as I open them. 

It’s me, of course. 

One picture in particular stands out—a shot of me shirtless in the kitchen, cooking you breakfast. The light catches my body just right, every muscle defined. And your caption underneath?

“Okay, so you can’t see his face but look at this man. Just look at him.”

You wanted them to see me. To know what you had. You wanted them to be jealous. And they probably were. I smile to myself, imagining the envy your friends must have felt, knowing that you had me, knowing they couldn’t. It’s perfect. You knew I was perfect for you.

I scroll further down the thread, and that’s when I see the message that makes me pause, my breath catching in my throat.

“You guys, I swear to god… he’s so good in bed, I think I’m addicted. Like, I don’t even know how to describe it. I’m wrecked in the best ways.”

Addicted. Addicted to me. And you thought I wouldn’t know. You thought you could hide that, that you could pretend to push me away when deep down, you crave me. You need me.

I can’t help the small, satisfied smile that spreads across my face as I look back at you. You’re trembling, still terrified, but you don’t understand that this—this fear, this desire—it’s all part of the same thing. You don’t have to run from it anymore. From me.

I scroll just a little further and see the final blow. Another photo. This time, it’s intimate. Private. A photo you snapped of me sleeping on top of you, my body nestled against yours, my head buried in the crook of your neck. The angle is careful, my face mostly obscured by my dark hair, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness in that moment. I can feel the warmth of it through the screen.

And then the message beneath it.

“Okay, don’t judge me, but… when Bucky speaks Romanian when we do it... it’s so hot. Like, I can’t even handle it. I don’t even want a kid but I'll carry his kids. Fuck. He’s so hot.”

I feel something inside me snap—not with anger, no, but with something far deeper. You want this. You want me. You’ve been telling your friends, letting them know how much you crave me, need me, even if you didn’t say it out loud to my face. But now? Now I know. And there’s no denying it anymore.

I set the phone down on the edge of the bed and lean closer, my voice low, calm, almost affectionate. “You know,” I murmur, “I never realized how much you needed me. But now I see it. Now, it all makes sense.”

You flinch, pulling back as far as you can, but there’s nowhere to go. Not from me.

“What should you post tonight, hm?” I ask, my tone conversational, like this is any normal evening between us. 

The horror in your eyes is enough to confirm it—you finally understand. You’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re mine. And no one—no one—is going to take you away from me.

× × × × 

I bring the dinner to you, carefully plated, as always. Presentation matters. Even now, when you’re too stubborn to appreciate it, too blinded by your own misplaced anger to see that this—this—is still me taking care of you. 

I set the tray on the bed beside you, the smell of the meal filling the room. You’ve always liked the way I cook, haven’t you? I remember how you used to smile, used to praise the smallest details, like I was doing something so special.

But now, you sit there with your jaw clenched, body stiff, refusing to look at me, refusing to even acknowledge that I’m here, still trying to make sure you’re okay.

“You’re going to eat,” I say softly, but there’s a firmness beneath the words. It’s not a request, not a suggestion. I’ve been patient with you—so patient. But you’re pushing me now, testing the limits of my control, and we both know that can only last so long.

You scoff, turning your head away from the food like a child throwing a tantrum. “I’m not your prisoner, Bucky. You can’t force me to do anything.”

The defiance. That familiar fire burning behind your eyes. I should be frustrated, I should be angry, but honestly? I find it... cute. You’re still trying to fight me, still clinging to the idea that you have some say in this. I lean closer, my hand resting gently on the bed beside you, my voice dropping just enough to let you know I’m not here to argue.

“You are going to eat,” I repeat, my tone calm but unyielding. “Because I’m not going to let you starve yourself.”

You snap your head back to me, your eyes flashing with rage, and for a second, I see the storm building in you. 

“You can’t make me,” you growl, and it’s almost laughable—the way you think you still have control, still have some semblance of power in this situation.

Then, without warning, you spit at me.

The action is so quick, so fueled by your desperation, that for a moment, I’m surprised. The spit lands on my cheek, sliding down slowly, almost in slow motion. And there it is. The fight. The fire. The part of you that still hasn’t fully surrendered.

You tense, your body going rigid, your breath caught in your throat as you wait for me to explode, for the rage to consume me and lash out. This is the part where you expect me to lose it. To become the monster you’ve built up in your head.

But I don’t.

I freeze for just a second, letting the anger stir inside me, feeling it twist and coil. But then, instead of reacting the way you expect, I chuckle. A low, quiet laugh, the sound barely audible over the storm outside. I don’t wipe the spit away. I just sit there, letting it cool on my cheek, my lips curling into a small, almost amused smile.

“I like this,” I murmur, my voice calm, disturbingly calm. “This fight in you. It’s… adorable.”

You flinch, recoiling slightly as you realize I’m not going to snap. I’m not going to lose control, because unlike you, I’m not driven by desperation. I don’t need to. No, I have all the control I need, right here, in this room, with you handcuffed to that bed. I can see it in your eyes—the confusion. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect me to remain calm.

I lean in just a bit closer, my face only inches from yours now, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think you can push me, don’t you? That if you fight hard enough, I’ll lose control. But that’s not going to happen. You’re not going to break me. You can’t.”

You’re trembling now, the tears welling up in your eyes, but I don’t feel pity. No, this is something else entirely. This is... satisfaction. You want to fight, but you’re scared, too. And that mix? That’s what makes this so interesting.

I straighten up, slowly wiping the spit from my cheek with the back of my hand, my eyes never leaving yours. “Go ahead. Keep fighting. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still in control. You’ll still eat. You’ll still do what I say.”

Your lip quivers, but you remain silent, glaring at me with all the defiance you can muster. But I can see the cracks forming. I know that deep down, you understand.

“Now,” I say, standing up and moving back toward the corner of the room, watching you carefully. “When you’re ready to eat, the food will be here. And I’ll be right here, too. Always.”

I sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, my eyes never leaving you. You still think you can win this. But you can’t. You never could.

And the fact that you haven’t realized that yet? Well, that’s just adorable.

× × × × 

Your POV

The next day.

You wake up to the steady drum of rain against the window, still unrelenting, like the world is stuck in an endless loop of storm and shadow. The room is dim, gray light filtering in through the heavy clouds outside, casting long shadows that stretch across the floor. Something’s different, though. You blink slowly, trying to clear the haze of sleep.

Your wrists. They’re free.

No cuffs. No cold metal biting into your skin. You sit up cautiously, the blankets tucked around you. . . comfortably. Like some twisted lullaby, as if you’d been tucked in after drifting to sleep in the middle of a nightmare.

And the first thing you notice? Bucky isn’t here.

Your heart thuds in your chest, your body still stiff with the memory of yesterday, the taste of panic still lingering like bile in your throat. 

You scan the room carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements as if you might wake the predator lurking nearby.

The chair he always sits in—the one where he watches you—is empty. No sign of him. No footsteps, no steady breathing that you’ve come to expect as the constant reminder of his presence.

Where is he?

The food tray from last night is gone. Cleared away. The bed you’re sitting in feels too normal, too cozy, like some trap waiting to spring. You can’t trust it. You can’t trust anything. Your eyes move to the door. It’s slightly ajar, just a crack, and there’s an unnerving stillness in the air. The house is too quiet.

You slide out of bed, your bare feet sinking into the carpet. Your muscles are tense, ready, every nerve on edge. 

You step closer to the door, careful, listening for anything—footsteps, breathing, a creak of the floorboards. Nothing. Just the sound of the rain.

Your hand touches the doorknob, ready to push it open, when you hear it—a soft thud from down the hall.

Your body freezes, every muscle tensing as you strain to hear. The sound is subtle, distant, but unmistakable. A shuffling, like something—or someone—moving just out of sight.

He’s close.

You open the door cautiously, peeking out into the hallway. It’s dark, barely lit by the gray daylight seeping in from the windows. The house feels alive, as if the walls themselves are watching, breathing. The unease settles in your stomach, cold and heavy. You swallow, your throat tight, and take a step forward.

Another noise. A door creaking open further down the hall.

Your breath catches. Your feet hesitate. But you move forward, each step more careful than the last. Your heart races, every instinct screaming for you to turn around, to hide. But you can’t. You need to know where he is.

And then, you stop.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there—just inside—you see him.

Bucky.

He’s standing in front of the sink, his back to you. His hands are braced against the counter, his head slightly lowered, as if he’s… thinking. You freeze in place, watching him, your body paralyzed by the tension hanging thick in the air. He doesn’t know you’re here, not yet. He hasn’t heard you.

You could run. You could turn around right now, slip back into the bedroom, and pretend you never saw this. But something about the way he’s standing there—so still—keeps you rooted to the spot.

He moves.

Slowly, he straightens, his shoulders rising as he takes in a deep breath. He turns his head slightly, just enough that you catch the edge of his profile. And then, he speaks.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your stomach drops, a cold wave of dread washing over you.

“I was waiting for you,” he continues, his voice smooth, calm, like he’s talking about the weather. “But I guess you were planning on coming to find me instead.”

You feel the blood drain from your face, your heart pounding in your ears as he turns to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s a calmness in his expression that unnerves you more than anything else. He isn’t angry. He isn’t surprised.

He knew.

He knew the whole time.

× × × ×

The moment his eyes meet yours, you don’t think—you bolt.

Your feet barely hit the ground as you turn and bolt down the hallway, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest, the sound of your breath ragged in your ears. Every muscle in your body screams to run, to get as far away from him as possible. You know he’s behind you. You can feel it, the tension stretching between you like a taut wire, ready to snap. But you don’t look back. You can’t.

The stairs are ahead, a sharp descent into the unknown, but they’re your only option. Your hand grips the bannister as you take the steps two at a time, your mind racing just as fast. You can hear him moving behind you, not in a rush, not in a panic. No, his footsteps are casual by the way they echo in the hallway above.

You hit the ground floor, your bare feet slipping on the cold tiles, but you manage to catch yourself. You have to hide. You have to be smart. If you don’t, he’ll catch you, and you know exactly what happens if he does.

You dart around the corner, your eyes scanning the room desperately. The house feels like a maze, twisting, unfamiliar. You’ve been here before, but in the haze of fear, everything feels different, distorted. You spot a door—a small one, leading to what looks like a pantry—and no hesitation you dash inside, pulling the door shut behind you.

Darkness swallows you whole, your back pressed against the wall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your shaky breath. 

The air feels thick in the tiny space, every sound amplified. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you try to force yourself to stay calm. Think, think, think.

The silence stretches out, so thick you can almost hear it. And then—

You hear him.

His voice, soft, almost melodic, drifting through the house like a twisted lullaby.

“Y/N…”

Your body goes rigid. He’s calling for you, like this is some kind of game. A cat and mouse game. He’s playing with you, drawing it out, savoring every second of your panic.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes through the house, sickeningly sweet, and you can hear the smile in it, the amusement. Like this is a joke. Like you, running is nothing but entertainment for him.

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing, trying to think of what you can do next, but every plan, every thought dissolves into pure terror as his footsteps get closer. The sound of his shoes on the floor is slow. He’s not in a rush. He knows you’re here. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

He sings your name again, drawing it out, each syllable rolling off his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. You bite your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet, your hands trembling as you clutch the inside of the door. You can’t breathe, can’t move. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode in your chest.

You hear him moving through the house, his voice drifting through every corner, getting closer, then further away. 

“You know I’ll find you…” His words are light, teasing, but beneath them lies something dark, something terrifyingly final. “I always do.”

His voice drifts through the hall, teasing, playful, as if this is all just fun for him. The sound of it makes your blood run cold, but you don’t move. You can’t. You tell yourself to stay calm, to think, to be smart. He wants you to panic. He wants you to break. Don’t.

The footsteps draw closer. You hear the soft creak of the floorboards just outside the door, and your body goes rigid. You can feel him on the other side, waiting, listening. You brace yourself, every nerve in your body on edge, ready for him to rip the door open and drag you out.

But he doesn’t.

There’s a long, agonizing pause. You hear him exhale softly, almost as if he’s amused. His presence lingers there, so close you can feel it through the door. The seconds stretch on, unbearable.

And then, he moves. The footsteps retreat, growing fainter, until you hear them no more.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You wait, your body coiled tight, every muscle aching with the tension. 

He’s gone, you tell yourself. He walked away. 

You listen carefully, straining your ears for any sound—nothing. Just the rain. He’s somewhere else in the house, looking for you.

The silence presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You tell yourself you have to move, that this is your chance. You wait a minute longer, then two, your hand still covering your mouth as you count the seconds. 

He’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

Finally, you exhale slowly and shift your weight, your legs cramped and trembling from holding still for so long. You push the door open an inch, peeking out into the hallway.

Empty.

The hallway is bathed in pale, gray light from the rain-soaked windows. No sign of him. Your pulse hammers in your ears, but you push the door open fully now, stepping out as silently as you can manage. The house feels too big, too quiet.

Maybe I can make it. Maybe he didn’t hear me.

You take a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the empty corridor. Another step, careful, quiet. The air feels cold against your skin, the house eerily still, like the eye of a storm.

You glance in both directions. The hall is empty.

He’s gone.

You make it halfway down the hallway, moving toward the back of the house, your breath coming in shallow huffs. You take a step, then another, your movements calculated and soundless, trying to map out your escape. Each second feels like a victory, a step closer to being free of him. You are smarter than him. You can outthink him.

