#i can’t form crushes on people i casually date

[coffeekaspbrak]

i wanna kiss this boy but man do i not wanna deal with the consequences

[kasssscali]

If the request are still open, may I request some jealous Jax headcanons please? (Not dating the reader yet) thank you! ♡♡♡

A/N: yessiiiir Also requests are still closed, this person requested when they where open and I now just got to that

I definitely see Jax being the type to get jealous easily, I have previously stated that he absolutely adores and craves any form of attention

it explains why he’s such a dick all the time

it takes him forever to realize that he’s catching feelings for someone, and that certain someone was YOU

its honestly infuriating to Jax, he can’t explain why he feels that way when it comes to you, at first he doesn’t know what it even is

During his stage of denial and questioning, his focus is on you a lot

what your doing, what your up to, and even potential dark fears he can find out

but seeing you get along so well with the other circus members instead of him, hurts him deep down

he’s in denial, and tries to shrug off that he doesn’t care at all

You apparently get along great with Kinger the most, the HOOHA of all people

“What do you see in that guy anyway?” He’ll straight up ask you about that, he’s very detailed with his facial expressions and you can see the visible annoyance in his face

Kinger is just a friend to you, “mhm, yeah sure” He’ll sell that attitude with an eye roll

he doesn’t want anyone knowing how much this is actually getting to him

Jax doesn’t hide his feelings when it comes to anger, annoyance, and anything frustrated related

and it’s so obvious that he’s frustrated with you being supposedly GREAT friends with Kinger

little does he know that his attitude pushes you away more, in order for Jax to come to terms with his emotions he needs someone to tell his to his face

him trying to figure out the problem let alone solve it is nearly impossible

When you start giving some attention to Jax, he’ll go right back to his usual self of being a dick

but now he’s especially a dick to YOU, which kind of proves that deep down he needed your attention

The two of you aren’t official, and Jax has no idea what he is feeling and how to deal with it

he’ll follow you around casually, he won’t in the slightest make a big deal about his little obsession with you

he’s not afraid to express his annoyance to you, if it seems like your shrugging him off his attitude is going to switch up real quick and it gets to the point where it makes you snap

”what are you in love with me or something?!”

Jax stares at you offensively, and he’s dead quiet for a second

”pppsssshhh! No” He‘ll wave his hand at you dismisvely “what makes you even think that?~”

but what you said can’t get out of his head, then it’s up to Zooble to help him out

I think that Zooble can easily read people, and sees the crush that he is oblivious too

[punksocks]

Astrology Observations No.27:

*just based on my observations, pleas only take what resonates

(Trying to write more posts and answer more asks lately, everything has been so busy omg- hope you all enjoy what I can put out there tho! c:)

-A perspective but I think Libra placements (big 6 but especially Venus and mars) are attracted to harmonious/balanced appearances, like I think having that glow from confidence in your aesthetic and it fitting you and things like that can make you just as attractive to Libra placements as conventional measurements of beauty

-Sun Conjunct Venus makes you really charismatic and you probably attract a lot of people by being yourself, and sometimes these natives can be people pleasers especially if they’re trying to impress others

-Quietly I associate your mars sign and your MC the most with the work you’ll do. Mars because you can’t divorce your passion from your work (says the Capricorn). And MC because it’s what you’re known for and that’s often tied to some sort of work/action. North node is tied in there too but it plays out so long term it can be harder to summarize. (I can do a post about the general fields that placements tend to go towards if folks are interested?)

-Aries and Sagittarius Mercury tied for most likely to accidentally blurt out your secrets

-Chiron Venus aspects (especially square, opposition, and conjunction) may find themselves undoing a lot of pressure around their looks or being especially hard on themselves over their perceived flaws/imperfections

-The sign over your 5th house may denote if you have many or few casual romantic connections (Saturn/Capricorn pointing to fewer one end of the scale and Jupiter/Sagittarius pointing to many at the other end of the scale, depends on Venus and mars too)

-You may find yourself accidentally pouring your heart out to water moons (especially cancer over how emotionally in-tune they are and scorpio over traaaaumaaa oml)

-I feel like Sagittarius can feel less mutable because Jupiter makes some of the forms of expression so big (ex. A Sagittarius Mars can get so mad at you and blow up, Sagittarius Mars/Venus typically date many partners, Sagittarius moons can express their emotions in a big way- I probably feel this way bc I’m Sag Pluto, the extremes lol)

-I’ve noticed that Venus dominants can seek more attention compared to like Leo/sun doms

-Fixed Venus can become codependent on their partner, putting heavy exceptions on their person for them to be their everything if underdeveloped— but if developed they can be very loyal to their person

-Mutable Venus aren’t quite commitment-phobic but they tend to be looking for a really special combination of traits to actually settle down with (when they’re monogamous), otherwise they get distracted very easily (or they treat their romantic options, and sometimes friends, like very temporary things- for better or for worse)

-Cardinal Venus are most likely to really go after what they want romantically, I think out of all the Venus modalities they have the most accurate idea of what they want at heart, from the start. But on the shadow side of this, they may be manipulative or try to conform their partner into what they want. (may play out differently for moon opposition/square Venus)

-I feel like where ever Venus is heavy in your chart may be how people assume you’re gracious but in a somewhat shallow way (ex. Venus conjunct mercury, people may find your voice and expression charming but assume you’re not that smart)

-Venus/Saturn aspects/ Capricorn Venus tend to have a lot of unrequited love interests and crushes that don’t reciprocate their affections when they’re younger but as they get older they tend to get the most affection from suitors that are older than them (be careful out here! Sometimes these old folks don’t know anything and they have bad intentions- girl when I say I had to take my own advice)

-Leos (big 3, especially sun & Asc) often know the right thing to say to charm you, it’s like when they want to they hit that sweetspot dead on. So do Libra’s (big 3) but they tend to approach things less directly, like compliments that really sit with you and come onto you in quieter, sometimes less serious way (if they have both in their big 3 then they’re just -a charmer- and idk I take that at face value 80% of the time lol but I’m a skeptic)

-I find that Pisces and Sagittarius placements (big 6 but especially sun for identity and moon for emotionality) often get VERY into spirituality at some point in their lives

-People with Jupiter in Virgo tend to work very diligently, almost too hard sometimes and they can be prone to burning themselves out from this behavior (something something don’t burn the candle at both ends- hypocritical from a Jupiter in Capricorn person lol but still)

-We talk about how Scorpio placements observe every detail about you, but I like Pisces placements (big 6 but especially sun, moon, Venus, and mars) have told me things about myself and habits I have that I’ve never noticed about myself. They’re super observant they notice a lot. I think they have this in common with their sister sign, Virgo. But I noticed Pisces will use their intuition in their observations instead of just analyzing. (I.e. you do x when you’re angry, is it because you feel defensive? Or I noticed you light up when you talked about him, you must really like him)- can also apply to Neptune Conjunct your big 3 (especially moon), and big 3 in 12th but it’s a bit more second nature to them than Pisces

-The season of your Venus sign is the time you’re most likely to indulge in self care and purchases for yourself (Sag season started and all of a sudden I was like I need makeup now, even though I hardly wear it in the winter lol)

-The season of your mars is the time you’re most like to take major actions (starting a business, going on solo adventures, etc)

-The season of your sun is when you’re most likely going to receive the most public recognition (also when the sun is transiting your MC/10th house)

[igotanidea]

five more minutes: Dick Grayson x fem!reader

I'm (not) sorry, but that smug face fits right into this fanfiction!!

request/summary: Dick getting clingy when the reader needs to go somewhere

A/N: so, I think I'm back? Two weeks break and I'm getting into the swing of things again, so please go easy on me with this story......

***

When she wakes up in the morning something seems off almost instantly.

It only takes a second to realise that said thing took the form of Dick Grayson, her beloved boyfriend, the man by day and the fearless vigilante by night. The protector of Gotham and its people.

Well, if only the people could see him now.

Sleeping in a weird position with the imprint of the pillow on his cheek, messy hair and some dried saliva in the corner of his mouth.

He so cute and adorable like that. Y/N does the quick scan of his face and body in the search for any injuries he might have obtained during the patrol but her heart rests easy when she noticed him being all in one piece with no blood or stiches. Either it was a quiet and peaceful night or he already took care of himself. Her bets are the latter, but since it’s work day she doesn’t really have any time to wait until he wakes up to blame him for not being careful.

As quiet and swift as she can, Y/N tries to move out of bed, but since Dick’s senses are heightened she doesn’t really get far, when his arms wraps around her, keeping her in place.

“Dick……” she mutters

“Mhmmmm……” he mumbles into the pillow

“Come on, I have get  up!”

“no you don’t.”

“I gotta get to work!”

“I’m the only work you need……” he grins, still half-asleep, but so full of himself and she almost rolls her eyes at the joke

“God, please stop…. I need to earn money you know? Not all of us have a billionaire daddy!”

“You’re dating the billionaire oldest son, isn’t that enough?”

She wonders for a moment. On a second thought maybe it is. Dick seems to use that heartbeat of hesitation, shifting his body weight on her, pinning her to bed, his eyes still closed, but this little shit knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Dick!” she gasps feeling all those muscles crush her “shit!

“I like it when you call my name in such a desperate words. Do it just one more time and the neighbours will hate you forever.” He chuckles and his makes her skin tingle.

You’re heavy…..” she squirms trying to break free, but it’s no use. “You brought it on yourself….” The girl mutters poking on his ribs in the place where he’s extremely sensitive because of an old injury.

“Hey!” he yells, trying to defend himself and letting go off her in the process.

Y/N is quick to jump out of bed and rush towards her wardrobe, grabbing her jeans and t-shirt and struggling to put them on.

“Not so fast!” Dick tears her clothes from her hands and holds them high out of reach.

“Not fair Grayson!”

“You called me fat.”

“I called you heavy!’

“Same thing!”

“It’s not….. You know what, fine. I’ll just wear something else….” She shrugs and runs towards the drawer, but before she could reach it Dick grabs her from behind and holds her tight to him

“Dick…….” She whines stretching out just to grab something to wear. Anything.

“I know. I’m irresistible.”

“A pain in the ass is what you are!”

“I can make you breakfast….” He tempts

“You’re not Jason, Dick. Making me breakfast means putting cereals In the bowl and poring some milk over it in your dictionary. Cold milk. And that is only if I bought both cereals and milk.”

“did you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Can’t you see how hard I’m trying? Just for you. Come on, you are like an employee  of the month. Or even a year. Stay…..” he kisses her neck playfully “you can call in sick.”

“I used all my sick days because of you.”

“How about casual leave?”

“and what may be the emergency?” she sighs in defeat, her body going limp as she drops the fighting knowing well enough she won’t win it. “Clingy boyfriend?”

“You called me boyfriend!” he grins again and she facepalms herself.

“We’ve been together for a year Dick. Why do you seem surprised?”

“I could never get bored with hearing that word from you. Makes me proud that you’re mine.”

“trying to sweet talk me? Won’t work. By the way, you are soooooo cheesy Grayson.”

“And?” he asks

“ And? What and?”  at this point Y/N is confused, her eyebrows furrowing as she turns to meet his gaze

“And you love me?” he insist, spinning her around in his arms so that he can get easy access to her kissable face.

“Yeah…..” she smiles dreamily “yeah, I do love you, you idiot” she trails with a love sick puppy expression. But it doesn’t mean I’m gonna stay and be you babysi…..ah! Put me down!” she yells suddenly feeling her body lift of the ground without her knowledge or will. “Put me down Grayson! What are you……?! Damn it…!”

Dick does not listen or does not get impressed by her poor attempts to break free. He’s Nightwing. He’s got so many ways to immobilise the opponent. Or, in this case, lover.

“Dick I swear I am going to kick your ass if you don’t….!” the threat dies on her lips as he throws her onto the mattress and kisses her softly shutting her up in the process.

“Stay?” he pouts looking at her with those pretty doe eyes “Pretty please?”

“You act like a five year old!”

“A five year old that wants you. A five year old that misses you…”

“I’ll be back, you know……” she brush the strand of hair from his face. She’s already gone but still tries to keep the appearances.

“Yeah, at 6 p.m. or later. It’s almost the time when I get ready for my night shift…… Please…..”he whines nuzzling his nose over her neck “stay…..”

“please…..” she mimics his whining, caressing his cheek “let me go……”

“But I need you…….” He hide his face in her belly and his hair tickle

“Why do you always need me when I am supposed to go to work?’

“It’s a terrible and uncontrollable disease…..” he laughs

“Is there a cure?” she laughs back

“I can think of something….” He closes the gap between them, nibbling on her bottom lip. “and it may be working…. But I;m not sure. Need some more testing” he repeats his action. “Mhm, yes, it’s definitely working… You don’t want me to be sick, do you?”

“Not really. You are whiny and attention seeker when you are sick.”

“I am not!” he shouts in denial “ok, maybe I am. A little. But come on, you can stay some more time with me……”

“How long, dickie?” she smiles at him, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“five more minutes?”

“ok. Five more minutes. She sighs deeply, letting go of any of her objections, letting Dick lay beside her and act like a big spoon, while holding her tight to his chest and caressing her sides and belly.

“You’re not letting me go, are you?” she whispers closing her eyes and getting lost in his touch.

“Never.”

And she’s pretty sure she can live with that.  

[cranberrv]

video games!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which you and dallas get caught kissing

( a/n : i haven’t posted in 4ever, so im sorry this is super short but i miss posting n wanted to get smth out! adore this request xx )

the burgundy of buck merrill’s thunderbird reflected across the lake that hugged the highway. you and dallas winston are driving to the nightly-double, the local drive-in that both socs and greasers go to. usually, you two would walk, but due to construction you had to take the long way and go on the highway.

you never loved when dallas drove on highways. you knew him well enough to know that he was not the best driver in the world, and he loved to go fast. so on the highway, he drives like a maniac!

you’re holding onto his hand, and his other hand is on the wheel. dallas is swerving past cars, going inbetween lanes, and basically doing everything you shouldn’t do. you elbow him when he almost bumps into the back of a car once you reach traffic.

“christ, hate fuckin’ traffic,” he scoffs and honks on the horn.

you roll your eyes playfully. “don’t think honking will help, dal,”

“whatever, man,” he sighs and leans back. his little moment of rest doesn’t last long, though. he glances at you, sitting there peacefully, unbothered by the traffic. he doesn’t understand why you are so easygoing. “we’re gonna miss the fuckin’ movie,” he groans and smacks the steering wheel, annoyed.

“dally, it’s fine,” i say softly. “didn’t wanna watch a horror movie, anyway,”

“‘course you didn’t,” the edges of his pretty lips form a gentle smirk. “you fuckin’ pussy,”

“excuse me?”

he lifts his hands up in mock-surrender. “hey man, i said what i said,”

“you’re a jerk,” you respond, crossing your arms and pretending to be mad.

if there’s one thing about you and dallas, it’s that you two tease each other endlessly. well, more him towards you. but he can’t help it! that little pout on your face is just so cute, in his mind.

“y/n, i was joking,” he says, even though it’s blatanly obvious. “what, you actually mad or somethin’?”

you decide to go along with the bit, amused that he’s almost believing you. with a shrug, you keep your arms crossed and look out the window.

“c’mon, man, tell me if i did somethin’,” he insists. “don’t need to give me the silent treatment,”

you continue to ignore him, a smile crossing your face that he can’t see. he can be so gullible sometimes. he acts all tough and he’s always telling people that nothing can touch him, but the minute that you pretend to be mad at him, he’s practically at your feet begging for your attention.

“you want me to turn this car around? this movie is gonna be no fun if you’re mad at me,” he sighs, kicking himself for calling you a name. “at least look at me, man,”

the minute you turn your head to look at him and tell him that you’re joking and you love him, he doesn’t let you talk when he grabs your chin and kisses you.

you could say you’re surprised, but you’re not. dallas isn’t one to apologize, showing his endless adoration for you through stuff like massaging your shoulders, hugging you, kissing you, buying (or stealing) you a new necklace.

the two of you get into it too fast. you kiss him back after a few seconds of registering what’s happening, getting your pink lipgloss on his lips as you reach to grab the back of his brunette hair and pull him closer. the cigarette in between his calloused fingers burns out, and he throws it out the open window before reaching for your hand with the one that’s not holding your chin. he leans more into the kiss, trusting that you forgive him for what he said — even though you were never mad in the first place!

he pulls a millimeter away as he catches his breath, his gorgeous voice filling your ears as he whispers, “you forgive me now, doll?”

you smile and can’t hide the soft blush on your face as he whisper to you. even though you’re dating, it still feels like you have a silly girly crush on him, going pink at the most casual of words. “was never mad at you, dal,” you whisper back.

he’s about to say something, probably about how annoying you are, but you stop him before he can, bringing both your manicured hands to his cheeks and pulling him back in to continue kissing. a soft chuckle from him vibrates your kiss, he loves it when you initiate the kiss. in his mind, you’re just too cute.

but i guess you weren’t cute in the cops eyes. cars honking is all around, but you assume that’s just from this super annoying traffic. news flash, it wasn’t. the traffic is long gone, whatever accident that happened earlier was cleared up, but the two of you were still in the middle of the 6 lane highway, kissing in the thunderbird.

a cop car stops beside you, coming to speak to you. the minute you hear the deep voice echo from outside, you jump and pull away. dallas sighs and mutters something about you being a “prude” for ending the kiss so soon, until he realizes that the cop is there.

“hey, lovebirds,” the cop greets you. he doesn’t look very happy. “you’re blocking the entire highway. you know it’s illegal to stop on the highway?”

dallas gives the cop a side glare, raising his upper lip in annoyance. “yeah, we know,” dallas says harshly. “we ain’t stupid,”

“winston,” the cop groans. great, your boyfriends name is known by some random cop. “you wanna go in the cooler again?”

“you’re seriously wanting to put me in the cooler just because i’m lovin’ on my broad? huh?”

“go love on her somewhere else.” the cop says. “come on, son, you and your girl are holding up the traffic. off you go,”

“unbelievable,” dallas whispers under his breath, then he steps on the gas and drives away. a sea of cars follows. you were holding up a lot of people just by kissing.

it’s safe to say that when you got there, you didn’t catch one word of the movie.

[pinkroseblooms]

Options

Arajin Tomoshibi/f!Reader/Marito Jin

Summary: A misunderstanding leads Arajin to realizing he's not quite over his crush on you; it's even harder ignoring his own feelings when you also manage to peak his volatile boyfriend's interest. A/N: This takes place in a AU without magic and honki people. Suggestive language, but no smut: part 2 coming soon! Enjoy! wc: 2.3k

“Let Arajin go!”

Marito felt something smack the back of his head, right dead center of his bun; he slowly turns enough to see you holding a ladle high above your head. You flinched, but held the utensil higher. Arajin shrugged off Marito’s arm; his soul might have ascended from his body, seeing you standing in the middle of the street.

“What are you doing?!”

“It’s okay; you start running, I’ll hold this jerk off!” Your knees shake, threatening to buckle under you at the glare Marito is casting your way. “Run!”

“Wa-wait! It’s not what you think!” Arajin sputters, hands raised as he gets between you and Marito. “What are you even doing here? Mom said you were on serving duty today; just go back to the restaurant-”

“Ara-teen, do you know this little beast?” Marito’s lips form a slow, cold smile. “That must be it; otherwise, I sure hope she has a good reason for attacking me so rudely on our date.”

“Date?” You blink, lowering the ladle to your chest. “Arajin, you…know this guy? So, he’s not bullying you?”

About ten minutes prior, you, a server at the Chu Chu Chinese Restaurant, had been tossing a couple of trash bags out in the dumpster when your eyes spied Arajin walking past with someone you didn’t know. The taller boy’s arm was slung over Arajin’s shoulders and he was talking animatedly, but your immediate assumption was that this stranger was shaking down Arajin for money or favors. You didn’t know at the time Marito Jin was in fact a gang leader, but currently you’re apologizing profusely for your “attack”; Arajin and Marito sat across from each other at an empty table as you explained to them what was going through your mind.

“I feel so dumb.” You bow your head in Marito’s direction specifically. “I really am sorry, I jumped to conclusions; I’ve been worried about Arajin having a tough time at school and I guess…I assumed the worst. I’m so sorry, Jin-san.”

“I’ll let it go this time.” Marito says coolly, barely glancing your way. “I wouldn’t normally let you live after such an offense, but for Ara-teen’s sake, I’ll excuse your rudeness.”

Arajin gulped: there’s no way he can tell you Marito is actually not only a juvenile delinquent but a dangerous psycho. No, it’s better you don’t get involved in any of this; Arajin’s known you most of his life. His mother and yours had been friends forever and when your mother passed, you had been all but adopted. You made ends meet working at Chu Chu; you were earnest and hard working but something of a worry wart, at least when it came to Arajin.

“You really don’t have to worry about me,” Arajin tries to sound casual and breezy as you set down two cups of hot tea. “Marito might seem scary but he is a…well, he’s very…he would never, uh…” 

Okay, maybe it’s dishonest to try and tell you Marito is a “good” person but Arajin really doesn’t want you to be concerned; if anything, he knows Marito is going to be the first person to throw down on his behalf should anyone even try to hurt him. Now, whether or not Marito will be inflicting any of that pain himself, that’s something Arajin can’t quite say for sure. 

“Is your head okay?” You look around Marito’s head; you lightly touch the spot you made contact with. “I can get you some ice.”

“Wow, you are wound up tight.” Marito slaps your hand away, but it’s more of a light swat than anything. “Ara-teen, tell her to calm down and bring us food; it’s bad enough our date got interrupted, I’m starving.” he whined as you left to fetch them some appetizers. “Also, you didn’t ask how my head was…”

“You said it didn’t hurt though,” Arajin grumbles under his breath, blowing on his tea. “I can’t believe this. What on earth was she thinking?”

“Is she your guard dog? A little beast like her couldn’t hurt a fly.” Marito snickers, teeth baring wolfishly. “Don’t tell me she thinks you need her to protect you.”

“It’s more like…she’d step in to help anyone.” Arajin smiles a little himself; he remembers how hard you were shaking, the real fear behind your bold glare. “She’s crazy, that girl.”

“Hey, who are we talking about here?” You come back to their table with two plates loaded up with food. “Arajin, so mean.”

“No, I didn’t mean it how it sounded!” Arajin scrambles to explain himself. “You were really cool back there actually.”

“Aw, come on, you and I both know I’m useless in a fight; that was all a bluff.” You address Marito. “Besides, he’s the one who looks cool. I really like your hair and piercings.”

“Flattery won’t get you on my good side.” 

“No, I’m serious.” You tell him with some surprise. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but you could be a model or something; of course, Arajin’s still the cutest. He’s off the charts when it comes to being a cutie pie.”

“Ugh, don’t make fun of me.” 

“Come on, no need to be modest in front of your date.” You tease. “He knows what I’m talking about, right Jin-san?”

“I’m an expert.” Marito agrees, fixing Arajin with a knowing look. “You should see how cute he looks when-”

“KNOCK IT OFF!”

“Soooo scary!” Marito cackles. “Is your face red from anger? Or something else?”

“You’re both awful.”

Arajin scoffs but inwardly he’s getting…tingly. It’s almost like both you and Marito are flirting with him, giving him all this attention. He has to remind himself you’re just being nice.

Marito takes a chicken skewer and tears a bite of juicy meat off with a satisfied hum. “Hm, these are different.”

“Oh that one is my recipe.” You grin. “Arajin, do you like it?”

“It’s delicious.” 

“Yay!”

Arajin feels his chest swell at the look of pride on your face; honestly he would happily swallow unseasoned glass shards by the spoonful if you asked him to. You were wrong: if anyone’s cute it’s you. God, he’s only been back for a few months; Arajin thought by now you wouldn’t have the same effect on him, especially now he’s seeing someone. To be fair, with Marito he wasn’t exactly given a choice, but still. 

“Feed me, Ara-teen!” Marito leans over the table and points to his open mouth. “I want a dumpling.”

“You have hands!” 

Arajin’s cheeks flush and he hopes you don’t notice. He uses his chopsticks to take a dumpling and pops it into his mouth, ignoring Marito’s whimper, but hunger wins out and he takes a dumpling for himself. 

“Here, don’t forget the sauce.” Arajin slides the bottle over to Marito. “You always eat too fast and forget to use it.”

“Aw, thanks honey~”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

“Yum!” Marito licks his lips eagerly. “These really hit the spot.”

“I hope you like them; I still feel bad about earlier, so I doubled the portion.” You smile sweetly, hands clasped to your chest. “I made them with lots and lots of love, just for you two!”

Arajin almost chokes when your hands form a heart shape; Marito pauses mid bite as you shoot them with a “love beam” and giggle childishly. 

“Chu!” You blow them a kiss. “Please let me know if you want anything else; have fun on your date, Arajin-it was nice to meet you, Jin-san.”

Arajin can barely stop himself from staring as the skirt of your uniform flounces around your thighs and your hips sway with every step.

“I see how it is.” Marito leans over the table with a sly smile. “Ara-teen, bad boy. You’re practically family, aren’t ya? Does she know about your little crush? Or were you childhood sweethearts? Don’t say it’s so, I’ll be jealous.”

“No, no, no! We’re barely friends, my mom knew her mom, she’s just…”

But Arajin can tell Marito isn’t buying his excuses; of course he’s thought about you that way. 

“I liked her.” Arajin confesses quietly. “She’s cute and she's a good person: I admire her, that's all."

Cute, brave, sweet, and only the most perfect girl and Arajin knows he doesn’t have a chance in hell. Besides, you don’t see him that way; he might as well be your kid brother, the way you fuss and act so protectively. 

“I can see it now: two love birds who grew up together, getting married and running this place, a few kids maybe, real domestic. Blegh.” Marito rolls his eyes. “I bet your mom would be thrilled; is she planning the wedding? You're not just playing with me to pass the time, are ya?”

“You know mom likes you; you shocked her maybe, but she thinks you're funny and cool.” Arajin replies with a small smile. "Not that she wouldn't be happy with anyone as long as they treat me well. The only thing that would make the old hag happier is maybe if you and I and-”

“We all got together? You, me, and that little beast?” Marito picks up a dumpling, almost gingerly with his chopsticks, inspecting it with an odd half smile. “Nah, more like…a nervous little kitten who doesn’t know how to use her claws yet. She needs training.” 

Arajin watches Marito carefully; he’s been acting off all afternoon. More so, at least. 

"You heard what she said: besides, she hates fighting." Arajin remarks, passing Marito the whole plate of skewers. "Go on, these are your favorite right?"

"They're best when you make 'em though." Marito winks, basically salivating as he picks up another stick. "I bet you've had a lot of her cooking, huh?"

"Why do you keep bringing the conversation back to her?" Arajin sighs; his teas gone cold but he's too anxious to call you back over to bring more. "My mom teaches her and she has me for a guinea pig. Actually when she started cooking it was awful."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, always over salted or undercooked or burned, you name it." Arajin recalls various failed dishes he had been assigned to taste test. "She'd do it over and over again though. It was important to her. Mom would tell her food can be an expression of personality; I guess that's why she put so much effort into doing better."

Every time, you would go to him with a hopeful spark in your eyes; even now you're self conscious about how your food tastes. Arajin would say the practice paid off, but considering he would consume poison made with your painstaking care, maybe he's not the one you should've been going to for critiques.

"Her food tastes like her." Marito smacks his lips in satisfaction. "I taste it."

"The saying isn't really literal." Arajin smiles in exasperation. "What are you even tasting?"

Marito leans his chin on his hand; he has a much more subdued expression and the abrupt change on his demeanor isn't lost on Arajin. Marito is being serious.

"Filling warmth."

"Filling...warmth?"

"It's kinda like," Marito drawls. "There's heat in my belly; I already ate so much, I know I shouldn't eat more, but I can't get enough. Don't ya taste it?"

"Yeah, well," Arajin scratches his cheek. "I'd say it's comforting? Something like that."

“So, you do have a crush."

"Marito, lower your voice please!"

"Says the one squealing like a little girl; gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed in you, Ara-teen. All this time and you never tried to claim her? Normally you woulda been kissin' her ass and the ground she walks on, but you're holding back?” Marito asks, almost as if he’s genuinely curious. “You’re so odd: fiery and bold one minute and all shy and timid the next.”

“I mean, we’re…together now, so what does it matter? Come on, it's not funny, Marito. We're on a date but you keep trying to-to goad me into flirting or something.” Arajin glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any mind. “You act like you want me to make a move on her.”

“Maybe I do.”

Arajin watches, gaping as Marito sinks his teeth into the last dumpling; he’s staring towards where you’re speaking with his mother behind the bar counter. You’re nodding, looking fairly serious now, at the ready and eager to help. Arajin can feel his heart fluttering again and he jumps when Marito’s foot slides to tap his own under the table; Arajin looks up but Marito’s eyes are still on you, a strained smile playing on his lips, as if he's trying to not laugh. 

Although everything on the table has been devoured already, Arajin wouldn't know it from the hungry way Marito scans your face, the way his tongue darts out as if to savor any trace left of the meal you had brought them. He looks ready to lick the empty plate clean: except, his eyes are still on you.

Arajin squirms in his seat and at the same moment, you seem to have noticed them staring. You wave sweetly, smiling at them; Arajin could dissolve into a puddle as Marito reaches under the table to grasp at his knee.