As you move, you walk backward for a moment, keeping your eyes on the hallway behind you. You don’t trust it—why would you?—so you check, making sure he isn’t sneaking up on you. Your back presses against the wall for stability as you inch toward the exit, ready to make your move.

And then—you feel something.

Something warm. Something solid. Your entire body goes rigid as you feel it—him.

You freeze, terror gripping you before you even have a chance to process the situation. Slowly, painfully slowly, you turn your head, knowing exactly what you’ll see.

Bucky.

He’s standing right behind you, closer than you ever imagined he could be, his chest pressed against your back, his breath steady. How did he move so silently? How did he manage to be right here, right on top of you, without a single sound?

Your heart slams against your ribcage as you try to pull away, but his hand is already on your arm, gentle but firm, holding you in place. The smile on his face is unsettling, a mixture of amusement and something far darker. He knew. He always knew.

“You were trying to sneak away, weren’t you?” His voice is soft, too soft, like this is all just a lighthearted conversation between two people who aren’t trapped in a nightmare. “I could feel it.”

His fingers tighten around your arm, not painfully, but just enough to remind you that he’s not letting go. That he sees you, even in your cleverness, even in your silence.

“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I like that. But quiet doesn’t mean I won’t find you.”

“I was just…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, but it catches in your throat. You can feel him watching you, his eyes scanning your face, reading every thought before you’ve even formed it.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone almost playful, like he’s toying with you, like this is nothing more than a game. His fingers brush your skin, tracing lazy circles, and it sends a wave of nausea through you.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your mind is racing, but the words won’t come.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against the side of your neck, and you can’t stop the way your body tenses, every nerve screaming with terror.

“I told you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice so quiet it’s almost drowned out by the rain. “I’ll always know where you are.”

Your breath catches, and you feel his hand shift, sliding down your arm, fingers curling around your wrist. He pulls you closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you, suffocating.

You want to scream, to pull away, but you know it won’t do any good. You’ve been clever, careful—but not enough. You underestimated him.

You force yourself to breathe, to think through the thick fog of panic that clouds your mind. Every instinct screams at you to do something, anything to get away, but Bucky’s grip is firm, his presence all-consuming. His hand is still around your wrist, holding you in place, as if you belong here. As if there was never a question of where you should be.

“I see that look,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the sound of the rain. “You’re thinking. Calculating.”

You swallow hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. Of course, you’re thinking. You’re always thinking. You’re looking for the smallest crack in the situation, the tiniest escape route. But he knows. He sees it in you.

“You always think you can figure me out, don’t you?” His breath tickles the side of your face, and you flinch, trying to pull away even though you know it’s futile.

Your mind races, but his presence is like a cage, keeping you trapped, making every idea seem impossible. You can feel the tension tightening, every second a countdown to whatever he’s planning next. His thumb moves in circles over your wrist, a gesture that might seem comforting if it weren’t so... controlling.

Then he releases you.

The sudden absence of his grip is jarring. You stumble backward a step, your body instinctively retreating, but you catch yourself before you fall. You stare at him, shocked that he’s let go, that he’s giving you space.

Bucky just smiles, watching you. He's toying with you, letting you think you have a chance when deep down, you know he’s still in control.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice soft and measured. “But you have to stop running. You’re making this harder on yourself.”

Your skin prickles with dread as you try to process his words. He’s letting you go, but it’s not real freedom. It’s a leash—an invisible one, stretched just enough to let you feel like you’re in control. But he’s still holding the end of it, ready to pull you back the moment you step too far.

You stand there, frozen, every muscle in your body screaming to run, but your mind knows better. He’s faster than you. Stronger. More dangerous.

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to make a move, to see what you’ll do next. And you know, whatever you do, he’ll be ready.

“I can wait all day,” he says, tilting his head slightly, as if he’s genuinely curious about what you’ll choose. “But you won’t make it far.”

Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath, your eyes darting to the door, the only possible exit. The rain is still hammering down outside, loud and relentless, but it’s the only thing between you and whatever comes next.

But you know if you run now, it’ll be exactly what he wants.

So, you make a decision.

Instead of bolting, instead of giving in to the panic rising in your chest, you take step forward. Toward him.

His eyes flicker with something—surprise? Amusement? You can’t tell—but it doesn’t matter. You’re not playing the game the way he wants you to anymore. You’re taking control, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Then stop pretending this is some game,” you say, your voice steady, even though you feel anything but. “What do you want?”

He takes a step closer, closing the distance you just created, and you can feel the tension coil between you again, tighter than before.

“You know what I want,” he says softly, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. You don’t dare break it, waiting for him to speak, to reveal the thing that’s been lurking in the shadows between you both since the moment you met. The way he’s looking at you now, with that dark, unreadable intensity, makes your skin crawl. Your question hangs in the air, and you can’t tell if he’s stalling, or if he’s just savouring the moment—savouring you.

Then he leans in, just a fraction closer, his voice lowering to that chilling, intimate whisper that makes every nerve in your body scream for you to run.

“What I want,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “is simple. I want you to stop fighting it. To stop pretending this isn’t what you need. What you want.”

You stiffen, your pulse skyrocketing, because it’s not the answer you were expecting. There’s a raw edge to his words, a dangerous undertone that tells you he’s been thinking about this for a long time—planning it.

“I want you to see that this, us—” he gestures vaguely between you, his eyes never leaving yours—“is inevitable. You can run, hide, resist, but you’ll always end up right. back. here.”

You feel a chill run through your veins as his words sink in. He doesn’t just want to keep you here, doesn’t just want your compliance. He wants your submission. He wants you to accept this twisted reality he’s created, to fall in line with whatever fantasy he’s been building in his head.

Your breath hitches, but you manage to hold his gaze, even as your mind reels with panic. 

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at your insides. “This isn’t love, Bucky.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” he says softly, his smile returning, more dangerous than ever. “But I know you, Y/N. I’ve watched you. I’ve studied you. And you can’t hide from the truth forever.”

“I know what you need,” he whispers, his voice softer now, almost... tender. “And when you finally stop running, when you stop fighting it, you’ll see it too.”

Your chest tightens, your mind racing to find something—anything—to say that might break this twisted spell he’s trying to weave. But you know, deep down, that no matter what you say, he’s already convinced himself that this is real. That you are his.

And that’s when it hits you.

What he wants isn’t just to keep you here, to cage you like some prize. He wants you to choose it. To accept him, this situation, this twisted version of love he’s built in his mind. He wants you to believe it, to fall into his arms willingly.

But you won’t. You can’t.

“I’ll never give you what you want,” you repeat, your voice defiant, even though the fear tightens in your chest. “I’ll never see this the way you do.”

For a moment, the silence between you thickens. You think maybe he’ll finally snap, maybe this will be the moment he loses control. But instead, his smile deepens, and the amusement in his eyes takes on a sharper, more sinister edge.

“Is that right?” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Because, according to your texts... that’s not what you’ve been telling your friends.”

Before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling out your phone again, holding it between you like a trophy. His thumb glided over the screen, his eyes flickering with the satisfaction of someone who’s about to wield power in the most insidious way.

“Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” he murmurs, not even looking at you as he pulls up your messages. “Ah, here’s a good one.”

He clears his throat theatrically before reading aloud, his voice dripping with false amusement. “He’s got this look when he’s on top of me. Like, I swear, it could melt your soul. I think I’m done for.”

Your stomach turns as the words leave his lips, each syllable twisting into something vile as he quotes your own words back to you. You remember sending that, of course. You’d been giddy, drunk on lust and naivety, texting your friends in a moment of bliss that feels a lifetime away now.

Bucky’s eyes flick to you, watching your reaction with that same unsettling calm. “Done for, huh?” he teases. “That’s not exactly the defiance you’re showing me right now.”

You clench your fists at your sides, trying to steady your breath, but he’s already scrolling again. His thumb pauses, and he smirks as if he’s found something even better.

“Oh, this one’s great,” he says, looking at you with raised eyebrows. “Is he big?” he reads with a dramatic pause, glancing at you. “Girl, you have no idea. Let's just say I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.”

Heat floods your face, not with the memory, but with the sheer horror of hearing him say it out loud. Your body goes rigid as the humiliation washes over you, but Bucky—he just chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Well, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he says, the smugness in his voice unbearable. “It’s good to know I’ve been leaving an impression.”

He swipes again, his smirk growing. “Let’s see... oh, what’s this?” His voice takes on an almost sing-song quality as he reads the next one. “He’s so attentive, it’s like he knows what I want before I do. Honestly, I think he’s perfect. He’s in my head, like... all the time.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to look at him, your heart thundering in your chest. He’s savouring every moment of this, twisting your words into a weapon, using them to deepen his control over you.

He steps closer, eyes glinting, before reading the next one. “There’s something about him... something that makes me feel like I could lose myself. In a good way. Like, I don’t even care anymore. I just want him.”

He leans in, his breath grazing your ear as he whispers, “You just want me, huh? It seems like the girl who wrote this was much more open to the idea of us.”

You jerk your head away, disgusted by how easily he’s taken everything private, every vulnerability, and turned it into another chain to bind you with. You grit your teeth, but he’s still scrolling.

“One more,” he says with false sweetness, pausing for effect as he reads the final message. “I think I’m falling for him. For real. He’s just... I don’t know. He makes me feel safe, like no one else ever has.”

He lets the words hang in the air, his smile fading just a little as he watches your reaction.

“And that,” he says softly, “is the part I like the most.”

His voice lowers, his face inches from yours now. “You felt safe with me. And you know why? Because deep down, you want to. You want to believe I’m the one who can protect you, give you everything you need. And I will. You just have to stop fighting it.”

Your stomach twists as his words sink in, as he lays bare the twisted reality he’s built around you. He wants you to choose this, to let him be the one who controls everything. And he’s using your own desires, your own words, to manipulate you.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, his infuriating chuckle echoing through your bones, and you can’t stand it anymore. The phone—the embodiment of everything he’s stolen from you—dangles just out of reach, held by his towering frame like it’s a toy, a prize he knows you can’t win.

Your teeth grit, hands curling into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air too thick to breathe. He’s mocking you. Smiling. Enjoying this.

“Give it to me!” you spit, your voice sharp and desperate, the words cutting through the tense air like glass.

His smile widens, the amusement in his eyes deepening, like your demand only adds fuel to his fire. He raises the phone higher, just enough to make you reach again, to make the gap between you and your freedom feel all the more impossible.

“What was that?” he teases, voice calm, soft—almost too soft. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

You take a step forward, pushing against his chest with all the force you can muster. “I said give it to me!” You try to leap, your fingers brushing against the edge of the phone, but he pulls it back effortlessly, his hand now resting on your waist as if steadying you—as if you need his help.

His chuckle rumbles low, and it makes your skin crawl. “Y/N…” he says, dragging out your name, the amusement thick in his voice. “You really think you can just take it? Like it’s that simple?”

You shove harder against him, your breath coming in short, angry bursts, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but his hand stays firm on your waist, not letting you get any real distance. “It’s mine! You don’t get to—”

Before you can finish, you jump again, practically climbing him in your attempt to grab the phone. You’re fully pressing against his chest now, using every bit of strength you have, your body coiled with frustration and fury as you reach for the device. But it’s no use. His arm is longer, his height an insurmountable barrier.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with that insufferable grin, his free hand catching your waist to stop you from going any higher.

“Keep trying, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your skin as you struggle. “But you’re not going to get it.”

His voice is patronizing, soaked with amusement, and it only makes you more desperate, more furious. You plant your feet harder, pushing up with all your strength, but he doesn’t even move. You’re climbing a wall that won’t budge, and the realization stings.

“Give. It. To. Me.” Your voice is tight, angry, each word spat out through gritted teeth as you dig your nails into his arm, still trying to claw your way up, but the phone remains out of reach.

He’s barely even trying to stop you, just lifting the phone higher, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly as he holds you in place. His chuckle deepens, a low rumble of satisfaction.

“Why are you fighting so hard for something that’s already mine?” he asks, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “These words... you gave them to me. You already handed me your trust.”

You try to twist out of his grasp, your breath catching in your throat, but his hand stays firm, his body unyielding.

“You don’t own me,” you snap, your voice shaking with both rage and humiliation. “You don’t get to decide—”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you back down to the ground, your feet slipping on the floor as you stumble back, breathless and furious. He pockets the phone slowly, as if to remind you that it’s not going anywhere.

His eyes meet yours, dark and amused, his voice low and taunting. “Oh, I’m not deciding anything,” he murmurs, his smile twisting. “You already did.”

Bucky stands over you, tall and unyielding, his shadow looming, making the space around you feel smaller, tighter. His lips curl into that same infuriating smirk, the one that makes your blood boil and sends a thrill of something you don’t want to acknowledge coursing through your veins.

“Asshole,” you mutter again, glaring up at him, refusing to let him see the fear—or worse, the heat—burning inside you.

His eyes gleam with amusement. He kneels slowly, bringing himself to your level, but still towering over you in that way that makes you feel completely trapped, even as you’re free to move.

“What was that?” he asks softly, his voice barely a murmur, though you know he heard you the first time.

You hate how your body betrays you, hate that he knows it too. You bite your lip, trying to steady yourself, to not let him see how much he’s rattling you. But he’s watching you, every small movement, every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. 

You try to push yourself away from him, to put some distance between you, but his hand tightens on your waist, just enough to keep you in place. 

“Say it again,” he whispers, his lips grazing your ear now, sending a jolt of something electric through your body that you wish wasn’t there.