"Hey, ya know what we oughta do? Let's adopt a kitten."

"What?!" Arajin gasps, words cut off as Marito slides his wandering hand further to his thigh. "Stop teasing, this really, really, isn't funny..."

“I thought you liked when I teased you?" Marito giggles maniacally. "Anyway, she did say with lots and lots of love for us. Or are you so worked up you can't remember?"

"I don't think she meant..I-I couldn't-"

"Please, Ara-teen? Pretty, pretty please?" Marito coos and simpers; there's a hint of pink rising in his pale cheeks. “I wanna play with that kitten.”

[aroacecharacters]

I have the opposite problem. As someone who's quoioromantic I don't know how to write alloromantics correctly. I know both of you are Aro-Spec but please post this so others can, thanks!! <3

~💖✨

Okay let’s see if I can help a bit…

So I believe allos start out with some form of attraction, usually aesthetic which for them combines with romantic and sexual attraction. Though appearance isn’t necessarily a factor when they feel attracted, it seems to frequently start with thinking the other person looks good.

That usually leads to them getting to know the other person a bit before deciding to be partners. Sometimes this can be casual, or sometimes this is going on dates. It’s best for them to have a few things in common. This is sometimes called the “talking” stage.

Then they agree to become partners and this is the “dating” stage. This has its own “honeymoon phase” where at first the characters are excited to be together. They are still getting to know each other more and figuring out boundaries and things.

Then after dating they get engaged and married but those are usually after a good amount of time.

So when you are writing these romances you want to give readers a reason to want these characters to end up together.

Give them chemistry. Give them reasons to want to be around each other. Develop their friendship along with their romance.

When they start “having feelings” for each other describe how it makes them feel. Butterflies in their stomach, they blush more around them, they get nervous just talking or being near them. But they always want to be near them.

(For example: If I like someone, I don’t care what they are talking about, I just enjoy watching them be passionate about something.)

There’s a lot of things people do when they have crushes and it takes some work, but just sprinkle these things in, and that’s a start.

Also, just like in your plot in general, throw in a little tension. Relationships aren’t always sunshine and rainbows. But please have your characters communicate! (Unless you really like the miscommunication trope. Also, that advice applies to real life.)

I can’t cover everything, and I’m hoping I’m not too redundant, but just like other topics you’re writing, it’s best to do some research. And there’s a lot of media about romance.

I hope this helped a little, I only have a tiny amount of experience dating someone but I do like reading romances.

-Mod Ryn

[bluebluebluewoods]

Jokes aside I like brainy n hefty being weird heavy sexual tension but mostly being huge fuckin assholes to each other with occasional moments of flirting and friendship until like. The equiv of their early to mid twenties. Real toxic assholes as teens. Both working out a LOT of mental health issues on each other both recognising that anger and fear in themselves and going well luckily I don’t need to address this if I’m focusing on getting in fights so!!

And then… learning to grow from that. Hefty increasingly sick of himself over the years being such a violent asshole. He doesn’t want to hurt people.. he wants to be strong to protect the ones he loves not hurt them!! Workin on his anger issues workin on the depression getting his shit together etc. brainy is a big messier path but he learns to stop antagonising hefty into hitting him when he realises it’s hurting hefty more than it’s hurting himself. Which is weird! It’s weird to think about someone caring if he’s hurt and actively not wanting to punch his lights out every time he does his You Have One Hit Better Make It Count bs. (Which obviously most people do not want to do this to him he’s just fucked in the head. )

After they stop being actively shitty they first avoid each other (mostly on heftys half) for a few years before slowly reconnecting, mostly through mutual friends. Not handy because brainy hates that guy but like. Mostly smurfette n clumsy. Heftys dealing with his sexuality crisis at this point, still thinks he’s straight which no king, and shit is justawkward and slow but like. Despite best efforts they actually have a lot of fun together.

I think brainy is the one to first start flirting, when he starts his slut era (aka seeking physical connection because it’s easier than emotional) and rekindle that casual tension from when they were younger and it makes hefty sort of question a lot of things. They only start dating after hefty figures his sexuality out, and like. Despite his best efforts brainy has to be the one to actually initiate dating because heftyis shit scared of becoming the person he used to be, can’t trust himself to not hurt brainy by accident, and barely trusts brainy for a long time to like. Stop him from hurting him on accident.

It’s very old school formal courting brainy starts up though because he has diseases. And like three boxes of unsent love letters to hefty. Mf he can’t read.

Brainys almost 30 (equiv) by the time they start dating fr it’s very slow burn they’ve had mutual crushes in one form or another since they were like wee smurflings

[maerenee930]

Hiiii I'm also non-binary and they/she, and I'm demigendered and I wondered if you could tell me more about demibisexual and what your thoughts are about it? 😊

Sorry if that's direct and personal, I'm just curious about new labels 👍👍

Hii ☺️ ahh! that’s so awesome!! 🖤

i absolutely can tell you more about being demibisexual and my thoughts about it! it not at all and i really appreciate you asking! it’s great that you want to learn more about new labels! 💙

so the term demisexual falls under the asexual umbrella. ☂️🖤🩶🤍💜

like a lot of terms, the definition can vary from person to person 😊

being demisexual (to me) means not feeling sexual attraction to someone without an emotional bond or connection.

like just because i see someone and think they’re attractive, it doesn’t mean i could date them or would even want a physical or romantic relationship with them solely based off of that. you know?

my attraction to someone is who they are. their personality, their heart, their soul. feeling a connection with them. 🖤

i mean i for sure find people attractive physically, but that’s not what makes them attractive to me. how they look just adds to my attraction 😅💙

like i have celeb crushes! but typically i form those crushes after watching that person in interviews or seeing them on social media, getting to see them be who are they and that’s what pulls me in 🥰 (like robert sheehan lol. he’s not a perfect person by any means, by he’s just so funny and sweet and smart and so goofy and stupid and that’s what makes me attracted to him. him being the handsome human he is just adds to that attraction lol. 😍🥰)

but people typically experience physical attraction first and emotional second.

i’ve been asked “but doesn’t everyone experience attraction that way?” or “well how is that any different from anyone else?” or i have been told ���that’s normal. it’s not its own thing. you’re just making it something bigger than it actually is.”

(or i’ve been told i’m just being picky or it’s an excuse to be picky. which i’m not and it’s not! 😑)

and my answers to those questions or my response to statements like that are

- no, that’s not how everyone experiences attraction. not like that anyway.

- it’s different because people usually see someone, think they’re cute (and you know are attracted to them physically), wanna get to know them and then date them.

-it absolutely is a thing and i’m not just making this bigger than it actually is.

and being demibisexual is someone who is (or identifies as) both bisexual and demisexual. (although i really identify as bi/pan/queer. all three labels are accurate for me and apply to me. but yeah lol.)

like for me, i like people for who they. not what’s in their pants. that’s just bonus 😏😉😅🙈

i made the post below a few years ago. if you’d like to take a look, there are a few more definitions/explanations that i feel are accurate for me and being demibisexual 🖤

also i know for myself personally, i can’t or couldn’t just have a causal relationship with someone. i can’t do one night stands. not with someone i hardly know, anyway.

it’s just not how i work, you know? plus i think it would be hard for me to have a causal relationship with someone because when i’m attracted to someone and have that emotional connection and bond with them, being casual and not letting my emotions ply apart in things would be too tough. but that is just me, of course! (i mean that in a very nonjudgmental way! 💙)

i honestly could keep going on and on about what being demibisexual means to be but we would probably be here for a very long time and it would just be me rambling a lot and i don’t wanna do that to you or anyone who happens to see this lol.

but yeah, i hope all of this makes sense for the most part. if you have any other questions or would like to talk more about this, please feel free to send more asks or if you feel comfortable with it, you can always dm me! ☺️ thank you so much for asking/sending me this! i really really appreciate it and hope it helps a little 😅🖤

[volleychumps]

Defending S/O From Jealous Girls (Kuroo, Kageyama, and Tsukishima )

enjoy!!!!

warning(s):bullying!!!(tw) , boys who bite at anything that touches you<3

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kuroo

“Oops! My bad, Y/N- you should really watch where you’re going.” 

You rub your shoulder with a frown as the long-haired girl in front of you feigns innocence, eyes glinting with a venemous edge before you huff, leaning down to pick up your phone. A hand beats you to it, snatching the device in a way that had you flinching before a hand settles warmly atop your head. 

“Kitten, you good?” 

Of course. 

You sigh, seeing that the girl who had an obvious crush on your boyfriend had stepped to the side, lock of hair already twirled around her finger while her lips curled up in a flirtatious smile. Kuroo kept his feral eyes on you with a questioning look in his eyes as you offer a strained grin, taking the phone from him before glancing at the perpetrator. 

“Rika, did you need something?” 

“Kuroo-senpai, can I ask for your help on this upcoming assignment?” 

She blatantly ignores you, but Kuroo kept his gaze focused on your now shattered expression, seeing you hadn’t answered his original question. Distractedly, he merely shrugs at Rika before slipping his hand warmly into yours, tugging you along gently down the hall. 

The pissed-off expression of Rika’s still went unnoticed as you smile gratefully, following him along as Kuroo slips your conjoined hands into his jacket pocket. Feral eyes glance at your tired expression as Kuroo stops in the middle of the now empty hall, causing you to blink out of your thoughts. 

“Tetsurou, we need to get to class-” 

“Whatever you’re thinking about, quit it.” 

You tilt your head as if you don’t know what he’s talking about, plastic smile already tugging at the edge of your lips. 

“Huh-?” 

“Babe.” 

Kuroo’s motions are careful as his large hands rest on either side of your neck, thumbs gently tracing the contour of your cheeks as his sharp eyes seem to pin you in place. His chest sinks when the smile on your face slowly fades, your eyes brimming with unshed heat before he sighs. 

“How long?” 

“What-?” 

“I’m not dumb, sweetheart. So you either give me names and how long they’ve been giving you shit- or I interrogate any female I’ve ever seen you with. Your choice.” 

“...Rika’s really pretty, no?” Your voice cracks, smiling sadly as insecurity brims your tone, Kuroo’s grip on you seeming to weaken at your words. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just not-” 

“I will take you right here, in the middle of this hall.” 

“Tetsurou-!” You scold, a smirk crossing Kuroo’s lazy features before he tugs you into his chest, tucking your head into the crook of his neck seemingly deep in thought as the raven-haired boy strokes your hair. He mumbles, other hand wrapped around your body protectively as his lips move against the top of your head. 

“If it makes you realize how beautiful you actually are, kitten, I don’t object-” 

“I can’t stand you sometimes.” 

“So...no?” 

Kuroo grins at the feel of your laughter against his neck, lifting your chin upwards to encase your lips with his heatedly as your figners clench at the back of his shirt material-

sharp eyes flitting in the direction of a teary-eyed Rika.

 She runs off from her hiding place when he makes threatening eye contact with her in the midst of kissing you harder, hand on the back of your hair entwining with the strands for effect. One was off the list now, for sure. 

“Names, sweetheart.” He pulls back gently, kissing your slightly swollen eyelid as his thumb strokes your cheek lovingly. 

“I want them by the end of the day.” 

Kageyama

“Oi. Snap out of it.” 

Your dazed expression becomes alert at the feel of Kageyama touching a cold can against your cheek, the blue-eyed boy arching his brow in worry. 

“Sorry, um...” You seem frazzled, looking over your shoulder now and then as Kageyama casts you a second worried glance as he occupies the space next to you on the school bench. He pokes the straw into his milk, casually tossing an arm around you afterward-

certainly not expecting to hear a yelp. 

He flinches, retracting his arm back in a jerking motion. “What?! What’s wrong?” 

“My shoulder...” You clench your teeth. “It’s really sore.” 

“Did you bump it against something?” Kageyama sweat dropped, reaching a hand up to rest on the back of his neck worriedly. The awkward tension in his movements made you laugh, but it came out a little forced. 

“Nope. I’m going to get some relieving patches from the nurse’s office, don’t wait up!” You seemed skittish, the pained look in your eye not going unnoticed by your analytical boyfriend. His calls for you died on the blue-eyed boy’s lips, sighing when you’re so rushed you leave your phone behind. 

He picks it up, about to slip it into his bag to give it to you later, until your phone lights up with a text message-

multiple text messages. 

Kageyama’s blue eyes scan them before he can think. He hadn’t meant to read your messages, but he’s suddenly glad he stumbled upon them. The word bitch was prominently used, attacking you for dating the popular setter. Kageyama could feel heat rush to his head, jaw clenching at what he was reading. 

If yesterday’s lesson didn’t teach you enough, it won’t just be your shoulder next time. 

He lifted himself out of his seat, milk box crushed within his fist. Blue orbs barely scanned the name of the sender, thanking his good memory for remembering such a useless girl. She was in your class, and he briefly remember you awkwardly bringing her up. 

“Tobio, I told you not to wait-” 

“Come on.” 

Your eyes widen when Kageyama tugs on your good arm, the aura around him borderline dangerous. Worriedly, your questions of where he was bringing you failed to drown out the ringing in your boyfriend’s ears. 

“You don’t like holding hands in front of people-” You start, cheeks heating up when you reach the front of your classroom. 

“Y/N. You know you can trust me, right?” He’s still not looking at you, staring stoically at the shut classroom door. 

Subconsciously, you touch your shoulder as guilt brims your orbs. “I didn’t want to make it difficult for you-”

“Well, that’s fine.” You tilt your head as Kageyama slams the door open, glancing back at you with anger swimming in his blue orbs. 

“Because this shouldn’t be difficult.” 

You held back a sigh. Kageyama was the type to deal with these types of things head on, for the raven-haired boy never really cared much about what people thought of him. You embarrassedly trudge behind him as he walks in with ease, stopping in front of a certain someone’s desk that had your breath catching in your throat. Everything begins to make sense when Kageyama slips your phone out of his pocket. 

“You have a crush on me or something?” He bluntly asks, disinterest flitting around his blue eyes as you watch your bully’s jaw slacken, cheeks filling with embarrassment. “Is that why you’ve been harassing my girlfriend?” 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kageyama-Kun!” 

You shouldn’t have felt as justified as you did as Kageyama lets your phone fall on her desk, the messages staring back up at her as Aika’s eyes brim with unshed tears. 

“Expect an assault charge reported to the school tomorrow. Good job digging your own grave.” Kageyama’s cold voice sent a collective shiver down everyone’s spine before he promptly tugs you out of the classroom. You barely caught a glance at Aika’s trembling form before Kageyama’s leaning you against the now empty hallway. 

Lunchtime was over now, that was for sure. 

“Tobio, you didn’t-” 

“Let me adjust your patch. You didn’t put it on right.” He ignores you, still sorting out his emotions before he’s gently tugging your shirt off your shoulder slightly, peeling the patch off of your skin to reposition it.