“I said you’re an asshole,” you snap, louder this time, your voice sharp and angry. 

He chuckles, low and dark, and the sound makes your skin prickle with a mix of fury and something you don’t want to acknowledge. 

“I like it when you fight,” he murmurs, his voice soft and teasing, his breath warm against your neck. “It’s cute.”

The heat of his breath on your skin makes you shudder involuntarily, and you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the way your body reacts to him. You want to shove him away, to regain some semblance of control, but your body feels frozen, caught between the urge to push him back and something else entirely. Something you refuse to admit is there.

“Let me go.” you manage, but your voice falters, quieter than you intended, betraying you.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, his hand slides up your side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His fingers brush against your ribs, the touch light but possessive, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Do you really want me to?” he whispers, his lips now barely an inch from your neck. His words send a shiver racing through your body, and you grit your teeth, determined not to let him see how much he’s affecting you.

“Bucky...” you start, trying to sound firm, trying to hold onto the anger that’s slipping through your fingers, but your voice falters as you realise how close he is, how the heat between you is suffocating.

He smirks again, his thumb brushing over your waist in a way that sends an involuntary tremor through you. “You can say my name all you want,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that makes your stomach twist. “But we both know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Your body tenses at his words, both from the insult and the way his hand moves, as if he’s unravelling you, piece by piece. You try to pull back again, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you that you’re not going anywhere.

“You think you’ve got me figured out?” you snap, trying to regain some ground, some sense of control.

He chuckles again, that same low, maddening sound that sets your nerves on edge. 

“I know more than you think,” he says, his hand moving higher, his fingers brushing against the curve of your ribs now, his touch sending sparks through your skin. “You’ve been trying to fight this from the beginning, but we both know where this is going.”

The space between you is shrinking, the heat between your bodies unbearable, and you can feel the tension pulling you in, your body betraying you in the worst possible way. You bite your lip, trying to focus, to remember why you hate him, why you should be pushing him away. 

But he’s so close now, his lips barely a breath away from your skin, and you can feel his words more than hear them as he leans in, his voice a whisper that sends a tremor through your entire body.

“Tell me you don’t feel it,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your neck, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe, as the world narrows to just the two of you.

You should push him away. You want to push him away. But instead, you’re sitting there, heart racing, torn between the anger burning inside you and the heat building between you. And Bucky knows it. He sees it in your eyes, in the way your breath catches, and that only makes his smirk grow wider.

“Just admit it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “You want this as much as I do.”

Your breath hitches, your fists clenching as you fight the urge to react, to give him the satisfaction. But the tension between you is unbearable now, suffocating, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep fighting it.

Bucky tilts his head to the side, his eyes dark and hooded, slowly drifting down to your lips. His lips are so close to yours now, hovering millimetres away, teasing you, taunting you with the possibility of something more. 

But he doesn’t close the gap. He just hovers there, waiting, watching your reaction, drawing it out. His smirk deepens, satisfied, as if he’s savoring the way you’re teetering on the edge, caught between your instinct to pull away and the pull of something undeniable between you.

Your mind races, the rational part of you screaming to shove him away, to stop this before it goes any further. But your body—your traitorous body—responds to the heat between you, every nerve alight, betraying the internal conflict waging within you. 

"You're holding back," he whispers, his voice low, taunting, the words vibrating in the air between you. His breath brushes your skin, so close you can almost feel his lips move against yours, but still, he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of closing the distance.

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your expression defiant. “You think I’m just going to give in?” you uttered firmly.

Bucky’s smirk grows. He’s not just playing with your emotions; he’s studying you, every breath, every reaction.

“I think you like this,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as silk, the words wrapping around you, making it harder to breathe. “This tension between us, this fight. You crave it.”

His lips are so close you can almost taste the heat of him, but he continues to hold back, leaving you on the brink, trapped in the space between resistance and temptation.

“You’re wrong,” you manage, though your voice falters slightly, betraying you. You hate that he’s gotten this far, that he’s managed to chip away at your defenses, but you refuse to let him see just how much he’s affecting you.

“Am I?” he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours you can barely stand it. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, pulling you closer, but still, he keeps you waiting, holding you in this unbearable tension.

He leans in again, his breath ghosting over your lips, his voice a soft murmur. "I can feel it, Y/N. You're on the edge. Just let go."

Your heart pounds in your chest, every 

Bucky watches you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing as if he’s weighing your silence, calculating your resistance. Then his smirk returns, a little darker this time, as though he’s decided something in that moment.

"You’re going to see it my way," he murmurs, his voice low, full of certainty. "And I’m going to prove it to you."

His arm wraps around your waist firmly, and before you can react, you’re lifted off the floor. Your breath catches as he throws you over his shoulder with ease, like you weigh nothing. You let out an involuntary gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing at his back, trying to steady yourself as your body hangs over him.

“Bucky!” you protest, your voice sharper now, but it’s drowned out by the sound of his footsteps as he starts walking back toward the stairs.

“Shh,” he says softly, his tone almost playful, but there’s an edge to it, a finality that makes your stomach twist. “You’ll thank me later.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you’re carried back toward the bedroom. You push against his back, but his grip doesn’t loosen, and the casual strength he holds you with only makes your pulse race faster.

You struggle against him, trying to twist out of his grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his voice calm, unbothered. “Fighting me only makes it harder for you, Y/N.”

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts as he carries you up the stairs, the panic and tension growing with each step. You know where he’s taking you, and the thought of being trapped in that bedroom again sends a chill through your body.

“Put me down!” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear, but Bucky only chuckles softly.

“Oh, I will,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. 

You feel your body shift slightly as Bucky pushes open the door to the bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you, and your heart pounds in your ears as you realise there’s no escaping him now.

"Put me down!" you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though every fiber of your being is on high alert.

Bucky throws you onto the bed with effortless strength. The world spins for a split second, and you land with a bounce, the mattress swallowing your weight. You gasp, disoriented, struggling to regain your composure as you push yourself up on your elbows.

Bucky stands at the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating confidence, his smirk widening as he watches your reaction.

"You—" you start, the anger rising in your chest, but before you can finish, he interrupts you, his voice filled with mock innocence.

“What? You told me to put you down,” he says, shrugging casually, as if tossing you onto the bed was the most natural thing in the world. His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a dark undercurrent that makes it clear he’s still fully in control.

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, caught between the absurdity of his reply and the tension hanging thick in the air. His casual playfulness only heightens the unnerving sense of power he holds over you, as if even your resistance is something he finds amusing.

You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to let him see just how rattled you are. “You know exactly what I meant,” you snap, keeping your voice firm, even as your pulse quickens under his unrelenting gaze.

He tilts his head, feigning innocence again, that infuriating smirk never leaving his lips. “I just follow instructions, doll,” he says, his voice low and teasing, but his eyes tell a different story—dark, dangerous, and full of intent.

You sit up straighter, fighting the feeling of vulnerability that creeps over you, and meet his gaze with unwavering defiance. "You’re not as clever as you think," you say, keeping your tone sharp.

His smirk widens, and he steps closer to the bed, his movements slow, he’s savoring the tension between you. "Oh, I think we both know how clever I am," he replies, his voice dropping to a smooth murmur. 

You sit up slightly, propped on your elbows, your pulse quickening as he approaches. Bucky moves swiftly, his hands coming down on either side of you, caging you in. His body looms over yours, and the mattress dips under the weight of him, pinning you in place. 

The sudden proximity steals the breath from your lungs, and your eyes dart up to meet his. The intensity of his gaze hits you like a physical force, his pupils are blown wide, dilated. His face is so close now that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, his presence suffocating, overwhelming.

He doesn’t move. Neither do you.

You’re hyper aware of everything—his hands gripping the mattress on either side of you, the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the intoxicating scent of him invading your senses. 

You try to look anywhere else, anywhere but where his gaze is leading you. But it’s impossible. His stare pulls at you, like a gravitational force, dragging you into his orbit. And all you can think about is how close he is. Too close. Your heart thuds in your chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in the silence between you.

Your eyes flicker—just for a second—down to his lips.

You curse yourself instantly for it, but it’s too late. He noticed. Of course he noticed. His smirk deepens, barely perceptible, but you feel it like a jolt of electricity. That knowing look, that arrogant satisfaction that he’s in control, and you’re fighting a battle you can’t win.

You force your eyes back up, meeting his once more, desperate to regain some sense of control, some measure of defiance. But the tension between you is unbearable now, thick like a vice tightening around your chest. It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, leaving only the charged space between your lips, the millimeters separating you from him.

Every nerve in your body is on edge, bracing for something you’re not even sure you want to resist.

Bucky leans in just a fraction more, his lips hovering so close to yours that the distance is almost unbearable. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, and for a moment, you’re not sure if it’s your heart or his that’s pounding in your ears.

You try—desperately—not to look at his lips again, but it’s like trying to ignore gravity.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The silence is louder than any words he could say. You know what he’s waiting for. He’s waiting for you to break, to give in to the pull you’ve both been fighting for what feels like forever.

Your hands clench at your sides, every muscle in your body tight with the effort of holding back, of not giving in to the dangerous allure of his proximity. But it’s so hard to breathe, so hard to think when he’s this close, when his eyes are this intense, when his lips are right there, almost touching yours.

And just when you think you can’t hold out any longer, that you’ll snap under the pressure of the moment, Bucky’s voice cuts through the silence, low and husky, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his breath brushing your lips, sending another shiver down your spine. “Don’t look away.”

You think about defying him, about turning your head and breaking free from the suffocating tension. He was on top of you, all that hard muscle pinning you down to where you couldn’t move. You could feel him everywhere, especially his cock, which was thick against your belly. Fighting him only turned him on, and now you were thinking about sex.

And you hate that he’s right.

Just when the air feels too thick to breathe, he pulls away.

The shift is sudden, leaving you lying there on the bed, breathless and confused. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you can’t quite make sense of what just happened. One second, he was so close—too close—and the next, he’s stepping back, putting space between you.

You blink, trying to catch your breath, your mind scrambling to process the whirlwind of emotions and sensations that have left you dizzy and disoriented. The heat from his body lingers on your skin, but his absence feels colder than you expected.

Bucky stands at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, his face now unreadable. The smirk is gone, replaced by a cool, detached expression that makes your stomach churn. It’s as if the moment you shared—the one that left you teetering on the edge—never happened. His eyes, once dark and intense, are now distant, cold.

“Be a good girl and stay there,” he says, his voice flat, authoritative. There's no teasing in his tone now, just a command.

The words hang in the air, and you find yourself frozen, unable to move, unsure whether it's from the weight of his command or the confusion swirling in your chest. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that he’s pulled back, leaving you stranded in the wake of something you didn’t quite understand—and maybe weren’t ready for.

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't check to see if you’ll obey. He simply turns, walking away, leaving you lying there on the bed, torn between the need to push back and the sinking realisation that he’s still in control, no matter how much space he puts between you.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

There’s a moment when power shifts—when control is no longer just something you hold, but something you feel, deep in your bones. I see it in your eyes, the flicker of confusion, of vulnerability, as I step away from the bed. You think you understand what’s happening, that you have a handle on your own defiance, but the truth is, you’re already exactly where I want you. And isn’t that the beauty of it?

The tension between us was intoxicating, wasn’t it? The way you looked at me, fighting the pull, the temptation, the inevitable. I gave you space to breathe, to think. But now, it’s time to decide what comes next.

I step out of the bedroom, the door closing behind me with the softest click. You probably think this is your moment to regroup, maybe catch your breath, wonder where I’ve gone. But, let’s be honest, I’m never really gone, am I? I’m in your thoughts right now, circling your every breath, every heartbeat, while you lie there and try to pretend you can fight this.

I move down the hallway, not in a hurry. I savor this, the anticipation hanging in the air between us. When I reach the room, it’s quiet. Still. Organized. Everything in this space has been meticulously laid out, prepared for this moment. Choices, all of them deliberate. I don’t rush this, because why would I? I like to take my time. And you? You’ll feel that patience in every step I take.

I look over the table, where everything is waiting. The blindfold catches my eye first. Simple, soft. It’s always the smallest things that strip away the most control, isn’t it? You rely on your sight, that sense of security you have when you can gauge what’s coming, what I’m doing. The blindfold removes that. You’ll be left with nothing but the sound of my voice and the weight of your own breath. Your heart will race faster the moment it goes dark. You’ll feel it—your world narrowing, closing in.

But there’s more. My fingers brush against the bed restraints. These are designed to remind you of something fundamental: the boundaries I set are not negotiable. No matter how hard you might try, these restraints are proof that you’re not getting away. You’ll strain against them, at first, testing your limits, feeling that surge of defiance before you realize just how futile it is. That moment, when your body gives in to the restraint—that’s when you’ll understand that the control was never yours to begin with.

I pick them both up—the blindfold in one hand, the restraints in the other. But before heading back to you, I stop, glancing at myself in the mirror in this room. The tension in the air, the power of what’s coming next, calls for something more. Something raw. I remove my shirt, letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hits my skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building inside. This isn’t just about control anymore; it’s about presence. Dominance.

× × × × 

YOUR POV

The door creaks open slowly, and you’re already on your feet. You don’t know what your plan is—if you even have one—but lying there, waiting like some docile thing, that’s not you. You can feel the tension in your legs, every muscle taut as you stand by the bed, trying to control your breathing, trying to look like you’ve made a conscious decision, even though the truth is, you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

And then he appears.