“Are you mad?” Your voice was quiet as he solely focused on the task at hand. 

“Yeah.” You flinch, feeling guilty at his blunt tone- 

until his forehead touches your shoulder, his breath fanning against your skin. 

“You know I’ll protect you no matter what, right?” 

Kageyama’s chest finally settled, feeling tears of relief beginning to soak his shoulder as you smiled into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him.

“Yeah.” You breathily laugh, Kageyama’s grip tightening slightly- 

And he dug his face deeper into your shoulder, hiding a small lilt of his lips he didn’t want you to see. 

Tsukishima

“You’re late.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it.” 

You beam in the face of your unamused boyfriend, the blonde sighing heavily as the squeak of sneakers fade out into the background. What mattered was that you came. 

“Any particular reason?” Tsukishima absent-mindedly twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, tilting his head in a bored fashion as you seem to stiffen in place.

“Um, no?” 

“Who knew my girlfriend was such a terrible liar.” Tsukishima pried further, arching a brow as you chew your bottom lip, looking everywhere but him. “Seriously, what’s going through that pretty little head?” 

“You think I’m pretty?” You seem to perk up at that, and Tsukishima flicks your temple as he begins to walk off to warm up. 

“Shut up.” He glances back at you, gaze softer than his usual hard stare. 

“...”

“What?” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Really? I didn’t notice.” 

Tsukishima’s irritation begins to show on his face before you giggle, feeling more relaxed than before as you motion that you’re going to find your seat.  You mouth a good luck to him, pretending not to notice the redness on the tips of the blonde’s ears as he spins on his heel hastily. So cute. 

Your smile fades when a smile that was just a bit too wide waves you to come sit with them. You wondered if you had a choice as your footsteps slow in their movement. 

“Y/N’s here~” 

“Looks like you can see after all. I underestimated you.” 

“Wha- You’re the one with the glasses!” 

Tsukishima smirks at how easy it was to rile Hinata up, hazel eyes flitting over to the stands. He would never admit it, but knowing you were in the bleachers somewhere-

Scratch that. He knew exactly where you were on the bleachers. 

Ice-cold, dripping with water. A water bottle being held upside down in a girl’s grasp, a girl who was vaguely familiar. 

“Tsukishima, we’re about to play-!” 

“Then put someone else in.” The tall blonde’s voice was hardened as he brushed past his team captain, fire on his heels at what he had witnessed. 

The heat in your eyes contrasted greatly with the ice cold water dripping down your back. Yuki giggled brightly with her friend stifling a laugh into her palm, a feigned pout on her lips as everyone in the stands stared at your trembling form. 

“Y/N-chan! You’re so clumsy!” Yuki squealed, bending down to pretend to wipe up some of the water on your lap with her scarf. Her voice drops to a mutter. “And forgetful. Didn’t I tell you not to come to Tsukishima-Kun’s game today?” 

Your eyes widen a fraction, trembling lips beginning to part before a warmth suddenly cascades your cold body. 

“And pray tell, why should she listen to your advice?” 

Tsukishima’s voice sounded kind, but his eyes were anything but, protectively tugging you out of your soaking seat. You feel the rise of his chest, eyes widening when you realize he ran to get here. 

Yuki’s lips trembled before a sweet smile overtakes her features. You could’ve laughed as she begins to sniffle. 

“Kei-Kun! Y/N-chan had a little bit of a spill, and I was just-” 

“Helping her?” He finishes for her, smile growing a little sadistic. He focuses his attention on you, clenching his teeth at the smile you offer him. A trembling one that said I’m okay. 

“Funny. Because I saw the whole thing.”

“I-It’s a misunderstanding-” 

“Oi.” Tsukishima’s fake smile drops, jaw clenched. You tug on his arm, not wanting to cause a scene, but he merely slips it out of your grasp, pushing you behind him. His glasses seem to shine a little as his lips quirk up yet again. 

“Ugly girls shouldn’t lie, it leaves them with nothing worth doting for, you know? Hm?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, smiling a closed eye smile. “And who gave you permission to call me by my first name? It’s Tsukishima. With an honorific.” 

You wince at the harsh insult that slaps Yuki across the face, flabbergasted expression still evident on your face as he takes you by the shoulders, spinning you around with a now pissed-off expression. 

“Yuri.” He looks back, getting her name wrong on purpose. “Don’t let me catch you helping my girlfriend again, got it?” 

She hiccups over her tears as the guy she likes walks off with you, who was still trying to grasp at what had just happened as he leads you to the hallway. 

“Y-You’re match is on right now-” 

“So?” 

“You’re a regular! You need to be-” 

“Shut up. I know exactly where I need to be right now.” Tsukishima snips, drying off the rest of the water as he kneels in front of you, a cup of hot tea from the vending machine warming your hands. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Kei...” 

“I’m sorry.” It comes out rushed and distracted, but Tsukishima’s momentary pause of his movements made you think it was anything but. “They bothered you because of me, right?” 

You nod slightly, biting the inside of your cheek before he flicks your temple, suddenly irritated. 

“What a pain.” 

“Why-?” 

You gasp softly, hands tightening around your paper cup as he brushes his lips across your forehead, hand resting on your neck. 

“Tell me when things happen.” 

“Mm.” 

“Don’t bottle it up inside. It’s annoying.” 

“Mm.” 

“And stop smiling like an idiot.” 

“But you kissed me. You kissed me first.” 

“I’ll leave you here.” 

“No you won’t.” 

Tsukishima groaned, tilting his head back to sigh heavily as his heart pounds in his ears. Quickly, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips that has your eyes as wide as saucers, tugging you out of your seated position while refusing to look back at you. 

“You’re right,” You stare at his flushed neck, following closely behind him back to the tournament. 

His hand tightens in yours ever so slightly-

“I’m never leaving you alone like that again. Understand? Or do I have to spell it out for you?” 

---------------------------------------------

General works: @takemetovalhalla  @faesbae  @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046   @let-me-have-my-own-name  @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite   @curiouslilbeast  @aprettyfruit   @wisepandaslimeland   @h0ngh0ngh0ng   @lmkjimin   @orangegiraffe7   @dai-tsukki-desu   @kac-chowsballs   @spikertrash   @yamaguwuchi   @lord-suneater-explosion   @holaaaf  @babyybokutoakaashi   @lexysclubhouse   @disneyloving-muggle   @kuuuuroo   @theonep1ece  @that-chick212  @mjoork

[uwuwriting]

Bakugou, Shinsou, Todoroki, Dabi and Shigaraki checking out their s/o

Request: Pretty pls hcs for Shinsou, Shoto, Dabi, Shigaraki, and Bakugou getting caught checking out their s/o? thank you! - anonymous

Pretty boys you’ve got there sweet anon. Pretty boys with a capital P. Love yaa. 💖💖💖

rules

warning: some suggestive thoughts, swearing

Bakugou Katsuki

-Bakugou doesn’t like showing his feelings. 

-Like to no one. 

-Not even to you sometimes.

-So when you started to officially date you understood why he would want to keep our relationship a secret.

-He was good at keep it that way.

-Like really good.

-You got no extra attention or special treatment, he never lost his poker face around you and would never NEVER stare at you.

-So you never really checked on him to see if his eyes wondered to ...places. 

-Today your skirt had ridden up your thighs while you were bouncing around the room along side Mina.

-Your favorite band was coming near you guys since they were on tour and you both were ecstatic. 

-The skin of your thighs looked so soft and plum who wouldn’t stare?

-You did mind when people stared at you but now dealing with your excitement was a priority. 

-Your boyfriend had gotten excited by something else though. 

-His eyes were glued to your thighs, his red orbs following your every movement.

-Kaminari and Kirishima were telling him something about Mineta but he couldn’t focus on them. 

-His head was constantly turned to you to the point that Kaminari had to shake his shoulder to get him to look at them.

- “Yo what are you looking at?”

-His head was again turned to you his eyes widening only by a fraction while he mumbled something to the two boys. 

-Kaminari followed his gaze and his own jaw dropped for a moment before a smirk formed on his face. 

- “Well he IS drooling over Y/N like a dog.....”

-At the sound of your name on Kami’s lips, Bakugou’s attention was fully on the boys his right eye twitching at the comment. 

-He let out a snarl and raised his hand creating a few small explosions. 

- “And what if I am drooling sparky boy?? She wouldn’t mind me looking anyways.” 

- “And why is that Bakubro?”

-His smirk widened as he said proudly. 

- “Because she’s my fucking girlfriend.”

-Way to be secretive Bakugou.

Shinsou Hitoshi

-Baby doesn’t want to show his true emotions to the outside world. 

-Heart been broken too many times.. *isn’t that how the meme goes?*

-He shows it to you because you are HIS and he adores you. 

-He knows you won’t hurt him so he gives you his all.

-Such a sweetheart OMG!!!!!!!

-While you two are in school grounds there is not many things that would indicate that you two are together. 

-People would have to watch closely to see the sings of your relationship. 

-How he sits really close to you during lunch. 

-How you tend to come to school sporting his hoodie during cold days. 

-It’s all cute and fluffy but so so on the down low. 

-Yall are out on a date and you decided to go to the arcade.

-You convinced him to have a dance off with you and now you are both sweaty and panting while you are jumping up and down to the rhythm of ‘Party anthem”. 

-Shisnou kinda gave up after a while and he is now just staring at you. 

-You on the other hand are giving it your all trying to get everything right. 

-You are sweaty and feeling gross which is not cute at all since you are on a date but he promised you ice cream if you beat him with a significant difference. 

-You are not letting this slide. 

-Hitoshi’s eyes are on your chest that is em...going along with your jumping. 

-He is stuck and he is already dreading that you’ll look at him and call him out.

-But he can’t stop. 

-He really wishes you were at your dorm right now, the things he would do. 

-His blush is getting darker as his thoughts are getting dirtier by the minute until the music stops and you are left panting. 

-There’s another thing to add to the list of things to add to his small fantasy. 

-You notice that he has been silent for some time now and you try to meet his eyes but you see where they are glued. 

-Waltzing up to him you leave a kiss to his cheek and another right under his ear, making him shiver. 

- “Stop being so dirty we will be back soon.” 

-Winking you walked out of the arcade leaving a very turned on Shinsou behind. 

Todoroki Shouto 

-Baby boy is slow.

-Yall aren’t together yet.

-He really can’t understand what is going on whenever you enter the room.

-His heart starts to race, his palms get sweaty and he has a weird tendency to smile. 

-He wants to be the reason you are laughing. 

-He wants to talk to you non stop.

-He wants to be around you 25/8, 366 days a year. 

-But he doesn’t understand why this is happening so he just plain out ignores it. 

-You have a massive crush on him so it kinda hurts when he doesn’t take any hints. 

-You dress up just a little bit while you are out with your friend group since he is part of it. 

-You cook for him.

-You offer help or ask for help with studies.

-But nothing. 

-You were chilling in the common room.

-You were spread out on the couch, your t-shirt exposed your stomach as you were hanging half off the actual couch and just a pair of short shorts underneath. 

-Shoto was coming back from his father’s agency, his nerves were everywhere and his mind wouldn’t shut you out. 

-Your soothing voice was there when his father yelled at him that afternoon and even though you weren’t there you helped him get through the day.

-So when the poor thing walked through the door and was met with you hanging off the couch in such a suggestive position, his mind ran wild. 

-He couldn’t stop the blush that irrupted on his face as his cheeks and ears became the same color as his scar. 

-He almost choked on his spit when you giggled at something on your phone. 

-Midoriya came through the door next and was shocked when he saw his friend beat red and eyes wide. 

- “Todoroki-kun are you alright?”

- “She’s hot- It’s IT’S hot in here.”

-You turned at his voice, sitting up as your shorts rode up your thighs ever so slightly. 

-Todoroki saw and he couldn’t take it any longer, covering his red face with his hand as he mumbled a small ‘excuse me’ and left the room. 

-He certainly had an image that would get him through the night.....

Dabi

-Salty boy™.

-Him and Tsukishima would have been best buds I swear. 

-He is VERY vocal about his attraction to you. 

-Like legit non stop flirting even after you are exclusive.

-Compliments, dirty remarks, dirty promises, dirty actions, dirty dirty dirty things in general. 

-He won’t hesitate to make a dirty remark in front of the rest of the league. 

-He has NO shame whatsoever. 

-Look he finally grew the balls to make you HIS okay?

-He wants to show off. 

-But he knows when to not look at you like he wants to devour you. 

-He is respectful of Kurogiri so he isn’t a horny bastard while he is around. 

-But one day he slipped. 

-His hold on his horniness snapped. 

-Poor guy. 

-Actually scratch that poor you, you are the one who is gonna get it rough later so yeah. 

-You had just returned from a mission that had gone sideways.

-Your clothes were ripped and your pants were half burned off. 

-Your pretty face had smudges on it and you looked exhausted. 

-Immediately you went to take a shower not letting Dabi ogle at you.

-When your shower was over you came back downstairs and order a strong drink, rubbing your temples in an attempt to ease your headache. 

-Your hair was wet and sticking to your shirt making it wet and Dabi could SENSE that you weren’t wearing a bra. 

-That’s his sixth sense. 

-The shirt was black so nothing showed. 

-That’s why you couldn’t understand why Dabi was giving you that smirk and glancing down your shirt. 

-You rolled your eyes at him and shoved him away from you only for him to grip your waist and set you on his lap. 

-He left a kiss on your neck and smirked as you shivered. 

-His eyes were right on your chest since he could see EVERYTHING from this angle.

-That’s when Kurogiri stepped back in the room, the drink you ordered in hand. 

-He almost YEETED you off of him as a blush bloomed on the few patches of unscathed skin that he had. 

-Kurogiri *being the Nomu he is IFHOQOASB I RUINED IT* didn’t really respond to the position you were in. 

-He just gave you your drink and went back to polishing the shot glasses. 

-Dabi wanted to crawl into a whole and die even though Kurogiri said nothing. 

-Poor guy every thought and scenario he made about that night was out the window. 

-He cuddled you to drown his shame. 

-Bastard..........

Shigaraki Tomura

-I dare you to try and make him check you out in public. 

-Sure he might stare at you ass in the DIM LIT bar yall are staying in but that’s just because no one can see his eyes. 

-He is beyond shy when it comes to these matters and unlike Dabi even after you are together he wouldn’t stare at you like a crazy person. 

-He is very very careful with his glances and calculates when would be the right time to stare. 

-Meetings are easy.

-You all are sitting down so how hard could it be to keep his horny side in check?

-Well most of the time is easy. 

-You are usually wearing your civilian clothes which are very casual and comfy. 

-Nothing is showing and nothing really makes him want to rip your clothes off. 

-He wants to cuddle at the sight. 

-The problem appears when one day you had to go out on a mission and were called into an emergency meeting by Shiggy. 

-Your costume is um... sexy to say the least. 

-Everything you are wearing is hugging your body in all the right places and the mask you wear shades your eyes just right. 

-You look seductive as hell. 

-Shiggy rarely sees you in your villain costume. 

-He sees you while you are getting ready and might make a comment or go for a quick round. 

-But now it was unexpected. 

-He didn’t remember you were to go on a mission. 

-Totally forgot. 

-So when you come down and since all the seats are taken you have to stay standing, Shiggy is in trouble. 

-His eyes won’t leave your thighs and he can’t really form coherent words.

-Dabi is drooling over you and so is Toga. 

-They keep pointing out how good you look and how sexy your costume makes you. 

-More than you already are. 

-Shigaraki has to really one up his self control and not cancel  the meeting and drag you to the nearest closet. 

-He’s so disoriented during the meeting. 

-Kurogiri points it out after the meeting ended and you left for your mission. 

-Shiggy had the darkest blush the LoV had ever seen and he had to leave the room. 

-Took a cold shower afterwards. 

-Waits for you like a lost puppy..... which turns feral once you step into the room. 

TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan​ @the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​

[retrievablememories]

love thy neighbor | kun (m)

title: love thy neighbor pairing: kun x black reader genre: fluff, smut, neighbors to lovers request: “Hello again Rain! I hope you're doing well and I'm happy to see you're open for requests again. Your writing in general is a treat to look forward to. An idea for a fic I'd like to suggest is wayv kun/black oc where they're neighbors that secretly pine for another and do feel free get very nsfw lmao. TY!” word count: 5.7k warnings: alcohol use, protected sex, dirty talk, dry humping, riding a/n: i used a prompt from this list of ideas to help me create this fic.

i’m sorry, this fic could’ve theoretically been finished long ago but took me 3893 years because kun intimidates me (and i don’t know why) and that makes it hard to write for him l m f a o chile anyway...

--

Your neighbor might actually kill you one day—but only in the figurative sense.

Kun is too beautiful and kind for your sanity; he’s like one of those men out of a romantic novel who simply should not exist. In other words, the ideal guy. One who helps all the little old ladies in the building take their groceries up to their apartments, one who feeds all the stray cats that hang around the complex, one who helps new tenants move their things in without even being asked.

Your roommate Charlotte would probably be totally smitten over him just like you if she did not already have her own happy relationship with her girlfriend. But since she does, she has decided to spend her time instead teasing you about your crush on him and trying to persuade you into getting tangled up in a matchmaking mess.

“I’m sure he already has a girlfriend, I don’t know, trying to shoot my shot seems ridiculous,” you say to her, worrying the edge of your blanket in your hands. You toss and turn on the couch, flipping onto your stomach and sighing before shuffling onto your back again. “People like that can never stay single for long. Right? They get snapped up quick.”

“You’d know if you simply asked,” Charlotte points out. “Staring holes into his head won’t help you find out more about him.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, your fingers stumbling over the blanket as it momentarily slips from your hands. Still, the idea of asking him if he’s dating anyone, whether discreetly or more openly, makes you nervous. You’ve talked to Kun several times before, even hung out with him at those friendly get-togethers your apartment building always holds to get the residents mingling, but you’re still anxious around him. It makes you feel silly, like you’re back in high school; but you aren’t quite sure what to do with those emotions or how to form them into something coherent. “Easy to say all that when you already have the person you want, though.”

“Oh, girl. Love is not easy, but that’s why you have to fucking work for it. AKA, go for what—or who—the hell you want and stop pining over him like some lost Juliet on our couch. It’s better than watching you flop around like a dying fish.”

You stand up from the couch abruptly, leaving your blanket to the side and glaring at her. “You don’t get it, ugh.”

“I get it! But you refuse to let me help—”

“Yes, because if I did, you’d say something completely ridiculous and tell him I’m madly in love with him or something.” You head to the bathroom to check yourself in the mirror.

Charlotte throws her hands up in surrender. “Hey, maybe. But that wouldn’t be a lie.”

“Really? I don’t think—”

“I think so. The way you talk about this guy, it’s definitely sounding a little like love to me.”

Once you’re satisfied, you come back in the main room and grab your keys, wanting to end this conversation before Charlotte sets a world record for how many times she can make you feel embarrassed. “Whatever you say. I’m gonna go to the corner store, so...speak now if you need something or forever hold your peace.”

“You can’t run from it,” Charlotte sing-songs, going back to reading her magazine. “And no, I don’t need anything.”

Once you get out your front door, it’s just your luck when you see Kun’s door is also open. You are not dressed for running into him, of all people; your “corner store” clothes being just a T-shirt, leggings, and slides. You freeze in place and momentarily think about unlocking your door and bolting back inside, which you realize is utterly ridiculous. By then, it’s too late; he’s already coming out his door and closing it behind him. 

He perks up when he sees you outside, smiling at you with those deep dimples that make your insides melt. “Hey Y/N, good to see you.”

“Kun! Uh—great to see you too.”

“Are you going out somewhere?” he asks. Inwardly, he feels a bit silly for asking because you clearly are, keys in hand and everything.

“Yeah, just to the store to get a few things.” You wave your hand, and you almost have the urge to lean on your doorframe to appear more calm and collected than you are. Which could potentially end up looking sillier than you intended. “How about you?”

“Going to see a friend,” he answers, and he brushes his hand through his hair in a way that’s completely casual but somehow modelesque at the same time. This is unbelievable, you think to yourself. “We haven’t met up in a while, so…”

“Oh yeah, it’s always nice to go out with old friends,” you say, smiling at the thought of it. Kun nods his agreement, and then has an abrupt, wild idea to ask if you’d like to go out somewhere sometime. Too busy warring with himself over whether he should take the dive, he doesn’t notice you heading towards the stairs already. “I hope you two have a good time!”

“Oh—thanks. Hope you enjoy your trip.” He chuckles, following you down the steps to get to his car. Well, that moment has passed. Sure, he could probably still ask you now if he was bold enough about it, but it feels too awkward to randomly ask someone out in the middle of a stairwell.

You wave bye to him once you both get in the parking lot. He watches you walk to your car with a wistful smile on his face. He wants to say more to you, but the timing isn’t right and it’s best not to hold you up right now. Plus, Hendery’s probably already waiting for him.

It would’ve provided you with a lot of relief if you knew Kun was facing a similar dilemma to you. He’d never had much problem talking to women he liked in the past, but something about you made him feel clumsy and hesitant. But just like with your inability to move forward, there’s no way for you to know his feelings without him saying anything about it—which he has been hesitating over for the longest. 

Maybe he was also still cowering from the embarrassment of the time he’d tried to show you a magic trick that didn’t quite work out, but it was a convenient excuse. At least for him, anyway.

One day he’d get the courage to tell you how he felt, but he didn’t think today was that day.

–

Some strong shots and a few hours at the club was exactly what you needed to unravel your nerves after a long week. You and a few others from your work had decided to go out that Saturday night as a group effort to unwind from dealing with your overbearing boss. “Just a couple shots” eventually turned into more than that, though, but you weren’t complaining. As long as it gave you the opportunity to discard all your issues for a while, you didn’t mind losing yourself a little.

However, your night of fun quickly dissolves into frustration when you realize you’ve lost your keys and have no way to get back into your apartment. You’re not even sure where they might’ve disappeared—in the club, or in the rideshare back to your apartment?

Charlotte is out of the city for the week visiting her long-distance girlfriend, so there’s no way you’re getting back in your apartment tonight. The main office won’t be open at this hour, either; it’s the weekend, and nobody will be there regardless until Monday. And you’re definitely not drunk enough or desperate enough to try to bust the door down.

Though it pains you to do so, you knock on Kun’s door, your head throbbing and dizzy. You feel bad about this. He won’t even be awake at this hour and might not answer, but you don’t know what other options you have. You aren’t familiar enough with your other neighbors to ask this of them. Especially not the old lady living on the other side of you who has a perpetually judgmental aura towards everyone in the apartment building. The only person she seems marginally approving of is none other than the man himself—Qian Kun.

It takes a good minute or two, but you hear the latch unlock, and Kun is suddenly standing in front of you, a look of concern on his sleepy face. He is adorable like this, in his pajamas and his hair mussed and his eyes foggy with sleep. He’s so cute it makes you want to cry—and so you do. 

But your tears are mostly because you’re very tipsy and tired and currently locked out of your very comfortable apartment.

This awakens Kun immediately. “Y/N? What’s wrong?” He gently pulls you into his apartment, his tone quiet but panicked as you put your face in your hands and cry. You just shake your head for a few moments, crying too much to say anything to him. When you don’t reply, he doesn't try to press you for answers; he just puts his arms around you, a bit carefully as if you’re made of some easily breakable material, and lets you wet his T-shirt with your tears.

Finally, when you’ve collected yourself some, you abruptly feel foolish for crying over something like this. He probably thinks someone’s died, and you’ve gotten him all worked up for practically nothing. “I-I’m locked out,” you sigh heavily, and he has enough politeness not to outwardly react to your alcohol breath with your close proximity. “And my roommate is gone…forever.”

His eyebrows lift. “Forever?”

“The whole week, Kun...but it feels like...f-forever.”

“Ah...I see. Is that why you were crying?”

You put your head back in your hands. “Just kill me.”

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Kun says, and there is a tiny lift to his mouth like he wants to smile at your dramatics. “It’s fine. You can stay here tonight.”

“Kun, thank you.” You’re still loosely embracing each other, and you squeeze your arms more tightly around him. Maybe it’s just a reason to rest your head on his chest again and hear his heart beating strong against your cheek, but you wouldn’t admit that. Wait, why is his heart beating so fast? “Thank youuu, I love you so much, this means the world to me.”

Kun’s mind catches on the words I love you so much, and he knows you’re just drunk and need to sleep it off and aren’t really thinking about what you’re saying, but he cannot help lingering there for a moment. He’s glad the front room is still dim from the single lamp he turned on, otherwise you might notice the flush growing on his cheeks. “I...it’s no problem. We should get you comfortable, then.”

As it turns out, get you comfortable means he lets you sleep in his bed while he takes the couch. In another context you’d protest, not wanting to kick him out of his own space, but you are simply too smashed to think about it. You’re seconds away from falling asleep where you stand now that the adrenaline of discovering you’re locked out has worn off. Kun has the idea to make you drink some ice cold water, though, which wakes you up enough to take a proper shower.

By the time you get out of the shower and are wearing his clothes—his clothes—you are feeling a little more sober. You also feel like you’re going to have another small meltdown over all this. “This” being: wearing Kun’s clothes and standing in his bedroom, which is decorated with all his interests and treasured belongings. There’s a small studio setup in one corner, which interests you, but you don’t investigate it any further.

Now you have another little problem, though; what are you gonna do about the pillows? You don’t have anything to cover your hair with, with all your scarves and bonnets in your own apartment. One night of sleeping on a cotton pillow wouldn’t kill you, but that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to think about.

Kun comes into the bedroom to check on you and sees you puzzling around, sitting on the bed and looking awkward. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh. It’s nothing really,” you rush out, unsure if you should tell him about a problem he likely won’t even understand. It must be at least 4:00 a.m. by now, meaning you both desperately need to get some sleep.

“You can tell me, I won’t bite.”

I wouldn’t mind if you did pops into your head, but you immediately try to ignore that thought and are silently grateful that you do not blush visibly.

“Uh, my hair.”

“Your hair?”

“Okay, I need to cover it at night so it won’t get all broken off or anything—sleeping on cotton does wonders for destroying moisture—but I don’t have anything here to use. I mean—it’s...not a huge deal though, I can deal with it for a night?” You’re rambling now. Kun just nods, taking in all this information like he’s listening to something very important and very interesting.

“So then, what would you do to stop that?”

“Wear a scarf, or a bonnet, or using a silk pillowcase works, too. But you probably don’t have any of that stuff, you don’t have to bother with it—”

“Well, let me see.” Kun disappears into his closet and you pause, wondering for a moment if he actually does have a bonnet or something in there. Which would probably be a little hilarious to you.

He comes back out with not a bonnet of a scarf or even a pillowcase, but one of his own shirts. It’s just the right material though, being a pretty purple silk.

“Oh—Kun.” At this point, there are several emotions all trying to come to the forefront, though you have no clue which one to settle on. “Your shirt? You really don’t have to. I could…”

“It’s just a shirt, Y/N. There are a lot more where that comes from...I don’t mind.” He chuckles.

You sigh bashfully but take the shirt from him. “Thank you, it’s really thoughtful of you.” You cover the pillow with his shirt, and it works perfectly.

“Anyway, if you need anything else, just tell me,” he says, lingering by the door.

“I will...thank you,” you say, your voice quiet as you give him a nervous smile. Only when he shuts the door and his footsteps fade away do you allow yourself to bunch the comforter in your fists and scream into it. Everything in here smells just like him, which is probably more than enough to fuel all of your Qian Kun-related daydreams for the next 8 months.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off when you finally do lie down, and your mind is blissfully empty of anything throughout the night.

--

The next day takes a bit of settling into. You’re momentarily alarmed when you wake up faced with a strange room until you remember last night’s events and recall where you are. There is also the smell of food, good food, which is also sadly unfamiliar to you. Charlotte can’t cook to save either of your lives, so you know you’d never be waking up to the smell of a professional chef-approved breakfast if you were still in your apartment with her.

Walking out of Kun’s room, you see that he’s in the kitchen, halfway finished with cooking breakfast for the both of you. It’s more like brunch at this hour, but what does that matter.

You linger at the doorway for a moment, allowing yourself to imagine that this is what things would be like if you were dating. Getting this view everyday? Life cannot be this unfair.

Maybe not too much, though, since you are standing in his kitchen.

“Oh, good morning,” he greets you, breaking your reverie. “Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning. I slept great. Thanks again for, you know, the shirt, haha…”

He grins, and his dimples come out. “Sure thing. Go ahead and sit! Breakfast will be ready soon.”

It’s the best breakfast you’ve eaten since living with Charlotte; maybe some of the best food you’ve ever had. “I had no idea you could cook this well,” you say. “I mean. I guess I wouldn’t since I haven’t—you know, uh—eaten here before, but—it’s great.” It’s just your luck that your thoughts come out in this fumbling mini-rant, but Kun only laughs good-naturedly.

“Thank you, I’m truly glad you like it.”

You both continue eating breakfast while making light conversation. This just might be the longest conversation you’ve had with each other, and that knowledge seems surreal. You’re almost a little glad you lost your key. Almost.

“So...today is Sunday. And the leasing office still won’t be open until Monday.” Kun says this over the remnants of breakfast. He speaks in a measured tone, like he’s trying to ensure he says the right thing. Whatever that could possibly be. “And you told me your roommate won’t be back until Monday.”