Bucky steps back into the room, shirtless. His bare chest catches your eye, the light cutting sharp angles across his skin, emphasizing every line of muscle. For a moment, it steals your breath. Not because of how he looks—but because it’s another calculated move. He’s always thinking, always pushing, and now this is about more than just words or actions—it’s about his very presence. It fills the room, like he’s claiming the space itself.

Your eyes instinctively flick down to his hands. He’s holding something—dark fabric and... yes, restraints. The blindfold dangles from his fingers, the soft black material barely catching the light. The restraints, sleek and unyielding, swing lightly from his other hand.

And then he notices you.

He stops, just inside the doorway, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. His eyes darken, and you catch the subtle frown that pulls at the corner of his mouth as he takes in the fact that you’re no longer on the bed. The smallest hint of irritation flickers across his face, quickly replaced by that cool, composed exterior. But it was there. You saw it.

Good.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considers you, and for a moment, neither of you move. It’s a silent standoff, and you can feel the weight of his disapproval pressing against you. 

But then, a slow, exhale leaves his lips, and his expression shifts. He takes a step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. His frown is gone, replaced by something colder, more calculating.

“You’re out of bed,” he says, his voice low, calm, but there’s an edge to it, as though he’s daring you to explain. “Lie down.”

You don’t. You stand your ground, refusing to retreat, even though your pulse is hammering in your chest. You know this won’t change the inevitable, but you’re not going to make it easy for him. 

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth. “It will be easier for you if you don’t make trouble.” 

“But I like trouble,” You said without thinking.

You hadn’t thought about how this would come across, though. Your vpice thick with defiance, you realize what you’ve done. You’ve just challenged him. Again.

His expression went hard, a little scary. “I will give you the count of three. If you’re not in bed before then, there will be consequences.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. He isn’t bluffing.

Your gaze flickers down to his hands, and you see them—the blindfold, the restraints. He’s holding them loosely, his fingers flexing as if he’s already deciding exactly how to use them. 

“One. . .”

He takes a step forward, his eyes locked on you, his presence overwhelming in the small space. You feel your pulse spike, But you stand your ground, glaring back at him, the fire of your own defiance still flickering even as fear claws at your throat.

“Two. . .”

The sound of the second number sends a rush of panic through you. He’s not going to wait much longer. You know that. But you can’t bring yourself to back down.

“Three.”

The word comes out soft, but the weight behind it is crushing. He doesn’t give you time to react. His hand moves in a blur, reaching for you, and before you can take a breath, he’s closed the distance between you, his grip firm but not painful as he grabs your wrist.

The blindfold and restraints in his other hand hang there, a silent threat, a promise of what’s to come.

“You made your choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours, and the dark amusement in his eyes is gone now. “Now, you'll have to deal with the consequences…” He pauses, his gaze flickering over you, and a wicked smile curls on his lips. "And trust me, sweetheart, you're going to feel every single one of them."

And you know, as he pulls you toward the bed, that this game is over.

But the consequences? They’re just beginning.

“No!” you grunted, you bucked and kicked out with your legs, hoping like hell you caught him in the junk, “Get off me!”

Bucky barely flinches, his grip tightening as he maneuvers effortlessly to pin you down. The way he handles you—strong, unyielding—sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

“Nice try,” he mutters, his voice calm, controlled, that terrifying composure still in place. “But it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me.”

His hand moves swiftly to your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it with ease. You feel the smooth leather strap, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s threading it through the buckle.

You buck again, a surge of panic flooding your chest, but his knee presses firmly into your legs, pinning you down. He moves quickly, efficiently, pulling your arm to the side as the leather restraint tightens around your wrist with a sharp pull.

The soft creak of leather is the only sound as he secures the second strap to your other wrist, buckling it in place, leaving you spread wide, helpless. Your chest heaves with the effort, but it’s too late—the leather holds fast, unyielding.

"See?" he says, his voice low, that dangerous smile tugging at his lips again. “You can fight all you want, but it’s only going to make this more interesting for me.”

“I hate you!”

He didn’t answer as he strode toward the end of the bed. His strong naked chest was distracting in the greyness of daylight, with a myriad of scars and rough marks criss-crossing his skin like a road map. This was a cruel man, unyielding and unafraid of violence.

You pressed your lips together when he produced a set of the same restraints at the foot of the bed. 

Oh, shit. 

Bucky grabbed your ankle and worked the cuff over your foot. 

“You don’t need to do this,” you rushed out, bargaining.“I’m not going anywhere.” Thanks to the wrist restraints.

The cuff pulled tight on your right leg. Satisfied, Bucky moved to the other side and you started taking deep breaths, fighting the urge to kick and fight. What was he planning? Why did he need you spread-eagle on the bed?

When you were tied down, he climbed onto the bed, his muscles shifting as he crawled between your thighs, and your nerves twitched and twisted in your belly. This wasn’t good.

He stops in front of you and slips the blindfold over your eyes, plunging you into darkness. Your breath hitches, and you feel a surge of panic rising in your chest. You try to pull away, he grabs your chin, holding you in place. 

You can feel the heat of him, the way his body is so close to yours, and it makes you feel trapped, helpless. Every sense is heightened now that you can’t see. Every sound, every movement, every touch feels amplified, and you hate it. You hate how vulnerable you are.

With a swift, almost ruthless motion, Bucky grabs the delicate fabric of your nightgown, and in one clean, forceful pull, it rips in half. The sound of the tear echoes through the room, loud and raw, the fragile material giving way under his hands. The shredded pieces dangle from his fingers for a brief moment before they fall to the floor, discarded. 

His palms slid up your thighs and under your nightie and goose bumps broke out all along your skin. “Should I let you come, little girl?” he says, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear. 

Heat bloomed in your pussy, those words charged in ways you couldn’t begin to unpack. Was he really going to play the daddy card right now? Fuck. It was like he could see into your mind on how best to manipulate you. 

“Don’t,” You pleaded, not even caring that you sounded weak.

He pushed your panties to the side, gently tracing your entrance with his middle finger. “Just as I thought. Wet.” He brought his finger to his mouth and licked your arousal off. “You like that, when I call you little girl.”

“No, I don’t,” You said, your chest heaving with the force of your breath. “You don’t need to do this.” 

“Do you ache inside?” He slipped his finger directly into your channel, pressing deep until he was completely seated. Then he curled his finger, hitting a spot that you'd sworn was an urban myth.

Your back bowed off the bed, limbs pulling tight against the restraints, and you bit your lip to stay quiet. You did not want to think about how good any part of him felt inside you, how that finger wasn’t nearly enough. 

“Please,” you panted, not sure what you were asking for. He pumped his hand, the friction both delicious and frustrating. Then he added another finger, going slow until it was in, and you whimpered. He’s playing with you, you know it and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You can feel it huh?” He said, “Your pussy is sucking in my fingers. So greedy. Don’t worry. I am going to take very good care of you.”

You held your breath. You didn’t know what was about to happen. You only knew it was going to be bad. If he teased you, it would be awful. Worse than awful. If he actually pleasured you, if you surrendered to him, it would be humiliating. He would gain the upper hand, and that was what scared you most. 

Licking you dry lips, you forced out, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Let me take care of you instead.”

He pumped his fingers lazily, in and out, in and out, dragging against your sensitive tissues. You inhaled sharply, the pleasure streaking through you like lightning. 

“Hmm keep telling yourself that.” He said like he doesn’t believe you, because he actually doesn't.

Your body strained toward the source of that bliss, chasing it and making a liar out of yourself. 

“Yes, I do. If you just—please—don't.” You could barely keep track of the conversation as he fucked you with his fingers.

“Hear how wet your pussy is for me?” The slick sounds filled the bedroom and you wanted to die of shame. He chuckled.

“Go fuck yourself!” you snapped, hoping your words would have some bite.

“Why would I? When you're right here, dripping and ready for me?” Bucky murmured, then flicked his tongue unexpectedly over your clit. You tried to keep your expression from revealing anything you were feeling, but when he twisted and pumped at the same time, you moaned deep in your throat.

Then he started eating you out. He licked and sucked like you were a meal and he was starving, his attention focused on your clit, swirling and sucking, and you suddenly knew what you had been missing out on all these years. Using the flat of his tongue, he massaged your clit, then drew it into his mouth to suck on it, again. At the same time, he strummed your clit with his tongue, rubbing and pressing. Bucky mastered your body in seconds, like some sort of pussy wizard, because you were instantly on the verge of coming. Your thighs started shaking and your lungs couldn’t pull in air.

And he stopped. 

You gasped, lurching, you tried to bring yourself closer to where you think his face is, where his breath felt hot. You could feel him smirking.

× × × ×

Bucky’s POV

Your thighs are trembling now, shaking in that way that tells me you're teetering on the edge, every muscle in your body straining. I watch, fascinated, as your lungs struggle to pull in air, your body begging for relief, for release. 

And then, I stop.

You gasp, a desperate sound, your body lurching as you try to chase what I've just taken from you. You try to bring yourself closer, your movements frantic, instinctive, as if by sheer will alone. Your head turns, your lips parting, reaching for where you think my face is—where my breath felt hot against your skin moments ago.

But I don't move. I smirk, watching the way your body fights itself, craving more but knowing I control every last part of this moment. 

"You're so predictable," I murmur, my voice low, almost mocking, but there's a darkness in it that lingers. "Always wanting more... always needing to be just a little closer, don't you?”

I run my hands down your sides, feeling every tense muscle beneath my fingertips, relishing the way your body responds to even the lightest touch. You arch, trying to make contact, to feel something—anything. But then, my hands lift off you, and the absence of touch sends a ripple of frustration through you. I can feel it, the tension mounting, the need rising higher. 

I reach across for the bullet vibrator, my fingers curling around the small device. I press the button, the faint hum vibrating in my hand as I adjust it to the lowest setting. The sound is barely audible over your labored breathing, but you know. You feel what's coming next. 

I lean down, my lips brushing your ear, my breath hot against your skin. "You know how this works," I whisper, my voice soft, almost tender. "I decide when. I decide how much. And you? You're going to beg for it." 

You can feel the vibration ever so slightly as I circle the air above your lovely hard nipples. I massage the bullet extremely gently around the outer edge of one of your nipples and then do the same with the other. I move it in slow circles, like a promise I’ve yet to fulfil. I can see the way your body responds—tense, trembling, straining for something more. 

“You feel that?” I murmur, my voice a low rumble in the quiet room. “Just enough to drive you insane, isn’t it? Just enough to remind you that I hold everything you want in the palm of my hand.”

You shudder, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your body arching slightly as you try to press closer to the source of the vibration. The frustration is written all over your face, and it’s beautiful, so beautiful. I watch you, drinking in every inch of your reaction, savouring the power I have over you in this moment.

“You love it,” I whisper, my breath brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. “You love that you can’t control this. That I can make you beg for something as simple as this.”

“Just... do it,” you gasp, your voice trembling with frustration, but there’s still a spark in it, something stubborn. “Stop playing games.”

I chuckle softly, amused by your words. Stop playing games? Oh, but you and I both know that this is the game, and you’re playing it just as much as I am. You’re caught between wanting more and hating that you have to ask for it, and that’s what makes this so deliciously satisfying.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, lowering the vibrator just a little, letting it barely skim the surface of your areola—just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to satisfy. “You think you’re ready for more? You think you deserve it?”

You grit your teeth, trying to stay composed, but I can see the cracks forming. The frustration, the need. It’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.

“Please…” you whisper, barely audible, and there it is—that hint of desperation I’ve been waiting for.

I smile, triumphant, and press the button to increase the intensity just slightly, letting the vibration pulse more firmly against your breast. 

“That’s better,” I murmur, my voice low, “But I’ll need more than that if you really want it.”

You gasp, your body reacting to the sudden change in sensation, your breath hitching as you bite back another plea. And I know, without a doubt, you’ll give me what I want.

You bite your lip, stifling another sound as the vibrations skate across your skin, and I watch with fascination as you try to maintain your composure. Your chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, but you’re still clinging to that last bit of resistance. You haven’t said it.

The word. The name.

I let the silence stretch out between us, the vibrator humming softly against your nipple, just enough to keep you on edge but nowhere near enough to tip you over it. You know what I want, and I know you’re holding onto it. That delicious defiance. The last weapon you think you have.

But I have all the time in the world.

“You’re holding out,” I murmur, my voice soft, almost a purr. “I can feel it. You’re so close, but you’re fighting it. Why?” I bring my face closer, my breath hot against your neck as I whisper, “You know what will get you what you want.”

You’re fighting me, refusing to give in to the game. I can almost see the wheels turning in your mind—I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Say it,” I murmur, my lips brushing your ear now, the vibration of the toy a steady hum against your skin. “You know what I’m waiting for. Just say it, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your lips part, and for a second, I think you might give in. But then, through clenched teeth, you growl, “I’m not saying it.”

I raise an eyebrow, amused by your defiance. You’re trying so hard to resist, even though your body is betraying you, trembling under the light touch of the vibrator.

“We both know you want to say it, go on,” I whisper, my voice soft, dark, full of promise. “Say it. Say what I know you’re dying to say.”

You want to give in, but you’re too proud to make it easy. And so, in the smallest, most defiant voice, you mutter, “I don’t need to say it.”

I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I pull the vibrator away for a moment, denying you the one thing you want most. 

“Oh, you’ll say it,” I say, my voice calm, certain. “Because you know that’s how you get what you need.”

I reach down, pressing the button again, increasing the intensity just a little more. I bring it close, hovering over your skin but not quite touching. The tease. The torment.

“You want Daddy to make it better, don’t you?” I finally whisper, my voice almost a growl, low and intimate, right at your ear.

You think you can outlast me. You think your silence is some kind of victory, but I can see right through you. The stubbornness is admirable, really. I almost want to let you hold onto it for a little longer. Almost.

But then again, why deny myself the pleasure of watching you break?

I lower the vibrator back down, this time pressing it directly against your nipple—not the teasing, ghosting touch from earlier, but real contact. You moaned, your body arching against the restraints as the sudden sensation hits you, and I press the button again, increasing the intensity. The vibrations pulse through you, low and constant, just enough to drive you crazy.

To see you this turned on and into it at this early stage makes me want to burst. I continue to tease your nipples with the bullet, making you wriggle with pleasure as you lean your head back into the pillow. I watch your beautiful face intently as the vibrations gently massage your nipples—you look amazing— radiant, sexy, fuckable—and I am so excited to have you in this position—but I am taking my time. 

I want you to be wetter than you have ever been, have more orgasms than you have ever had and have you moaning more than you have ever moaned.

I lean in, my mouth hovering near your ear, my breath hot against your skin. “You’re close to saying it,” I whisper, my voice low, knowing. “I can feel it. You’re just one word away.”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on—the way they’re starting to lose focus, the way your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps. You’re teetering on the edge, and you know it.

I smirk, watching you struggle, your body trembling under the relentless vibrations, your mind fighting the inevitable. 

“Still not saying it?” I ask softly, almost amused. “You think you’re winning by holding out? By staying quiet?”

I tilt my head, studying you, and then my hand moves—slow, deliberate—between your thighs. Whike gently stroking the vibrating bullet down the side of your body, making you wriggle. As I get to your hips, you open your legs further, wanting the vibrations on your clit. I stroke the bullet up from your hip and across the top of your beautifully shaved pubic line, as you thrust your crotch forward, wanting it. 

I resist the urge to give you what you want immediately—instead lightly running the bullet down the side of your pussy, being careful not to touch your luscious pussy lips. I position myself in between your legs as the bullet gets closer and closer to your clit. As it edges nearer, I see your pussy glisten from its wetness—oh my God it looks amazing and I love how you have your legs open, allowing me to see it all. How I want to devour it, again—but there is something you need to say first.

You whimper, your body shaking, your breath ragged. I can feel it—you’re so close to giving in.

And then, just as I feel you start to unravel, I pull back. I stop everything. The vibrator, the pressure—it all stops.

You gasp, your body lurching forward, desperate for the sensation to continue. You try to press closer, try to make contact, but I keep my distance, pulling away just enough to leave you hanging in agonising anticipation.

Your body trembles, your frustration spilling over as you try to catch your breath, and I know you’re about to break. You need this, and you know it.

I lean in, my lips brushing your ear, my voice soft but commanding. “Say it,” I murmured, the final push. “Say it, or I’ll stop this right now. I’ll leave you like this, desperate, aching, with nothing.”

Your breath hitches, and I can see the war playing out in your mind. The defiance, the pride—it’s all crumbling beneath the weight of your need. You’re trembling, your body screaming for more, and you know I have the power to give it to you. But you have to say it.

“Say it,” I repeat, my voice a low growl. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.”

For a moment, I think you’ll hold out just a little longer. But then, with a trembling breath, you whisper the word, barely audible, the last piece of your pride shattering. The bullet is now hovering just above your clit and I slowly press down—I smile satisfyingly and your legs open up further to reveal your lovely wet pussy.

“Daddy…”

I smile, victorious, and without hesitation, I press the vibrator back against you, harder this time, increasing the intensity, my hand moving in sync with the relentless pulse.

“There we go,” I murmur, my voice dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

The sight is driving me mad—but I am focused on giving you as much pleasure as you can handle. I slowly rub it up and down your clit as the vibrations run through you. You slowly lift your hips forward, wanting the vibrations lower down, which I oblige. The bullet is edging closer to your glistening pussy—but then I reach across and spread your beautiful lips apart with my fingers—and start to brush the bullet up one and then down the other, in circular motions. This is driving you wild as it edges closer to entering you. I move the bullet down ever so slightly so it is resting, waiting to go in—but then move it all the way up to your clit.

The fact you don't know what's coming next is driving you mad—which makes you look even sexier, if that is possible. You’re at the mercy of what comes next, and the fact that you can’t predict it is pushing you to the edge. You hate it, don’t you? But it also pulls you in. It makes you irresistible.

I go to the next level of vibrations and flick the bullet down from your clit, entering you ever so slightly and then move it back up to your clit, vibrating all of your core. As I do this, you open your legs further, now fully relaxed and turned on and let out a sexy moan—wanting more and more. 

All that fight, all that defiance, just to end up here? It’s almost poetic. It makes me wonder—how will you explain this to your friends? Will you tell them how easily you gave in, how all that stubbornness melted away? Or will you keep this secret tucked away, something only we’ll know?

For the first time, you try to move your arms down to control the pleasure—but then realise you are tied up and I am in control, and let your arms drop behind agan. It's at this point it is time to take it up a level.

You've always been a freak, haven’t you? I saw the signs, the little hints you thought were so subtle. Makes me wonder if this whole act—the defiance, the resistance—is just your way of pretending you aren’t begging for it. You don’t want control, not really. You want to be pushed to the edge, and I’m more than happy to take you there.

I turn the bullet off, giving you some relief from the pleasure for a few seconds - then lean forward and kiss the inside of your left thigh—moving across to the right thigh—but pause over your wet pussy—my mouth just millimeters from your glistening lips—and let out a breath of excitement that you can feel—then move to your right thigh and kiss the inside.

Jesus—if only you could see yourself right now. I almost want to take a video, something to remember this by, a little keepsake of how you look when you finally let go. And then I remember… your phone’s already in my pocket.

I hover over you, taking my time, savoring the moment. With careful precision, I pull it out and position the phone in just the right angle, the best view of you—completely vulnerable, completely mine.

Maybe you’ll watch this back later. Maybe you’ll see yourself the way I see you now—completely undone, stripped of that defiance you cling to so desperately. It’ll be a reminder, a little piece of this moment that you can never escape. And I’ll watch you realise, all over again, how much you need me.

You shift beneath me, your breath shaky, and then, through the haze of tension, your voice breaks the silence. “What are you doing?” The blindfold makes your tone sharper, more vulnerable—unsure of what’s coming next.

You can’t see me, but I know you’re feeling everything. “Tell me,” you whisper, almost a demand, though your voice trembles at the edges. Even blindfolded, you’re still trying to cling to some control.

“Is that how you ask?” I reply, my voice calm, but with that edge of authority you’re trying so hard to ignore. You tense, knowing exactly what I’m getting at, but you’re stubborn, always trying to hold onto that last bit of control.

I lean in closer, my breath warm against your ear. “You know what I want to hear. Try again.”

Your lips twitched what I think is annoyance, “Daddy, please tell me what you’re doing.”

I lean in, my breath barely brushing your ear, “You want to know what I’m doing? I’m setting your phone right here,” I say, patting the bedside table. “Perfectly positioned. Just in case you want to watch this later—see how you look when you let go.”

You shift beneath me, tense, trying to decipher every sound, every movement. “I want you to remember exactly what happens next,” I continue, my fingers trailing lightly down your side. “Because you asked for this. And now, you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”

You are aching for more—so I reach for the wand, turn it on and apply it directly to your clit, sending new sensations through your body. I am moving the wand back and forth from your clit to your juicy pussy, vibrations covering all of you. As I move it all around your beautiful pussy, I can hear and see how wet you are. The circular motion around all of your pussy is taking you to orgasm—but then I stop suddenly, and you catch your breath. 

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t stop. Oh, God.” 

I pressed a kiss to your thigh. “Beg me, sweetheart. Beg me to make you come.” 

“Why are you doing this to me? You fucking psychopath!” 

I know you were right there, hovering on the edge, air sawing in and out of your lungs. You wanted to scream, you wanted to cry. You wanted to claw my face with your fingernails. I know you’re wanting to crawl into my lap and ride my cock to orgasm. 

“Those are not the words. Try again. “Say it and I’ll let you come.”

It is now time to up it again, so I squeeze some pleasure gel in my hand and smother the top of the wand in it. I then grab the bullet and rub more pleasure gel on that too. I now have the wand in one hand and the bullet in the other both vibrating and ready to make you cum. I press the wand gently onto your clit as the bullet slowly enters you, making you take a deep breath and blurt out

“Fuck, Daddy—Please make me come.”

From the look on your face and the words coming out of your mouth, I know you are in ecstasy and it makes my cock throb so much. I ask you to tell me how it feels and you say ‘Amazing, Daddy, please don't stop, I love it.’ Your words and sounds as you take the pleasure turn me on so much.

My eyes darted towards the camera, my eyes communicating: Are you watching? Do you hear yourself?

Your legs are fully open now as I continue to work the bullet in and out of you slowly and the wand on your clit. You are so wet so I decide to switch things up—I take the bullet and gently rub it up and down your clit whilst pointing the wand directly at your pussy. I start to slowly push the wand head against your pussy lips and flick it up and down, the dual vibrations sending you into a frenzy. Oh my God—you look sensational, irresistible—I am in total ecstasy just watching your reactions to the vibrating and your orgasms. 

Your legs, spread apart more, trembling mote, and as I slowly pull the bullet back, your pussy pushes it out and a squirt of your juices shoot out at me. I bet you heard yourself yelling as if from a distance, the high so unbelievably good, better than any drug you'd ever tried. It seemed to go on for days but was probably only seconds. As you came down, the shame crept in to replace the euphoria.

I have never heard or seen you do this before and it makes me even harder, if that is possible. It's like unwrapping a gift that you didn’t even know you wanted, but suddenly can’t imagine living without. I almost want to thank you for the privilege—almost. But that would ruin the moment, wouldn't it?

I slowly start to pull the bullet back again, and it happens again—your beautiful pussy pushes out the bullet and squirts your juices all over my hand. I can now see a wet patch underneath you, which drives me wild. The sight of you orgasming, squirting and gushing is almost too much. I wave the wand all around your soaking wet pussy, juices gushing out of you as I do. I turn the bullet and wand off and just sit there looking at your pulsating and dripping wet pussy and then your gorgeous face as you recover. I am in total awe—

I glance down at the mess you’ve made, my lips curling into a slow, almost proud smile. “Well, would you look at that,” I murmur, teasing, with a hint of mockery. “Miss perfect, always so put together, now completely… undone.”

I lean in, my breath warm against your ear, enjoying the way you squirm at the sound of my voice. “It’s almost impressive, really. I never thought you’d let things get this messy. But here you are, all flustered and out of sorts. Makes me wonder if you secretly like it this way.”

I chuckle softly, pulling back just enough to see the reaction play out on your face. “And honestly? I think it's kind of adorable. Watching you, of all people, fall apart like this.”

I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “I guess being a messy girl suits you.”

You grit your teeth, your voice dripping with frustration as you snap, “Fuck you.” The words hit the air like you’re hoping they’ll cut me, but all I feel is amusement curling in my chest, that familiar, sick satisfaction.

“Ooo, fuck me, huh?” I echo, my voice dripping with mockery, like I’m savoring the taste of your defiance. “That’s adorable. Are you giving me hints?”

You growl in frustration, the sound barely contained, your annoyance bubbling over. I laugh softly, watching you struggle against the moment. “Oh, don’t be mad. I’m just trying to keep up with your subtle suggestions,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. “But I guess someone’s a little touchy, aren’t they?”

The frustration in your eyes behind the black silk only makes the moment sweeter. You’re trying so hard to fight, to stay defiant, but I can see right through it. And it’s entertaining.

Without breaking my smirk, I glance over at the camera on the bedside, locking eyes with it for a moment, letting the weight of this moment be captured.

I turn my gaze back to you, the satisfaction in my smile only deepening. “See? It’s all right here, caught on tape. You’ll thank me for it later.”

I move myself upwards, leaning over you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you pant, every breath shaky and uneven. My fingers trace gently across your cheek, I lean in slowly, my lips hovering just above yours, my breath mingling with yours. I intend for it to be gentle, just a small taste of power, but then—you moved.

You push upward, taking control of the kiss, pulling me into it with a hunger I didn’t expect. For a split second, I freeze, caught off guard by the way you turn the tables, the way stuck your tongue down my throat passionately. 

You’re not just reacting. You’re taking.

I am taken aback as I thought you were recovering but then you whisper in my ear, “I need your cock in my mouth whilst you fuck me with the rabbit.” 

Insatiable. 

I’m frozen, my mind racing to catch up with what I just heard.

“Oh my god…” I murmur, half to myself, the disbelief quickly melting into a slow, satisfied smile. I pull back, just enough to look at you, the amusement and intrigue sparking in my eyes.

I shake my head slightly, chuckling. “You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?” I pause, before I lean in close again, my voice dropping to a low whisper.

“But if you want that…” I tease, my lips brushing against your ear, “you’re going to have to say the magic word.” My smirk deepens, waiting for that final surrender. 

“Daddy,” you drawled so seductively, “Please put your cock in my mouth, I want to suck it while I come.” 

Music to my ears.

I lean forward and kissed you again, sucking on your tongue. I can see that you want your hands free to feel me, you can hear me unzipping my jeans, the sound of it makes you writhe with excitement—but no, you don’t get to have that privilege yet.