To your credit, you hadn’t exactly accounted for this when you first came over to his place in your distressed state. That means another night spent in his apartment though, which becomes very obvious to you now. “Ah. Sorry, am I imposing?”

“What—no, I-I just wanted to make sure you knew you can stay here tonight, or—however long you need.”

Relief floods through you, and you briefly wonder why you even worried about it; as far as you know, he’s not the kind of person to just kick someone out. “Ohh, of course—that’s good to know. Thank you for all this!”

“You’re welcome.” You miss the smile he gives to your response as you’re busy drinking your juice, but it’s one filled with a certain affection.

--

It feels a bit awkward to just sit around in his apartment all day, with nothing to do and all your belongings still locked out of your reach in your own place, so Kun shows you the studio in the corner of his room. He’d talked about being into music before, but you’d never heard anything of his until now.

When he plays the keyboard for you, it’s to the tune of a beautiful self-composed song. You almost pinch yourself to remind yourself this isn’t a hallucination or a fever dream. A man this appealing really exists, and you’ve stayed the night in his apartment and eaten his breakfast. You give a small round of applause when he finishes.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if you became a famous singer or something? I’d come to all your concerts,” you say lightly, kicking your legs on the edge of his bed.

“All? Really, all?” He laughs.

“Yes, all. A voice and talent like that deserves all the attention.” You lean back on his bed, stretching your legs out. “But all your venues would probably be sold out. Hopefully you’d remember me from your lil’ ole apartment building. I’m sure you’d be living in a penthouse by then.”

Kun smiles bashfully at your compliments, waving his hands as if it’s too much. “Thank you. But I don’t think I could ever forget you.” His voice grows a bit softer. His expression is more genuine than you expect for a conversation that was so playful only seconds ago, and you find it hard to hold eye contact all of a sudden.

It is your turn to be bashful, and you shrug in an effort to seem natural. “Well, I’m flattered.” Despite your unaffected demeanor, you don’t think those words will leave your mind for a good while, even if you wonder about the meaning of them. 

--

Later that evening, Kun makes dinner and you watch TV together, flipping to whatever channels have dramas or movies playing.

You two eventually fall into another conversation when you can’t find anything good to watch—one that does not make you overly nervous for once. During a lull in the talking, that big question pops up into your mind, and you wince internally at how Charlotte would’ve already told you to make a move. You aren't sure how to do that without making him uncomfortable or seeming too sudden, but you decide to make an attempt.

You edge into it with, “So, um, your place looks pretty nice for one guy. It’s just you here, right?”

“Ah yeah, just me. Thanks, I do try my best.”

“Haha, I’m used to my guy friends all having super messy apartments until they get a girlfriend and she teaches them how to clean a stove for the first time…”

“Oh really? That’s a bit sad for them, isn’t it?” He chuckles. “I’m not dating anyone right now, so it’s all me.”

Just the information you were looking for. You try not to show your elation. “Why not?” you blurt out. Then you cringe because this might sound too invasive or even judgmental, but Kun only grins. “It’s just, it’s a little surprising. You’re such a generous person. You seem to care about everyone, even those poor stray kitties that stay outside the apartments all the time.”

He smiles timidly in response to receiving more of your compliments. “I guess it seems curious when you put it like that.” Just like when you’d drunkenly said I love you so much, there’s suddenly heat on the back of his neck that he hopes won’t turn into another blush that’ll expose him. “I don’t really know, I haven’t thought much about it; life’s weird like that.” He isn’t really sure how to answer that question in a way that won’t be too big of a hint that he’s interested in you, though he’s also not entirely sure why he’s still trying to hide it. Wouldn’t now be the perfect opportunity? When will you two have this much time together again? Still, you staying in his apartment for two days doesn’t mean you like him, and maybe he’s jumping the gun.

“That’s true. Guess that’s the same reason why I’ve been alone for a while now.” You shake your head.

“You?” Kun is equally surprised to know this about you.

You laugh incredulously. “Does that shock you or something?”

“I...well.” He rubs the back of his neck as he searches for the words. “I just thought...you’re very pretty, and you’re always really kind when we speak, so...”

“Oh?” Your face heats up at that.

“Yeah, I…think anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“Oh.” Your body’s first instinct is to freeze with nervousness, but you know Charlotte would be kicking your ass in gear right now if she were somehow here. So, you decide to stop stressing about it and just do it. “Well...wouldn’t it be nice if we both had a way to fix our problems at the same time?”

Kun pauses for a moment before replying. “What do you suggest?” He knows what you are proposing—you can see in his eyes and his slight grin and his posture that he knows—but maybe he wants to hear you say it out loud.

“Hm, well…I don’t know, what do you think?” You lean a bit closer to him, raising your eyebrows and trying your best to look innocent and unassuming. His smile turns into something different with your increased proximity. Something a little more sly.

Mirroring your actions, he inches nearer to you until there’s little space left between. “Well, I think…” Kun tentatively closes the remaining gap between the two of you, the rest of his sentence left to linger as his soft lips envelop yours.

Maybe it’s corny to say it, but it definitely feels like one of those fairytale kisses with the fireworks going off and streamers popping; even though you’re sitting on his couch wearing his pajamas, some movie in the background you’ve long forgotten the plot of, empty dinner plates sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You aren’t sure how you end up in his lap—who made the first move? Was it his hand on your back or your hands on his shoulders? You straddle him on the couch, your arms slipping around his shoulders and his hands on your back but assuredly traveling farther down your body.

Kun’s hands come to rest on your thighs, pulling the fabric of his shorts up a few inches higher. “I never thought I’d see you wearing my clothes,” he says lowly, grinning against your mouth.

“I also never thought I’d be sitting in your lap like this, but maybe sometimes dreams do come true,” you say jokingly, your lips rubbing against his skin as you slowly kiss his jaw.

You can’t see his expression, but his eyebrows shoot up at that. “Dreams, huh? You think about me often?” His voice pitches lower when he asks this, aroused by the thought of you imagining anything quite so lewd about him. You’ve definitely incriminated yourself now and won’t be able to wiggle out of it without an answer.

“...Maybe.”

“What do you think about me?” Kun grips your hips, which quickly turns into him grabbing your ass—tentatively at first to test the waters, and then firmly enough to grind you against his hardening cock. Sensing him solid and warm underneath you sends a shockwave down your spine, and the sensation heightens when his voice caresses your ear, all low and tense with arousal. “It’s just the two of us here. No one else has to know.”

“I think about your...lips. How you might kiss me. Or what you might say to me. And...your hands.” You pause there, a quiet breath whispering past your lips. “You have really big hands, you know.”

“My hands…” Kun places one on your chest, spreading his fingers across and touching your collarbone. The heel of his palm glides on the top of your breast, and just that touch is enough to get you more worked up. “Hmm. Actually, I’ll admit I’m pretty good with my hands.” He smirks, and he’s possibly the finest thing you’ve ever seen. “What else, Y/N?”

“I thought about how you’d touch me.” His hand slides between your breasts now, down your sternum, and to your stomach. “Maybe I’d invite you into my apartment when Charlotte wasn’t there. We’d watch some stupid movie and pretend to be into it, but we’re really just thinking about each other. You’d eventually end up slipping your hand up my skirt...and making me cum all over your fingers.”

You aren’t sure how you’re saying all this to Kun right now, the dude you have a major crush on, without bursting into flames.

His shaft rubbing against your clit even through your layers of clothes makes you sigh dreamily, pressing your forehead to his and gripping at his shoulders and biceps. His bangs are soft against your forehead, and your breath stutters when he moves to kiss the side of your neck. He has to know how hard your heart is beating right now.

“And then what?” His voice is barely a whisper, then.

“And then you’d fuck me, of course.” There’s a slight laugh in your voice at the ticklish feeling of his lips kissing your skin.

“And then I’d fuck you...hm,” he echoes. “Sure, I can do that.”

The promise of it entices you, and more heat pools between your legs, amplified by the fabric rubbing against your sensitive parts. His hand that’s still on your stomach travels under your shirt then, and your hips falter in your rhythm against him when his fingers brush across your nipple. He brings his lips to your other breast, lapping his tongue against your nipple over the fabric.

You soon come like this, his shaft grinding against your clit and his clothes rubbing against your skin, his hands on your ass and his lips traveling across your breasts. The orgasm is sudden and surprises you, but it’s good, and you convulse as the waves of pleasure course through you. You weaken and slump against him, with him still teasing your breasts with his mouth and hands. Pushing your face into his hair, you moan into the black strands until the quivering stops.

You’re breathless when you speak again. “You haven’t come yet.”

“I’d rather do that when I’m inside you,” he replies. You giggle quietly.

“...What are you waiting for, then?”

“Hold on.” Kun carefully maneuvers you off his lap, and you already want to complain at the lack of his touch. “I have to get a condom.”

“Hurry, or you’ll miss all the fun,” you say as you pull your shirt off with your back to him. You look back over your shoulder at him and grin mischievously.

“You’re such a tease…”

Kun goes into his room to fetch a condom, and when he returns he’s already pulling his shirt off, leaving it on the floor somewhere. You’re fully naked now, your legs pulled up to your chest and your chin resting on your knees as you sit on the couch. Kun’s eyes drop between your legs, your inner thighs still glistening from your previous orgasm, and he swipes his tongue across his lips at the sight of you, wet and ready for him.

Likewise, your eyes drop to the dark trail of hair leading into his pants and his bulge just below it, the way his sweatpants cling to his length, and your pussy throbs with the desire to be filled.

“Please, hurry.”

Kun doesn’t waste any time in getting the rest of his clothes off, shoving his pants and underwear done in one swift move and rolling the condom over his shaft. He climbs onto the couch, grabbing your legs and guiding them around his waist, and you giggle at his eager but gentle touch as you recline on the couch pillows behind you.

He grabs his dick and lines it up with you, then pushes it in slowly at first. The stretch makes your toes curl, but it is a good kind of stretch, the kind that fills you to the brim. Like the missing element you needed.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice husky from the pleasure.

“Fuck, please,” is your answer as you shift your hips and try to get him all the way inside quicker. Noticing your urgency, he slides the rest of the way in until your hips are flush against each other and starts thrusting into you. His length dragging across your walls feels much better than you could’ve imagined on any given night, and you clasp your legs tighter around him to get ever closer.

After a point, he pushes your legs up with his hands behind your knees so he can get a deeper angle, and you both moan at the difference in sensation and how much tighter you get around him.

There is no ignoring the messy wet noises of your bodies colliding due to the slickness of your previous orgasm and the new wetness he’s continually fucking out of you. Each thrust reaches deep inside you, deep enough to make you nearly sob, your hands fumbling over your breasts and your clit all the while.

“Kun, god yes please,” you whimper, rocking your hips into the rhythm of his own. You fucking him back makes him groan deeply, his bangs hanging off his forehead as he dips his head to watch himself slide in and out of you. You could not control the urge or the motion of your body even if you wanted to; you want all of him, as close as he can get.

“I don’t want this to end,” he moans, and he pulls out without a warning. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, and your discontent comes out in a full whine. You’d be more embarrassed about it if you weren’t currently consumed with desire, but you presently do not care.

Kun sits back on the couch and pulls you on top of him again. “Ride me,” he says. So you grasp the base of his cock, him grunting as you do, and you press the tip against your entrance before pushing it in. He watches himself slip inside of you while fully enraptured, one hand tight on your hip.

Once you are full with him again, you experimentally grind against him to see how it’ll feel in this new position, and your arms tremble as his pelvis stimulates your clit.

“Go ahead,” he whispers, grasping the nape of your neck and kissing you hard once more, “fuck yourself on me.”

So you keep grinding your clit on him like that, your limbs shaking from the stimulation and your walls fluttering around his cock. You can barely catch a complete breath from him kissing you hard enough to make your lips swell, and your head is so fogged with lust that all you can concentrate on is getting yourself off just like he told you to do.

“Kun…” You roll your head onto his shoulder, pressing your forehead into his skin, your body tiring as you get closer to reaching that high. You’re so close to coming, but you’re not sure if you have enough strength left to get there on your own. Kun notices the state you’re in and grasps your hips to pull them into his, effortlessly sliding himself into you while making sure your clit gets stimulated at the same time.

The new friction of his dick rubbing against your g-spot in this position is enough to have you finally coming and crying out against his neck.

You continue babbling nonsense against his neck as he keeps fucking you, searching for his own end. His hands are hot on your body as he moves you up and down his length.

His climax comes soon after yours, his dick pulsing and his pace slowing. Your back arches at the sensation of him throbbing inside you and releasing his cum into the condom. The way he groans in your ear has your stomach clenching.

For a few minutes after, you both sit quietly and do nothing but cling to one another as you come down from the pleasure.

“So, does this mean we’re together now…?” Kun asks hopefully, running his hands over your back as you lie against him.

You smile against his skin. “Obviously. But if you still want to convince me, we can go a couple more rounds…”

[yeojaa]

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or:  Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing.  tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  slice of life fluff, light smut.  explicit (but only at the end). 

tags / warnings.  mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc.  7.6k.

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​, @papillonsgf​, and @yeoldontknow​​ 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note.  i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this.  it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless.  as always, feedback means a lot! 

You and forethought aren’t close friends.  You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree.  You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is.  Careful consideration?  Thoughtful patience?  None of that exists for you.  At least, not when you really, really want something. 

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.  

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this.  Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid.  By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.  

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment.  Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to.  When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed.  (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right? 

“Everyone’s fully booked.”  The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial.  (You don’t blame her.)  By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal.  You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue.  “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice?  Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable.  Well-known.  Considered one of the best in the city.  Surely their apprentice would be fine.  Just less seasoned, not as experienced. 

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter.  “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall.  “Last room on the left.  His name’s Jungkook.  His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.”  It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves.  Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told. 

“Jungkook?”  There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight.  (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.)  It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else. 

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting:  one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits.  Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine.  A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall;  one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it.  There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath.  All in all, very homey.  Reminiscent of your own apartment.) 

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space.  “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples. 

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for.  Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.  

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe.  It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin.  “Are you okay?”  He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way.  Good for him, but worse for you. 

He’s so cute.  Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.”  You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete.  “Um— I was told you might have some time?  For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering?  You’re never shy.  Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess.  People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!”  Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder.  He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway.  “Yeah, I’ve got time.  Come in.”  Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek;  the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip;  each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks.  “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no.  You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook?  He was that.  In spades. 

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”  He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table.  It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display.  “I’ve got a pretty big selection.” 

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him.  This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation. 

“So—”  He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen.  You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt.  It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion;  it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles.  He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling.  The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.”  It really is.  You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink.  “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question.  Of course it did.  It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally.  “Like crazy, but it was worth it.  This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—”  He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.  