I move to the side of you, on my knees and reach back to get the rabbit, gently stroking it down your chest, in between your tits. As I get near your pussy, I squeeze some pleasure gel all over it and then turn it on, the ears and the shaft vibrating on the lowest setting. I rub the tip downwards on your clit, you tilt your head up as I move forward on my knees and your mouth is already open, waiting for it. 

Whilst you are waiting to taste my throbbing rock-hard cock, I slide the rabbit down further, gliding across your wet pussy lips and then I reposition it so the tip is resting against your pussy, ready and waiting to enter you.

As I move my hips forward slowly and my cock starts to enter your eager mouth, I do the same with the rabbit inside your pussy. Inch by inch my cock feels your mouth as the rabbit fills you. The slow rhythm of my cock sliding to the back of your throat and then to the edge of your lips is matched with the rabbit doing the same to your pussy—slow and gentle strokes, all the way in and then all the way out, just resting on your lips. The noises you make as the rabbit enters you fully, the ears vibrating your clit, are sensational and matched by the sight of your mouth wrapped around my cock and arms stretched across the bed, tied helplessly but taking all that I have to give.

You start to speed up sucking my cock, slurping on it, loving it filling your mouth  and this is my queue to match that speed and rhythm with the rabbit—you are so wet that it is gliding in and out of you. All the way in and then out again. Still not fast—but not slow anymore—as you rock your head back and then thrust forward, taking all of me in your mouth. You then slow down and lick around my tip, and I do the same with the rabbit, just the tip rubbing around your open pussy. Then you push forward and take my cock, upto my balls, all the way in your mouth and I slowly push the rabbit all the way in you—as far as it can go, the ears in perfect position to stimulate your clit again. You hold me there in your mouth, not moving at all, and I do the same with the rabbit. This is so passionate and sexy—I could shoot my cum down your throat now—but no way. 

I continue to match your speed and rhythm with the rabbit, letting you have some control. But now it's time for me to take that control back—and taste your smooth, shaven, delicious pussy. So I slowly and gently slide the rabbit out of you as I also pull my cock out of your mouth. As both leave you, you let out the most gorgeous and sexy moan, and—

Was that a smile?

Oh, I saw it. You tried to hide it, but there it was, slipping through for just a moment. And honestly? That’s a huge turn-on. 

I move to the end of the bed, in between your legs, my mouth inches away from your amazing pussy. I can't tell you how gorgeous it is—the mere sight of it makes me want to come. I push your knees as far apart as they can go to admire your soaking wet pussy. I can see your clit bulging, wanting attention. I can see your lips slightly spread apart and shining from your wetness. I follow your lips down, drinking in this magnificent sight —until my eyes lock on to your pussy, which is aching to be filled.

I slowly edge my mouth close to you, and then take one giant lick, from the bottom of your pussy to the top, with the whole of my tongue.

“Oh my f—uck,” you arched wildly against the restraints. You’re so sensitive now, “Bucky—Daddy. . .”

"Please," you whisper, your voice shaky, hesitant, like you’re not sure if you should even say it. But you do. And it’s music to my ears, “I want you. . .”

I tilt my head slightly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh, baby,” I murmur, my tone dripping with amusement, “you want me? I think I need a little more than that.”

I watch you squirm, enjoying every second of your hesitation, savoring the way you’re trying so hard to find the right words. “Come on now,” I add, my voice soft but laced with command. “I need to hear exactly what you want. You’re already begging—why stop there?”

I chuckle lightly, leaning in closer. “Let’s not play shy now, not after how far you’ve come.”

Using my thumb and finger on each side, I prize open your pussy lips. You are so open and I can see you pulsating. You push your buttocks into the mattress, which elevates your pussy ever so slightly—meaning my tongue is at the exact height and pointing directly at you. 

“Your cock daddy. . .please, I need to feel you inside me.”

I chuckle, “Soon, my good girl.”

I push my head forward until my tongue enters your pussy, your juices flowing out either side of my tongue. They taste amazing as they ooze into my mouth. I didn’t stop, either, fucking you with his tongue, growling as I held your legs open as wide as they would go. 

“You are so wet,” he snarled. “I fucking love it!” 

“So good,” you muttered, long past the point of coherence. “Yes, it’s so good.”

The corners of your mouth lifting as you let out a satisfying smile, your hands gripping the slack length of the restraights tightly. The whole sight of you, as well as your wetness and taste is utopia—I never want this to end.

× × × ×

YOUR POV

After a few more thrusts of his tongue, he shifted to you clit, but there was no teasing this time. He licked you ruthlessly, relentlessly, until you began shaking, your hips rocking as you chased a second orgasm. You nearly levitated off the bed when it finally crested, your body splintering apart into a million pieces, destroyed. 

“James!” You screamed his name and strained against the ties holding you down as it went on and on, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

The sudden yank of the blindfold pulls you from the haze you’ve been drowning in. Light filters in slowly, and your vision, still blurry from the darkness, begins to sharpen. The world starts to come into focus, and your eyes immediately lock onto him.

Bucky came up on his knees and began furiously jerking his cock, eyes hooded, mouth hanging open as he grunted. His gaze locked on your swollen pussy until his movements grew uncoordinated, his hips stuttering, and hot jets lashed all over your belly and chest. Like he was marking you. 

Oh my god—did the camera catch that?

He squeezed to get every drop of come out of his dick and onto your body, then sat on his haunches, chest heaving. You were covered in him, the liquid cooling on your bare flesh. Pleasured and used by the last man you should ever be attracted to.

Now he was stroking his dick again, the muscles in his arm flexing as he pumped that giant rod between his legs. God, he had a gorgeous cock and you felt an answering tug in your lower half.

You watched his fist squeeze the head of his cock. A bead of moisture appeared on the tip and he used his thumb to smear it all over the head. You inadvertently licked your lips, missing his taste, and waves of heat rolled through your limbs, settling in your core.

“You like watching me work my cock?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an edge to it, as if he already knows the answer.

“No.” you said stubbornly.

He tilts his head slightly, that infuriating smirk playing at his lips. “I’m starting to think no means yes.”

Bucky moves closer, and despite every ounce of stubbornness in you, your body betrays you again. It’s like your body is inviting him, reacting on instinct, craving what your mind is still refusing to admit. Your pussy was swollen, slick. Primed for sex.

“Deschide larg picioarele pentru mine. Mică târfă.” You heard Bucky growl in his throat.

“What?”

“Open your legs wide for me, little slut.”

God, you wanted to hate him for that, but a blast of heat tore through you. 

“Jesus,” you whispered as you widened your legs slightly. “You’re such a dick.” 

“Hmm. Do you like to be called names, Y/N?” He let go of his cock and placed his hands on either side of his hips, displaying himself for you. “Do you like your hair pulled? Do you like to wear a man’s come on your face?”

Shit, when he asked those things in his low Romanian-accented voice, it sounded like pure sex. No doubt Bucky fucked like a beast, rough and dirty. He hadn’t shown you that side of him yet. The men you had been with treated you politely, like you were made of glass. 

“Is that what you like to do to women in bed?”

Ignoring your question, he stared at your body, placing himself between your legs. “I wish you were sitting on my face right now. I would lick you and bite you, suck on your clit until you passed out. I want to pull on your skin with my teeth until it stings, then make you come so hard you squirt all over me.”

You stared at his wide cock, which jutted out proudly from his body, bobbing in his movement, with its smooth skin and veins along the side. You imagined that thickness drilling inside you, splitting you in half and filling you up. Your pussy clenched around the emptiness and you moaned.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” 

You licked your lips as you stared at his erection, too turned on to lie. 

“Yes.” Bucky raised his brows, “. . .Daddy.”

He grabbed himself again, strong fingers wrapping around the shaft as he pulled, teasingly rubbing his head against your tender pussy.

“I would fuck you so good. Deep and hard. I would give you all my come, everything I am saving up in my balls just for you.” 

“God, don’t you ever shut up?” Your legs were shaking, your movements uncoordinated because you were so turned on. So close. So needy. 

“And you’ll take it, yes?” he continued, clearly not caring that this was a one-sided conversation. “I have never seen a woman so hungry for it. Didn’t those boys in Hollywood know how to fuck you? I bet they left you unsatisfied.”

Fuck why is he dragging this out so much?!

Hands resting on your thighs, you began crooning, “Can’t you see how wet I am, Daddy? Can you see how turned on I am by watching you jerk that big cock of yours? I bet you have to use lube when you fuck, you’re so big. Do the women scream when you’re pounding inside them? Do you make them bleed, leave their pussies raw?”

“That fucking mouth,” Bucky murmurs, a low, satisfied growl escaping as a slow grin spreads across his face. The crown of his dick dragged against your entrance, teasing, and you actually tilted your hips, eager for the invasion. “That’s it. You’re ready for me.” 

You were beyond denial, beyond caring. “Yes,” you admitted to him. 

“Show me. Take me inside.”

This was so dirty. So wrong. Yet your body was humming, almost burning alive with lust. There was an embarrassing amount of wetness between your legs, more than you would’ve thought possible considering the circumstances.

You adjusted your hips, seeking, and the head of his cock slipped inside you. Fuck, yes. You didn’t stop, continuing to rock your hips, writhing underneath him, to bring him deeper. You were wild for it, desperate to reach the finish, toward the explosive orgasm you knew awaited you. 

“Shh,” he said in your ear. “I’ll give you what you need.”

He took over then, but pressed in much slower than you expected. The beginning had been about domination and strength, but now he invaded so carefully, like he wanted you to feel every twitch and tiny movement. 

This was almost seduction, and it was worse than the chaos of moments ago. But there was no stopping it. You craved this, needed it. With a growl, he gave a final thrust of his hips and filled you completely, and the air left your lungs in a rush. He was hot and hard and so big, his dick impaling you, with the heavy weight of his body and restraints preventing you from moving. All you could do was lie there and take it. 

Which made it a thousand times hotter. 

“Fuck,” he said on a long exhale, then whispered a long string of another language that sounded both bewildered and excited.

Ragged breaths gusted against your cheek as he began to move, his hips meeting your pelvis. “You are mine, Y/N. Until I decide otherwise this pussy belongs to me.”

You couldn’t respond, because his dick was destroying you in the very best way. You loved the way he felt inside you, like there was no room for anything else. No insecurities or worries, no past or future. Just this, right here. Perspiration coated your skin and he surrounded you, his cock pounding, pounding, pounding into your body. The pleasure built and you closed your eyes, focusing on the orgasm just out of reach.

The sounds of skin slapping and heavy breathing filled the room. He fucked you like it was his purpose in life, completely dedicated to the task and never slowing down for a second. With every savage thrust you slid a little on the mattress, and you were so close to coming, your muscles clenching and straining . . . . 

“You belong to me. Say it, doll.” 

The words twisted inside you, driving you higher, and the walls of your pussy contracted around his cock. 

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do that again.”

You squeezed around him once more, and he groaned. “Tell me. Let me hear you say it.” 

His fingers slid between your body and the mattress, moving lower until he found your clit. He rubbed you in tight circles. “Let me hear you say you belong to me.” 

The words fell from your mouth on a gasp. “I belong to you, Daddy.” 

Everything changed. He rode you even harder, without mercy, his fingers never leaving your clit, “Vino pentru mine, mica mea curvă frumoasă.”

Come for me, my beautiful little slut.

The combination of the words along with the stimulation became too much. Shocks raced up from your toes as the orgasm rushed over you. Your brain went offline, everything going blank for a long moment as the euphoria transported you into space. 

“God, yes! Oh, fuck,” you heard yourself shout from far away while you shook uncontrollably. When your climax finally ebbed, he moved to his knees, releasing your legs from the restraints and lifted your hips to change the angle. 

“Yes! Shove it deep, come inside me, Daddy.”

It allowed him deeper, and after a few pumps he swelled inside you, his hips stuttering just before hot jets of come filled your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, ah!” he roared, his fingertips sinking into your flesh. No doubt you would be covered in bruises tomorrow. That should’ve horrified you, but it didn’t. After a moment, his movements slowed but he kept rocking, his dick still pulsing inside you. 

“Take it all, baby,” he crooned and lowered to kiss your chest spine. “Take all of my come. You earned it. Ești o fată atât de bună.” 

You’re such a good girl.

Fuck, you wished he would stop saying things like that. You flushed from head to toe and basked in the praise. He continued peppering your skin with kisses, displaying a tenderness you hadn’t expected. You melted like hot candle wax on the floor.

“Ești frumoasă,” he murmured as he dropped kisses along your chest. “Ești perfectă.”

You’re so beautiful. You’re perfect.

You felt butterflies in the deepest pit of your stomach. You’re not supposed to like that but you do.

Big hands swept up your back and you felt free from your restraints completely and then over your hip as he lifted you, angling your face toward his. 

“I need you,” he whispered and kissed you.

You fell into the kiss eagerly, softening for him and letting him take your mouth. You could feel his urgency, his desperation, and it fed your own. His fingers grabbed a fistful of your hair to hold you in place as his tongue and lips devoured you. 

The kiss went on and on, and your body responded as it always did to this man, your pussy getting more wet and swollen. You loved the way he kissed, with such absolute force and reverence. Like he longed to destroy and cherish you at the same time. Your skin crawled with need, a thousand pinpricks that made you feel alive and powerful. Bold, as if you could do anything. 

You decided to take a risk. You flipped it around so now you’re on top. You started moving your hand south, over his ribs and down his abs. His mouth broke off from yours and he waited, his breath coming fast. He didn’t stop you, so you continued toward his crotch, and your palm skimmed his sweat-slick muscles. 

He was glorious, a marble statue came to life. 

You found his cock, thick and hard against his belly, and you gave it a gentle brush, a tease, before continuing to his balls. He grunted when you rolled and squeezed their weight with your fingers. Most men loved to have their balls played with, and Bucky was no different. 

He spread his thighs to give you more room and you caressed him, exploring. When your hand swept the length of his dick, he jerked and rocked his hips, silently asking for more. You stroked him slowly and he exhaled against your cheek, strong fingers digging into your skin, the room quiet except for both your breathing. 

You liked having him at your mercy for a change. Your lower half began to throb as you worked him. You knew what it was like to have this big dick inside you and your pussy was weeping for it. You weren't sure he’d allow you on top, but you really wanted to ride him just this once.

You slid your leg over his hips to straddle him. He held onto your waist and the feel of all his strength and power beneath you made your mouth water. His gaze was locked on your pussy as you grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. You began feeding him inside, sinking down slowly, loving the stretch and burn as he took up all the space in your body. 

“Fuck, James,” You whispered, his full name falling from your lips while you paused to let yourself adjust. 

“Da, frumoasa mea fetiță,” he said softly, “Take me inside.”

A rush of arousal went through your core and he slid deeper. You gasped, hovering between pleasure and pain, and his thumb found your clit, rubbing and pressing. Tingles cascaded along the backs of your thighs, through your belly, and soon he was fully seated. 

Goddamn, he was a lot. 

You began slowly moving your hips, sliding his dick in and out of you while grinding on his pelvis. You clit dragged between you at the end of every stroke, and it sent streaks of white-hot need along your bloodstream. Though the room was dark, you locked eyes with him, and you could see the new arousal and possessiveness staring up at you. This felt so real. So intimate. Like he could see inside you, past all your deepest insecurities to your very soul. This is what he wanted.

You focused on your pleasure and churned your hips, loving the way his length tunnelled in and out of your channel, the friction unbelievably good. You tossed your hair and arched your back, giving him a show as you rode him. 

“God, yes,” you moaned. “I want to do this all day.” 

“Feel how hard I am?” His whisper filled your head like smoke, taking you higher. “That is all for you. Just you, comoara mea.”

The unguarded hunger and lust in his expression spurred you on, so you moved faster, and the bliss soon built and coiled inside you like a spring. When you placed your hands on his chest for leverage you half-expected him to shove you off, take over, and pin you to the mattress. Surprisingly he didn’t, so you dug your nails into his flesh, holding on as you continued to fuck him. 

“Oh, shit.” you eyes slammed shut. You were so close, the orgasm was right there. 

“Look at me,” he said sharply. “Look at me while you use my dick to get off.”

You did as he commanded, so you were staring at one another when you started to come a second later. The orgasm swept through you like a tsunami, waves and waves that chased everything else away. 

Your mind went blank, his beautiful face your only anchor as you trembled and shook. The walls of your pussy squeezed him in rhythmic pulses and his lips parted on a hiss. 

Before you’d even come down, he lifted you slightly and began pounding up from below. His feet were braced on the mattress, and each powerful thrust rocked the bed and sent the headboard into the wall with a bang. 

Bending, you placed your face directly above his, your mouths inches apart. You were close enough to feel his breath as he grunted and huffed. You don’t know what made me say it, but you started talking. 

“That’s it, daddy. Give me all of your come. Every bit of it, deep inside. Make me your good girl.”

“Fuck!” His body went taut beneath you, and you could feel him swell just before he flooded your insides again with hot lashes of his come. He held you still, his fingers clamped around your hips so hard you knew you’d have bruises to add to the collection. 

“You are mine,” he ground out, his big body jerking beneath you.

Finally he sagged into the bed. You tried to catch your breath, your body sprawled on top of him like a rag doll. He was still inside you, and you could feel our sticky mess leaking out of you as he softened. 

He stared at the ceiling, arms wide, chest heaving, while sweat rolled down his temples and into his thick dark hair. You both stayed like that for a long time, neither of you speaking. You didn’t have a clue as to what to say. You felt destroyed in the very best way.

He dragged a hand down his face. Gently rolling you off to his side.

“Soak in the hot tub,” he said and pushed to his feet. “Otherwise you will be sore later.”

He didn’t help you up or even look in your direction. Instead, he jerked on some clothes and walked out of the bedroom, leaving you on the bed. Naked, filled with his come, and unshackled.

Your body still tingles from the aftershocks as you reach over to the bedside table, your hand trembling slightly as you grab your phone. Bucky had placed it there earlier, so casually, like it was just part of the routine. But now, the weight of it feels different, heavier.

You swipe the screen, the familiar glow illuminating the dimly lit room. Your thumb hovers for a second before you press play. The video begins, and there you are—captured in the heat of the moment, vulnerable, raw.

You feel a strange mixture of curiosity and disbelief watching yourself like this, seeing everything from a perspective that isn’t your own. Your breath catches in your throat as the sound of his voice, low and commanding, fills the room again. Each word, each movement, feels magnified, more intense than you remember.

As the video plays, you notice the moment when Bucky shifts, his gaze no longer on you but directly into the camera. That smirk, the one you’ve seen a thousand times, is aimed at the lens—not at you. For a second, it’s as if he’s performing for the camera, not for you, and the realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

He knew. He knew you’d be watching this later, knew exactly how it would feel for you to see him like this, his eyes focused on the camera while you were completely unaware. The deliberate way he captured the moment, not just for you but for himself too, is unsettling—and somehow, impossibly, it draws you in even more.

It was all planned. A reminder that even in the heat of it, Bucky was always one step ahead.

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Danny and Ellie are forced to flee Amity Park. And find themselves in Coast City.

I started writing this with the intention of only writing a short prompt, but then I just kept going until I felt like I’d written enough.

Danny gets caught up in yet another fight with Skulker, only this time it wasn’t because Skulker had come for Danny. No. He’d come for Ellie. And she was already weak from fleeing the GIW who had shot at her the moment she arrived in Amity Park.

Whether Skulker is after Ellie for Vlad, or because he wants her pelt can be up to you.

Either way, he manages to beat Skulker and captures him in the thermos. Just as he lets out a long sigh of relief he hears the sound of an ecto-gun being fired and then his side is burning and he’s falling. He’s falling too fast and it hurts and he can’t stop-

Danny guys the ground hard. His head is spinning, his skin feels like it’s burning, and he can hear the stomping of feet as someone runs towards him.

He needs to get up. He needs to get away. Find Ellie and make sure she’s safe. He’s needs to MOVE- but he can’t. Black spots for his vision as he manages to stand up and his eyes meet the end of his mother’s gun.

Before anyone can speak, he’s falling again, handing face first in the dirt. And the familiar feeling of de-transforming washes over him.

The last thing he hears before loosing consciousness is the grief stricken sound of his parent’s voice as three voices shout in unison.

“OH MY GOD DANNY!”

“DANNY ARE YOU OKAY?!”

“NO, GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

When Danny wakes up again, he’s in his room, the curtains are drawn but he can see the sliver of sunlight pouring in through the gap underneath. He notes that his body aches, but not as much as usual after a fight like that. And there’s a warmth enveloping his hand. It’s soothing, and he almost considers going back to sleep when he notices that there’s a ghost in the room. And all too fast he’s sitting up and staring into the exhausted, red, puffy eyes of his mother looking back at him from where she’s sitting holding his hand in hers.

Just behind her he sees Ellie floating just above the ground talking quietly with his dad.

“Danny,” his mother’s voice draws his attention along with Jack and Ellie’s. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you in any pain?”

He didn’t notice when she’d helped him to lay back down again. “Do you need anything? Ellie here was just telling us about how regular pain medication doesn’t work as well for the two of you. But I’m sure we could find something for you that might-”

“Mom,” Danny rasps. Man his throat was dry.

As if reading him mind Ellie appears by his mother’s side holding out a glass of water with a straw in it. Maddie helps Danny to sit up a little more so he can drink.

“Mom,” he tries again, sounding better this time, “I’m okay. I promise. It’s not that bad!” He starts to lie as the panic sets in. He de-transformed in front of them. He knows he did. And the fear shows on his face, it must, because before he can even begin trying to think up an excuse his mother is crying.

“Oh Danny, it’s okay. We know. And we’re not angry at you. We love you. So much.”

And Danny’s heart swells at hearing it. “You don’t hate me for being Phantom?” He asks quietly.

“No! We could never hate you Dann-o!” His dad’s cheery tone doesn’t disguise the sadness and guilt etched into his face. “We’re just…so sorry that we never noticed before. And that we…” he can’t finish his sentence but he doesn’t need to. Danny already knows what he’s apologise for.

“I’m okay. I promise. I heal fast!” Danny tied to reassure them.

It seems to help a little, though his parents still have a grim look in their eyes. As they make connections in just how Danny would know that about himself.

And Ellie, with perfect timing to cut the tension, announces happily, “Danny! Good news! Your parents said I could stay with you!”

Ellie had told his parents while Danny was unconscious about being his clone. She saw how they fretted over Danny, cleaning and dressing his injuries with the love and care she only imagined from a parent that truly loves you. And they had accepted her almost right away. Jack even crying as he proudly declared himself a father of three.

Jack soon excused himself, saying he’ll go see if Jazz needs any help with cooking lunch. Danny and his mother share a look, and with a final kiss to his head says she’ll go make sure nothing gets brought back to life. And she asks Ellie to please make sure Danny stays in bed and rests.

Danny and Ellie are left alone in his room, and it gives Danny the chance to really revel in everything. His parents accept him. They love him, both sides of him. And they accepted Ellie too! And said she can stay! She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

Now, a lot can happen in the span of a few seconds, let alone minutes. In the time it took for Maddie to reach the kitchen, their front door was kicked down and a group of GIW agents had stormed in demanding they hand over the ectoplasmic scum they were harbouring.

Jack and Maddie drew their weapons and planted themselves directly in front of the GIW agents. The agents state that a ghost shield was put up around the house to prevent any ghosts from escaping, and by law any ghosts within the premises were ti be handed over for destruction immediately. Jazz runs upstairs to Danny’s room to warn them that the GIW were inside the house and that they needed to run. They need to get to the portal NOW.

With all the authority of an older sister Jazz tells Ellie to grab the go bag Danny had insisted on having prepared, and picks Danny up despite his protests that he could walk. Or well, fly. Ellie turns them all invisible and intangible and takes them down to the lab.

They can hear the sound of shouting, and something breaking and a gun being fired all coming from upstairs as Jazz opens the portal for Danny and Ellie.

Another shot rings out. And then another, and more shouting.

“Quickly you two need to go!”

Another shot.

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Danny, now Phantom, asks suddenly as he and Ellie are preparing to enter the Ghost Zone.

Two more shots.

“Someone needs to be here to deactivate the portal in case the guys in white make it down here. I’ll be fine. Mom and dad will be okay, they’re not here for us so you two need to go. Now!” There’s banging on the lab’s door and Jazz shoves both Danny and Ellie into the portal. The last thing Danny hears before the portal closes behind them is another shot being fired.

Danny is scared and angry as he and Ellie are forced to fly through the zone with no currently known way to get back to his family. He needs to make sure they’re okay. He needs to protect them.

But right now Danny is still hurt, and he needs to get himself and Ellie somewhere safe. They begin to slowly make their way through the zone, looking for somewhere to rest and avoiding any ghosts that might want to pick a fight.

Ellie isn’t sure how long she and Danny have been moving for. It feels like it could have been days, or hours, or even minutes. But Danny can’t fly as quickly right now. He’s trying to keep a brave face for Ellie’s sake but she can see the exhaustion beginning to take hold of him.

So Ellie makes the executive decision to touch down somewhere to rest. She tells Danny she’s tired. Danny knows she isn’t and it’s only because she’s worried and wants him to rest. So he goes along with it and they make their way to the next floating island they come across and thank the ancients it’s empty. The two halfas touch down and Danny slumps over as he sits against a nearby rock. Ellie pulls out some energy bars that were tucked away in the go bag and hands one over to Danny.

They do this a few times, stopping to rest, as they gradually make their way to the Far Frozen. Ellie had insisted on going there, Frostbite would know what to do, and he would be able to help Danny with his injuries that had started bleeding again in all the commotion of escaping, and then flying and hiding from ghosts known to attack Danny regularly.

But unfortunately luck is not on their side yet again as a natural portal rips open directly in front of them, and closes behind them after spitting them out in a city they didn’t recognise.

That’s how Danny and Ellie find themselves in Coast City, hiding out in an old warehouse by the docs while Danny heals and they figure out how they’re going to get back home.

That is, until now.

Danny stares up at his little sister and sighs with the resigned tone of an exasperated older sibling.

“Ellie,” he takes a breath, “what did you do?”

“I’m my defence,” Ellie glares up at Green Lantern, who has Ellie scruffed by the back of her hoodie, before looking back at Danny, “I simply do not vibe with the law.”

[marylxvrr]

" UNDER HIS CONTROL "

𐙚 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 — a charismatic, beloved online personality who captivates millions with his charm and humor, but when you meet him in person, the line between admiration and obsession blurs, and he will stop at nothing to ensure you never escape his grasp . . .