“A piece of cake?”  You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you.  (It doesn’t.  You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap.  “Do any of these interest you?”  He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash.  There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf).  They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.”  It catches your eye more than the others have.  Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines.  A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do.  “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.”  He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled;  you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion.  A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen.  “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy.  Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no.  You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.  

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though.  You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it.  You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life.  There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,”  you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.  

“Do you have your ID?”  You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form.  “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come. 

Alone, the nerves set in.  You’re actually doing this.  Getting a tattoo.  Putting something permanent on your body.  It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap.  Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come.  (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.) 

(But had you really made up your mind?  Was this going to be it?  It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise.  It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!”  Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope.  You eye it curiously.  “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”  

He’s really thought of everything.  Or the shop has.  Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?”  It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand.  (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.) 

You hadn’t thought about that.  You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away.  “My arm?”

“Upper?  Forearm?”  There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative.  He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you. 

“Tricep area, I think?  Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.”  Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same.  “I’m kidding.  That was cheesy.  But I’m sure it’ll look fine.  We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?” 

“That sounds good.”  A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement. 

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake:  wearing a turtleneck.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like.  Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon?  Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)? 

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule.  Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside.  Whatever you’d prefer.” 

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill.  You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.  

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way?  He was probably desensitized.)  

“It’s fine.”  You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly.  Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though.  Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater.  It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath.  Two. 

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him.  “All right.  Let’s do this.” 

“So, which arm?”  He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.  

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello. 

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers.  You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.”  It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror.  “It’s so pretty.” 

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face.  “Thanks.”  He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful.  “What do you think?”

“This is it.  Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool.  As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee. 

“All right.  We’ll shave you down and get started.  You like the colours, right?”  Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart.  It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes.  (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.)  He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him.  “Hop on up.  Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace.  It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.  

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?”  You’d misheard that, right? 

“Your skin.  You’re sparkling.”  He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.  

“Oh.”  Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly.  “It’s my soap.” 

“Sparkle soap?”  Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure.  He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before.  (Which, fair.) 

“It’s this specialty holiday soap.  It has pigment in it.” 

“That’s cool.”  He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm.  “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree.  It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does.  Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot.  “Thanks.” 

“Was that weird?  I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.” 

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.  

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle.  “Ready?” 

Honestly, you’re not sure.  Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog.  Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue.  “I think so.” 

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee. 

“All right—”“  The incessant buzzing stops.  Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel.  “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you.  Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.) 

“Can I see?”  You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face. 

“Yeah, go ahead.  Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right.  You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet.  It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you. 

“Careful!”  It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.  

“Sorry, sorry.”  You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede.  Everything straightens out quickly enough.  “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?”  He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall.  “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art.  “I’m fine.”  That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.”  The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open.  Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words,  “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention.  It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours.  It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.  

“You like?”  

“I love.”  You’d stare at it for hours, if you could.  Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie.  “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head.  Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose.  Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into.  “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one.  It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink.  (You half expect him not to answer;  you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.) 

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.  

“So, what’re you thinking?”  

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking.  Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history.  You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece.  “A sleeve?”

That surprises him.  His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously.  “Like, a full sleeve?”  It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable.  “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high.  “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,”  he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea.  “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.”  He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up.  For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing.  (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.)  “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan.  It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there.  He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.  

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”  

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions.  It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin.  A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep.  Another takes up the entirety of your forearm.  There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi.  It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.  

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch.  You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.”  Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap.  “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers.  Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat.  He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up.  Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.  

“You mean we did it,”  you return, giddy like a child.  

“Ah, right.”  The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled.  “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey!  Screw you!”  You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.  

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more.  It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head.  Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow.  You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm.  That in itself had hurt like a biiitch;  you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?”  He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to.  It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.  

“Yes, you are.”  You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares.  This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together.  (Not that you’d complain.  You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful.  “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration.  “You wouldn’t dare.”  You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.  

“Wouldn’t I?  I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”  

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed?  You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation.  Had he mentioned it previously?  Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain?  No, you would’ve remembered that.  You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.”  How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea.  You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway.  Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago.  (God, your memory is good.  If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.)  “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.  

“Gonna miss me?”  

Would it be inappropriate to say yes?  Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question.  You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).  

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own.  “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,”  he answers, offering honesty to your reticence.  “You can still send me funny photos though.”  

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile.  “I guess you’re right.  Will you still be tattooing?”  It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know.  You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.”  Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin.  “Actually, where I got most of mine done.”  You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith.  He’s finally come full circle.  You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.  

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to.  It wouldn’t feel right otherwise.  “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,”  he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair.  It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn.  “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,”  you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder.  You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go.  It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk.  “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”  

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you.  It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available.  (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.)  “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black.  You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.  

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?”  He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to.  (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?)  “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended.  “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”  

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you.  “Hey, I don’t judge.  You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there.  Used your own impulsive history against you.  “I would never.”  

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what?  Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.  “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him.  “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth.  There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up.  You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”  

“Really?”  You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face.  “Then why don’t you have one?”  He has a million others as it is:  a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs.  (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)  

“And hide all this?”  One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home.  “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual.  “But I’m cuter.  It’d be a shame if it were me.  You…”  The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean.  (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.)  “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”  

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him. 

“I’m kidding.”  You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries.  A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke.  “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them?  Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was.  Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met.  It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?”  The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.  

Were you?  You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really?  You can’t?”  You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it.  But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously.  It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears.  “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”  

Had he?  Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall.  Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of;  accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff).  Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought.  You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,”  you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.  

“I think you’re cute,”  he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff.  The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week.  The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb.  (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer.  “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.”  Where the confidence comes from, who knows.  You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering.  It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits. 

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go. 

Then he does the last thing you expect:  shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.  

(His lips are so soft.  A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate.  Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him.  French fries and beer and his Chapstick.) 

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.) 

“You just kissed me.”  It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.  

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.”  Speaking the words into existence feels bad;  you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.  

“I am.”  At least he’s realistic.  It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay. 

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose. 

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.  

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next.  (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass.  Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers.  An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,”  the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials.  You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation. 

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof.  The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin.  You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous.  It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left. 

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed.  He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders.  You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,”  he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity.  It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,”  you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped.  You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was.  As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though.  You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow.  He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?”  You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder.  Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again.  (You’re proud of that.  It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”  

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine.  You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness.  Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad.  Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around.  It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper.  He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror.  “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals.  Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care.  Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre.  You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life.  It means so much - like progressing to the next level.  

Which, you suppose it is.  This is a fresh start for you.  A new beginning in a new city.  

“Proud of you,”  he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips.  He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.  

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago.  A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,”  you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.  

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual.  “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that.  You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome.  From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.  

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this:  a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had;  to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.  

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that.  Made it worth it in ways you had never considered.  Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?”  He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself.  It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.  

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.”  The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?”  You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets.  It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that.  He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.  

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised.  “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?”  Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job? 

(It truthfully could be.  You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.”  All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine.  “You don’t like when I admire my own work?”  Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit.  The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need.  (Because you really do need it.  You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.)  It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once. 

“Kook,”  you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.”  He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin.  They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas.  A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care.  Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits.  When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”  

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt.  “I’ve missed this,”  he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.  

“Missed you too,”  you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.  

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​ @snackhobi​​​​ @codeinebelle​ @xjoonchildx​

[1kook]

card swiped (3)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love.  GENRE romance, smut, teensy angst WARNINGS eventual smut, mentions of sex, virginity plays a huge role OTHER college crushes, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, volleyball player!jk, student council pres!oc, seokjin is 32... and a a coach lol<3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.5k

NOTES (!) seokjin being a hot 32 year old <3 jk gets progressively more dumb as it goes, prayer circle <3 lmk what u think !

[ masterlist ]

The truth is, the reason Jungkook doesn’t lie that much is because he’s terrible at it. 

His mother had found out soon enough who put that dent on the car after a slip-up at the dinner table. His high school coach had learned he had purposely skipped out on practice after an accidental snapchat and jealous teammate had snitched. And, well. Fifteen minutes after the end of practice finds him sitting outside the gymnasium, a grimace on his face as he considers running back to your room and confessing to all his lies. Admitting he’s still a virgin— which was practically of no use to you —and maybe even revealing his own recently uncovered feelings was the easy way out. 

Thankfully, Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is there to knock some sense into him. The hard plastic of the clipboard they use to outline their attacks smacks him hard over the head, making Jungkook’s bones rattle from his skull down to his toes as he steps up behind him. He whirls around to glare at the perpetrator, only to come face to face with the aforementioned assistant coach. “Go home,” Seokjin says, twirling the gym keys in one hand. “I’m trying to lock up.”

“What’s stopping you,” Jungkook huffs, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the awfully rude manner in which Seokjin nudges him away, foot against his back as if he’s just an annoying pile of cardboard boxes in his way.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Seokjin asks casually, doesn’t sit next to Jungkook on the steps because he’s always been a little too posh. According to Taehyung, Kim Seokjin graduated from some elite university in another country with near immaculate all-around player statistics before Jungkook even knew what a volleyball was. His success and fame in the world of collegiate volleyball is why he never wears the standard-issued slippers around the court, always some high-end, luxury brand. One glance slightly to his left has Jungkook meeting the black stripe of the frequently sought after Givenchy sneakers head on. 

He scoffs, a sound that Seokjin doesn’t approve of if the karate chop he lands on the back of his neck is anything to go by. “Ow,” Jungkook flinches, pushing him away with an irritated sigh before eventually slumping over his knees again because it’s the exact same thing you do to him sometimes. Study nights— dates, his brain supplies now —where he begins gazing off into space are filled with numerous karate chops to the neck in an effort to get him to focus on his homework. “Come on, Jungkookie,” you always tease, playful smile, lithe fingers toying with the corners of the pages in your book in a way that was almost sensual. But then he does a double-take because he’s aware of the rose-tinted lens he’s unknowingly slapped over it, something he would have maybe not noticed pre-realization of his feelings. And even he is shocked by the absolute seductiveness his brain inserts into an otherwise innocent memory. He’s pretty sure you haven’t called him Jungkookie in years— was his brain trying to hint at something here?

Jungkook groans, knocking his head against his knees as a form of self-punishment for his lecherous thoughts concerning his best friend. 

But his show of emotions must move Assistant Coach Kim because, after a moment of trying to concuss himself against his own knee, there’s a hand placed on his shoulder that makes Jungkook pause. He doesn’t even bother turning around, just throws his head back to look at Seokjin upside down. He’s got a double chin from this angle. “It’s a girl, isn’t it,” his coach sighs, looking at Jungkook with what can only be described as an unimpressed expression. 

“No,” Jungkook defends even though it’s true. “Can’t I just be sad for oth—“

“I heard Jimin call you a simp on the way out,” Seokjin says rather bluntly. And then he surprises Jungkook a second time as he throws aside his posh status to sit on the dirty concrete steps beside him with a sigh. “What did you do?” 

See, Jungkook could lie here and prance off to deal with his own problems. Leaving Seokjin and everyone else in the dark concerning his personal life was, honestly speaking, the smartest thing to do. He didn’t mind his volleyball teammates and friends (in this case, his coach), but he also wasn’t too fond of being relentlessly teased throughout the entire five or more hours they spent together almost every day of the week. 

But also… 

If what Taehyung had said is true— that being, if Kim Seokjin is the illustrious bachelor who charmed his way into multiple foreign panties all whilst demolishing the spirits of liberos and defensive specialists in another country —then Jungkook needed to capitalize off his presence immediately. 

So he lays his cards out flat. “I… might’ve told my best friend I’d take her virginity,” he blurts out, turning to face Seokjin. For the most part, the older man doesn’t look too surprised. If anything, mildly amused. Jungkook quickly adds, “while also being a virgin.” 

“You’re a what,” Seokjin exclaims, chokes on his own saliva in an admittedly not Casanova, bachelor-esque fashion that ends with him coughing into his elbow and Jungkook hurriedly patting his back. “You?” Seokjin repeats once he’s composed himself. “Are a— don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm. “No, Coach. I do not have a girlfriend,” he emphasizes, because who knew sharing the details of his (lack of) sex life would be this embarrassing? 

Seokjin frowns. “What about that girl?” he asks, and Jungkook raises his brows. “You know the one. Carries around stacks of papers to sign, goes to all the games. The one who pats you on head all the time.” And he’s talking about you, of course he is, but the insinuation that other people might, maybe, possibly, perceive you as his girlfriend makes Jungkook malfunction. 

“She’s— That’s—“ he sighs, dropping his head down until his chin touches his chest, brushed against the lucky necklace you’d given him two years ago during their first trip to Nationals. “That’s… my best friend.” 

Beside him, Seokjin says, “the one you’re gonna fuck?” 

Jungkook lets out a long exhale. “Yes. The one I’m going to fuck.” And it’s so blunt and crude, not that it’s surprising coming from him, but it’s surprising because he’s talking about you. Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love. 

The thought must show on his face because Seokjin snorts. “Well, good luck.” 

And then he stands up and begins walking down the sidewalk and Jungkook can’t spring up fast enough. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his forearm. He feels like a dorky character in those dramas you like so much, the ones you force him into watching every time he comes over. Like he’s some disgraced son looking for his father’s approval. Except Assistant Coach Kim is neither his father nor someone he really wants approval from anyway. 

What he does want is pointers. From an experienced pro, if you will. 

Jungkook has to swallow down all his pride as a man to ask his next question. “H- How do I—“

Seokjin beats to it him with a flick to the forehead. “I’m your volleyball coach, kid,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not your sex coach.” It’s a sensible rejection, one that Jungkook expected, but still. He deflates, let’s the weight of the world and his heavy gym bag nearly knock him onto the ground. 

But Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is kinder than he lets on and, after one annoyed sigh, let’s him in on the secret Jungkook has been chasing for all his life. (Or, well, for the past few hours since he first propositioned you.)

“The key to impressing your partner is to always act like you know what you’re doing,” he tells him, arms crossed over his shoulders. It’s night now, the campus shrouded in darkness. But Jungkook swears a heavenly light shines down on Kim Seokjin just then, a halo appearing over his head when he jabs a finger against Jungkook’s chest. “Confidence is sexy.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” Jungkook repeats, feels like a kid who’s just met his favorite wrestler after years of being an avid fan, watching every match, memorizing every finishing move, collecting every figurine— it’s a little too specific but it makes sense in Jungkook’s case. You would understand this analogy perfectly, having grown alongside him during his iconic wrestling phase (before volleyball). You had indulged him in his interest, had let him practice those Do Not Try at Home moves on you again and again, even when you knew it ended with you bruised and crying, the twin pigtails you used to rock as a kid uneven and messy. But as your best friend, you had let him twist your arm and pin you to the count of three, because that’s what a good best friend did. 