𐙚 Trigger Warnings: Obsession, manipulation, possessiveness

You’d been a fan of Luca "Lucio" Vega for months. You’d watched his streams late into the night, laughing at his jokes, marveling at his gaming skills, and becoming more and more enchanted with him each time. To you, he wasn’t just a streamer—he was someone you looked up to, someone you admired deeply. But you never imagined you’d meet him in person.

Then came the announcement: the annual gaming convention was in town, and he was hosting a meet-and-greet. You could hardly believe your luck. The thought of meeting him, shaking his hand, maybe even having a brief conversation, filled you with excitement. You didn’t care about the long line or the crowds; nothing else mattered.

When you finally reached the front of the line, you were almost breathless with anticipation. There he was, sitting at the table, a wide grin on his face as he signed autographs. His eyes were just as warm and captivating as they appeared on stream, and your heart skipped a beat when he finally looked up at you.

“You must be Y/N!” he said with a bright smile, recognizing you from the thousands of fans who had poured into the room. “I’ve seen you in the chat, right? You’re the one who’s always so supportive.”

You were shocked. He remembered you? Out of the sea of faces, he remembered you?

“Yeah, that’s me!” you managed to say, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “I—I’m such a big fan! I love your streams.”

His grin widened, and for a moment, you thought you might actually pass out from the excitement. But then, his eyes darkened slightly, just a flicker of something you couldn’t place.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to meet my biggest fans in person,” he said, his voice smooth and almost hypnotic. “You all make me feel like I’m more than just a streamer. You make me feel… special.”

You chuckled nervously, trying to shrug it off, but you felt his gaze linger on you a little too long, and it sent an odd shiver down your spine.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough so only you could hear. “You’re different, Y/N. I can tell. There’s something about you that stands out.” His hand brushed yours as he passed you a signed poster, but the touch lingered, just a bit too long. “Maybe we should hang out after this. I’ve got some time.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. This was all happening so quickly. “Um, I—I didn’t know you were planning anything like that.”

His smile never faltered, but you could see the shift in his eyes. “Don’t worry, we’ll make time. I’ve already noticed you—how you support me in the streams, always there in the chat, always *watching* me.” He paused, his voice dipping into something softer, more dangerous. “I don’t want you to think of me as just some guy on a screen anymore. You’re special to me. *We’re* special.”

The words made your heart race, but not in the excited way you had expected. Something felt off now, like the entire room had shifted. The way he looked at you, the possessive tone in his voice, it wasn’t the playful banter you were used to seeing on his streams.

“Uhm… I didn’t mean to make it weird,” you said, stepping back a little. “I should probably get going. It’s been great to meet you, really.”

But he stood up abruptly, his smile still there, though it now held a deeper, unsettling edge. “No. I think we need to talk more. You’ve been following me for a while, right? We have a connection. You’ve always been there for me. Now it’s time for me to *be there* for you.”

You tried to move, but his hand gripped your wrist, pulling you back gently but firmly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see it now—the obsession, the possessiveness that had always lurked beneath the surface of his charming persona.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t realize it yet, but we’re already together. You’ll see. You’ll understand, eventually. You can’t just leave me, not after everything we’ve been through.”

Panic surged through you. His grip tightened on your wrist, and the crowd around you seemed to fade into the background as his presence overwhelmed you. The illusion of the happy, funny streamer you once admired vanished, replaced by something far darker.

“Let go,” you whispered, trying to tug free, but the look in his eyes only deepened, like he was savoring every second of your discomfort.

“No, Y/N,” he said, his voice now colder, more demanding. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re mine now. And no one—no one—can take you from me.”

His words settled like a weight on your chest. This wasn’t the man you’d admired from the screen. This was someone else, someone dangerous.

And suddenly, you realized that your admiration had turned into his obsession.

-----

Next oneshot: yandere general x reader (healer/nurse)

[slttygeto]

SHAMELESS | TOJI & SHIU

STICKY (part 2)

જ⁀➴ synopsis: Toji isn't that big on sharing, but he can give Shiu a pass just for the sake of your pleasure.

જ⁀➴ content warning: fem!reader, pwp (i mean, the plot is barely there), established relationship w toji, he and shiu fucked you the previous night, cunnilingus, fingering fucking, multiple orgasms, dirty talk.

જ⁀➴ word count: 1,9k

ʚ⁺˖↪ comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

You never had a problem with Toji spending the night over at your place. In fact, you thought it was pretty cute when he woke up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before asking you what was for breakfast. Except this time, it wasn’t just Toji in your kitchen. You glance to the side as you finish serving the scrambled eggs on three plates and there’s a blush on your face when you see a freshly showered Shiu drying his hair, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hey, I’m still here,” you let out a squeal when you feel Toji’s rough hands grab at your hips, sitting you down on his lap before wrapping a possessive arm around your waist.

“Toji—be careful, the pan is hot!” You try to get off his lap but his hold only tightens around your body. You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s glaring at Shiu, the man who decided to join you and Toji on a little night of fun.

“Easy on her, Fushiguro. That’s where my hands were last night, I’m pretty sure there’s bruises there.” Shiu knows exactly how to rile up Toji, and he only scoffs in response before lifting up your shirt to check for himself.

“What are you—“

“You weren’t so shy last night when you squirted on him,” Toji’s eyes are sharp, but the way he was holding your shirt made you relax against his touch. “Let me see.” And you do, you let him lift up your shirt to see the love bites and very subtle hand prints on your hips, waist and thighs. You feel a little exposed as Shiu takes a seat facing you both, thanking you for the meal as though your boyfriend wasn’t just stripping you naked in front of him.

“You asshole,” your boyfriend grumbled. “I told you to be careful with her.”

“But she seemed to like it,” Shiu raises his head to stare at you, and you feel your heart get stuck in your throat. “Didn’t you, sweetheart?” You nod in response, and try to slip away from Toji’s hold and manage to succeed since the man seemed to be focused on the food in front of him.

You place the pan in the sink, and turn around to take a seat next to Toji. You’re about to eat, you pour orange juice for yourself, and there’s a rather comfortable silence in the kitchen. That is until your boyfriend decides to break it.

“Any thoughts about last night?” His question didn’t really catch you off guard, you were expecting one of them to bring it up but you were hoping for it to be Toji, just in case. You don’t look up from your food as you nod at him, grabbing the glass of orange juice.

“What did you like exactly?” Oh? He wanted details? You feel yourself flush at the question. You’ve never gone into detail about what you liked during sex unless it was to learn with Toji about each other’s bodies. But now that you had another man—one that made you see stars last night, sitting right across from you with a proud smirk painting his features, you find yourself shifting on your seat.

“I liked…uh, when you both ate me out.” You manage to choke out the sentence, cheeks flaring up when you realize exactly what you just said. Toji senses your shyness and grabs you from your seat to place you on his lap again.

“Why is that? Is there something else you liked?” His rough fingers are gripping your thighs, and you can tell he’s trying to force them open but you let him anyway and he smirks. So you knew where this was going.

“You both ate me out… differently,” it was true. While Toji was the type to abuse your clit with licks and overstimulate you until you saw stars, Shiu teased at the bud until you had tears streaming down your face. He would suck then pull away, then suck again and repeat the motion—and when you did reach your orgasm, you had to hold onto the bed sheets and gasp for air. Seeing Shiu make you cum this hard made Toji grab you immediately to fuck your brains out, forcing the man who previously made you cum to fist his cock while you cried and clawed at Toji’s back.

“And?” Toji’s hand slips inside your panties and your breath hitches. Your hand holds onto his forearm and your head rests on his shoulder as you sigh.

“Baby-“

“And?” He presses, feeling his finger trace over your clit ever so slightly and you moan before nodding.

“And—fuck, when you both fucked me at the same time-“ You don’t finish your sentence as Toji starts rubbing your clit in soft, slow circles. You’re still sensitive from the previous night, and you’re embarrassed to admit that you might cum so quickly.

“Oh yeah?” It’s Shiu’s turn to talk, and you stare up at him with those pretty eyes that widen his grin. “Told you she liked it, Fushiguro. She likes to be stuffed,” the tone he was using with you makes you whimper, and you try to bury your face in Toji’s chest.

“My baby, my dirty girl- one big man isn’t enough for you? You need two to feel satisfied?” Toji says against your hair, his finger rubbing your clit faster. You’re whining against him when he starts rubbing your clit using the palm of his hand, and you grind your hips at the same rhythm.

“Answer him, sweetheart.” You’re brought out of your haze at Shiu’s voice, and mid gasping for air and gripping Toji’s arm, you manage to utter out a few words.

“Yeah-fuck, yeah I do. Two big—you two are big,” your flushes when you hear both Toji and Shiu chuckle at your words, so fucked out that you were openly admitting that you enjoyed being split open on their cocks.

“Is that so?” Toji kisses your ear, watching as you squirmed from the contact. He let you grind yourself desperately against the palm of his hand before eyeing Shiu.

You could feel yourself get closer, you were gasping and moaning and it was all so good. Your boyfriend helps you by kissing your neck, whispering a few praise words, telling you how fucking pretty you looked fucking yourself on his hand. But Toji was cruel, and you should’ve kept that in mind.

He wasn’t going to give you what you wanted unless he felt like it, and so when he pulls his hand away from your pussy and robs you from your orgasm, you let out a pathetic sob. Your hips buck up and stutter, and you’re wailing in protest.

“Toji! Toji- was so close, why-“ Your boyfriend roughly grabs your jaw, ignoring the tears glossing your eyes. He kisses your forehead and grins before making you look forward and your breath gets caught in your throat.

Shiu was on his knees, with both of his hands resting on your thighs. You look back at Toji, then at the man kneeling in front of you and whimper when you feel his finger trace the outline of your pussy through your panties.

“She’s desperate.”

“She’s sensitive,” Toji warns the other man who only chuckles in response. He taps your butt and tells you to lift up yourself a little, taking off your underwear before putting it in his pants and your boyfriend glares at him.

“You better give that back.”

“I’m about to eat your girlfriend out, and you care about that?” One of Toji’s arms wraps around your waist while his free hand grips your thigh. It’s a silent and subtle reminder that you were his, he was yours and Shiu pleasuring you didn’t change that. You are once again trapped between two big men, same as last night. And Shiu chuckles when he sees your swollen clit twitch a little.

“Poor thing, Toji is so mean, hm?” You sniffle and nod, and he chuckles lightly at how desperate you are to cum.

“Don’t worry pretty thing, won’t tease you like he did.” And sure enough, he was parting your pussy lips and diving in with his tongue first. He kisses at your sensitive clit, licking and brushing his lips against the bud while you squirm in Toji’s hold.

“Don’t push it.” Toji sent yet another warning glare his way, but it quickly dissolved into a soft look when you cry out his name even though there’s another man eating you out.

“What is it baby, hm?” His big hand lets go of your thigh to grab your face. He tilts it so that you can stare at him, and he coos at the fucked out look on your face. You were gone, and your boyfriend found it so endearing and so hot. He would never admit it, but sharing you with Shiu was better than doing so with any other man.

There are slurping noises coming from between your legs and your lips part, eyebrows pinching. You try to look down at Shiu despite Toji’s strong grip on your face, wanting to look at the man who was about to give you an earth shattering orgasm. Shiu sees your attempt and smacks your boyfriend’s thigh. Instead of protesting and telling him to fuck off, they lock eyes and unbeknownst to you come up with a plan.

“You’re so spoiled,” before you could even ask what Toji meant by this, his hand releases your face and grabs the back of your thigh. He tells you to be good and hold it there while he slips his hand underneath. You feel his fingers trace your folds, and your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel him push two thick fingers inside you.

“There it is,” Toji laughs. “Fuck, you’re so dirty, this is exactly what you wanted, yeah?” You can’t respond—they have officially fucked you stupid. The combination of Shiu’s mouth on your clit and Toji’s fingers curling up inside you makes you cum embarrassingly fast.

You tremble in your boyfriend’s hold, jaw going slack when neither men want to stop or pull away. Your hands try to push away Shiu’s head and Toji’s head, but to no avail.

“I can’t—Toji!” You cry out when you feel him nip at your neck, the squelching sound of his fingers going in and pushes you again towards another orgasm.

“Yes you can, come on baby girl—come on,” he whispers in your ear, peppering a few kisses there and it seems to be the one thing that pushes you over the edge. You cum around his fingers and hard. You are gasping for air, holding onto his forearm while your hips continue to shake stutter. Shiu has to pepper a few kisses on your inner thighs and stomach, whispering against your skin.

“Calm down, there you go,” you feel spoiled, like a princess. Your forehead is sweaty and your hair is sticking to it. You hiss when Shiu presses another loving kiss to your clit and squirm on Toji’s lap.

“Easy on her.” Toji warns the man again before taking the fingers that were inside you and licking them clean. You blush at the gesture and look away from him, as if he didn’t just finger fuck you within an inch of your life.

“Let me have her.” Shiu tells your boyfriend who raises a questioning eyebrow.

“What?”

“The shower. It’s my turn to fuck her there.” You feel the butterflies in your stomach, and Shiu chuckles when he sees the eager look on your face.

“See? Even she is excited.”

“Okay, but you only have twenty minutes.” Shiu chuckles at this, sending you a knowing look.

“We both know that’s more than enough for both of us, right sweetheart?”

Fuck. You were truly in heaven.

ʚ⁺˖↪ GIRL DINNNERRRR GIRL DINNEEEERRRR also im so annoyed i couldnt find a proper panel of them both together. so ignore the annoying header.

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.