And as your best friend, Jungkook was gearing himself up to completely, thoroughly rock your virgin world. Because that’s what a good best friend did.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[pepperonijem]

When He Sees Me || Peter Parker

MASTERLIST

Pairing:  Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: um peter might be a little ooc and that’s because i’m writing about my unfortunate crush but i basically just changed his name to peter parker any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental <3 

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it? What if he opens up a door and I can’t close it? Catching feelings for your best friend is never easy.

A/N: This fic is sponsored in part by @bitchassbucky, @spiderrpcrker, @shurisneakers, @midnightsunfae, and @blackberrybucky who instead of shutting down my feelings, hyped me up to turn my crush and some of the things that we’ve done into a fic <3 this goes out to anyone who has ever started crushing on their best friend.

Oh God, please don’t walk this way, please don’t wa-

“Oh, hey Peter!” The crack in your voice betrayed your attempt at a casual greeting, despite your efforts to disguise it with a cough. “How’s it-- how’s it hanging?”

“You good?” Peter smiled at you but his eyebrow quirked upwards in concern. “I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight?” His concern faded into a wide grin as you nodded in response. Peter gave you a quick goodbye before walking away towards his next class.

As soon as you saw him turn into the classroom, you turned to face your closed locker, letting out a groan before setting your forehead against it. Peter had asked if you were good, and although you nodded, the butterflies in your stomach threatened to give you away. You were very much not good.

A tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts and you turned to see your friend MJ. “What did Peter do this time?” MJ asked. For the last month, every interaction with Peter -- there have been a lot -- ended this way: a groan of defeat and a few welted lines on your forehead from holding your head against your locker. You turned to give MJ a dirty look, annoyed by the amused smirk on her face.

“Absolutely nothing,” you sighed, finally lifting your head up to talk to her. You opened your locker as you talked, not wanting to make eye contact with MJ as you confessed your feelings. “He just… smiled… and everything went downhill from there.” You rolled your eyes as MJ laughed. “It’s getting worse, I have no idea how I’m going to get through tonight.”

MJ laid a hand on your shoulder. “Well we’ll all be there,” she offered. “And if it makes you feel better, no one’s even noticed. Just act normal and you’ll be fine.” She shrugged her shoulders as if that was the easiest thing to do. But you couldn’t act normal anymore, not with Peter. Not when normal means resting your head against his shoulder every time he makes you laugh. Not when normal means borrowing his clothes when his aunt May tells you to stay the night every time a study session runs too long. Not when normal means wearing the extra sweater he keeps for you because you always forget yours.

Normal was when you didn’t feel butterflies everytime he looked at you, before your curious heart got the better of you and you began to wonder what it might be like to hold his hand. Now, things were just weird. At least for you. Nothing on the surface had changed, no one noticed how your heart rate picked up every time Peter touched you, or how you suddenly felt hot whenever he winked at you. But inside your heart was navigating uncharted territory in your friendship, trying to traipse along the thin line that separated how things have always been and how you suddenly wish things could be.

Pulling your textbook out of your locker, you shut the locker door a just a little bit more aggressively than necessary. MJ gave you a small hug before linking her arm through yours as you walked to your next class.

For the rest of the day, you found it impossible to focus on anything. Instead of taking down notes on George Orwell in English, you found yourself absentmindedly doodling hearts. Everything just reminded you of Peter and your own confusing feelings. Thankfully, you didn’t share any classes with him today, leaving you enough solitude to think about just why you were so frustrated with yourself.

Logically, you knew there was nothing wrong with having a crush on someone. You’ve had plenty of crushes before, a few of which reflected a temporary lapse in judgement on your part. You remember telling Peter about each of them, gushing about the most basic acts of human decency as he rolled his eyes and told you that you deserve someone better, but nevertheless helping you pick up the pieces every time someone broke your heart. That, you realized, was what scared you the most.

If you were to date, and then break up… well who would be there with kind words and your favorite boba when everything fell apart? The thought of losing your best friend over emotions, feelings, left far too much to chance. Was the idea of holding his hand, of hearing him call you his enough to make you risk the friendship that has always been enough for you? It should be enough for you, you reminded yourself. There was too much on the line and not enough guarantee for you to risk it.

With that determination in mind, you steeled yourself for the rest of the day, determined to put your feelings to rest and go back to normal.

Unfortunately, that plan quickly fell through.

You got to the restaurant a half hour late with only a really good nap to blame. You felt bad that your friends were waiting for you, but when you got there, you found an empty spot next to Peter, where your usual order of ramen was waiting and against your will, the butterflies flew rampant. The noodle that hit Peter’s nose as he ate while waving you over made you laugh as you sat down beside him.

“I got you your usual,” Peter explained in between bites. You smiled and thanked him before digging in. Peter had done this for you many times, and you willed your body to fight against the flutter of your heart.

Thankfully, the rest of your dinner was going well, and everyone had plenty of stories to tell. MJ had begun doing more portraits of people in distress and revealed her latest piece -- a portrait of Peter slurping up a noodle only to get a rogue drop of soup in his eye. Ned and Betty were off again, but of course they tried to keep it civil (they were on again by the end of the night) so no one would have to pick sides. Flash teased Peter about the B that he made on his literature exam yesterday over poetry and Peter’s face turned beet red.

“Hey,” Peter began, attempting to defend himself. “I totally could’ve made a perfect score. I was just distracted.” He shrunk down in his seat a little bit, and the rest of you laughed teasingly.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Flash continued. “You’ve been drawing little hearts all over your notes, dude, it’s unsettling.” He rolled his eyes and took another bite of his food, swirling his fork around the bowl trying to grab as much noodle as possible.

Across the table, you and MJ made eye contact, a look of surprise between the both of you. You tried to signal her to say something before a weird silence fell on the table, but she was not reading your cues. Thankfully, Peter spoke again.

“H-hearts?” He repeated. “Why would I be drawing hearts on my notes?” Although he tried to play it off, the rise in pitch gave him away. He scrunched his face in exaggeration.

“Actually,” Betty began. “Now that I think about it, you were doing that in Spanish class too.” You glanced over at Peter who looked at you with panic in his eyes. You took a long sip of water, suddenly feeling a layer of sweat form at the back of your neck. “Wonder what that’s about.” She shrugged and turned to Ned asking if he wanted to split a slice of cheesecake with her.

Before Peter had a chance to try to defend himself once again, the waitress appeared. “Are you all ready for the check?” she asked.

“Yeah, but we’re splitting the check,” Flash replied. Betty rolled her eyes in response. “What? Just because I’m rich does not mean I have to share the wealth.”

The waitress nodded in response. As she was leaving Peter called her back. “Oh wait,” he called. “I’ll also be paying for this order,” he gestured to your bowl. She smiled at him and headed for the counter.

“Peter,” you smiled. “I have money, I can pay for myself.” Although Peter usually had to order for you, he didn’t usually pay for you, unless it was a special occasion.

“I know, I just wanted to be nice,” he responded, giving your shoulder a playful nudge. “Plus, you seem like you’ve had a rough week. Every time I see you, you seem to be lost in thought. What’s been on your mind?” The sentence came out casually, but the furrow in his brows revealed how concerned he actually has been. Peter was nothing if not observant, like he could sense things better than most people.

You let out a sigh, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to lie to Peter, but you also didn’t want to tell him the truth, that you were thinking about him-- well, your feelings for him. Just when it seemed like he had backed you into a corner, however, the waitress had returned with the checks, and the question left unanswered.

After dinner, the six of you went to Flash’s house to watch a movie. He had a home theater and early access to new movies and he loved to remind everyone of that. Not that any of you minded, especially if it got you free popcorn and a movie out of it. Every week, a different person got to select the movie and today, unfortunately, was MJ’s turn.

You loved her, of course, but you absolutely detested her taste in movies. Mostly because she was a horror junkie, and you were absolutely not. Her last few turns however had been spent making sure you all had seen all of the Shrek movies. But today, she picked a horror film. Something about demons and the like. Peter and Betty cheered at her selection as Flash groaned. You settled into the couch in the back of the room and grabbed a blanket. Ned and Betty sat together on a smaller loveseat, and MJ sat on the floor in front of Flash’s seat, the perfect spot to be able to scare him with a single touch on his leg.

Peter sat down beside you, handing you a tub of popcorn and a soda. He pulled the blanket over his own lap as he sat criss-cross on the couch. You tried not to pay attention to how his leg was brushing against yours under the blanket, instead focusing on the screen as the room went dark.

The movie had just started, but you could already feel yourself tense up in expectation.The music was coming to a crescendo and you knew something was already going to happen. You didn’t realize just how tightly your fists had balled together in your lap till you jumped at the sound of Peter’s soft voice at the shell of your ear. “Are you okay?” He asked.

He tried to hold in a chuckle as you almost bounced the tub of popcorn off your lap. He grabbed it from you and set it to the side. “Look,” he pointed to the screen where the creature’s head had just rotated a full circle as it crawled up the wall in pursuit of the main character. “That thing kinda looks like the spider from that kid’s tv show, but not as creepy.” You let out a laugh, a little louder than you meant, and Ned turned to tell you to shut up.

The small joke was enough to dissipate the anxiety you felt towards the movie, but unfortunately only heightened your feelings about Peter. But he noticed how your fists unclenched and how your shoulders relaxed once you laughed, so he continued to tell you whispered jokes for the rest of the movie. Each time he noticed your body tensing, he tried his best to make you laugh, and god, how could you stop yourself from those butterflies anymore?

At the height of the movie, you found yourself with your hands over your ears, and eyes squeezed shut, unable to even look at the screen or hear a joke. When Peter realized a joke wouldn’t be enough, he slid closer to you and pulled you into his side and you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Before you had a chance to think about the spicy notes of his cologne or the softness of his skin, the sound of a high pitched scream in the movie caused you to jump with a gasp. In response, Peter wrapped his arms around you tight, with a gentle shush.

It was only after the music began to die down that you opened your eyes again, only to find Peter’s eyes fixed on the screen. Now that the worst was over, you no longer had an excuse to be in his embrace the way you were. You began to wiggle your way out of his arms, attracting his attention.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Peter I’m a big kid,” you smiled, teasing. “You don’t have to hold me like a baby.” Peter let out a soft laugh before relaxing his hold on you just a bit.

“Okay,” he relented. “I’ll just hold you like this then.” He began to shift so that your head was on his shoulder, and one of his arms looped under yours, intertwining your fingers. The smile on his face was calm as if this was something the two of you did all the time, but his racing heartbeat reminded you this was something new.

The two of you remained that way for the rest of the movie. By the time the soft music began to play in the credits, you could hear light snoring from everyone else in the room. However, you and Peter made absolutely no efforts to untangle yourselves from each other. It was as if you were worried that once the lights came back on, you would never find yourself like this again, and what a sad idea that was. Normal, would never be enough for you again, not when you know now how much better life could be like this.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the jump scares, or the sureness of his hand in yours, like it’s always belonged there, that gave you the courage to finally break the silence.

“Peter,” you breathed out, lifting your head from his shoulder, but not letting go of his hand.

He turned to you, with a look of concern, afraid of what you might say.

“Kiss me.” The words came out so softly and so quickly that you weren’t sure if you said it at all.

“Finally,” he whispered as his lips fell against yours, softly and slowly. He pulled away after what felt like hours and yet not nearly enough time. His hands reached up to cup your face. “I like you,” he admitted. “So much.”

Suddenly, you felt it. You felt exactly what it must feel like to fly, to let yourself go without worrying about gravity or anything else. The risks were still there, the numbers hadn’t changed, but you knew that no matter what happened next, just having the chance to fly would always be enough.

[mypoisonedvine]

A Year Gone By | dark!Bucky Barnes x reader

happy birthday @nsfwsebbie​!!

it was supposed to be a surprise but then I couldn’t stop myself from telling you I was writing something, I managed to keep most of it under wraps though!  I hope the suspense pays off.  

idk if it’s weird that i made it a doctor reader when you’re not a doctor but listen...half the fun of reader insert is getting to vicariously live through a cool career right??  the other half of the fun is the obvious thing.  and it seemed a little creepy if i made the reader exactly like you but if you want it to be more accurate i will totally write you something with actual you in it lol

ANYWAYS I hope you enjoy it and most of all I hope you have a lovely, relaxing, fun birthday.  and i hope it makes you h word lmao.  ily darling <3

warnings: noncon, dubcon, stalking/kidnapping, ddlg, loss of virginity, bondage, oral sex (m and f receiving), anal sex, d/s, pet play, degradation, painful sex/pain kink, cockwarming, breeding, somnophilia (slightly), spitting, pregnancy mention, breeding kink, mention of drugging... I think that’s everything.

word count: just over 15.5k (YIIIIKES my bad)

Bucky always looked forward to appointments with you.  It wasn’t just because he had a crush on you, honest; you really were the best doctor he ever had.  Then again, between chain-smoking Brooklyn doctors who handed out morphine like candy and cruel Nazi or Soviet scientists, you weren’t competing with anybody too incredible.

“It’s not so bad,” he bluffed, but he couldn’t hide the wince when you touched his bruise.

“You’re not a very good liar, Sergeant,” you told him with a smile.  God, he loved when you called him that.  He hoped his body wouldn’t react to it in any uncomfortably obvious ways.  “Honestly, I’m a little worried about the bones.  I want to do an X-ray, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead,” he shrugged, “but you’re probably worrying too much.”

“You plan to walk off a compound fracture?” you scoffed.

“Bet I could, if you kiss it to make it better,” he smiled.  He was expecting you to giggle a little at the casual flirtation, which you did, but he was surprised when you bit your lip at the end of it.  That made it impossible to stop his cock from getting a bit interested, but thankfully it was still easy enough to hide.  Clearly his casual flirting was starting to get to you, and it made him especially impatient but he tried to stay calm.

“I’m a good doctor, but I’m not that good.  A prescription will do more for you,” you replied as you wrote something in his chart-- presumably that he needed to go down the hall for some x-ray work.

“If you say so.”

“Anything else bothering you?” you asked him.

“Oh, no, I won’t waste your time,” he dismissed.

“I’m getting paid, don’t worry,” you laughed.  “I don’t have any more appointments until after lunch.  Is there anything else going on?”

He shifted a little, the paper on the examination table crinkling as he did it.  “Um… it’s nothing, I just--” he glanced up at you but then looked away again, still embarrassed to admit it-- “I’ve had a little trouble sleeping…”

“Nightmares?” you pressed.  “Or general insomnia?”

“Um, nightmares,” he finally admitted, “not as bad as normal.  The meds helped.  Just… I still get them sometimes.”

“How many nights a week would you guess?” you asked.  But you didn’t look to his chart like it was a quiz or something, you kept looking at him with patience and compassion.  That was what really made his heart melt.

“Probably 2 or 3.”

“So we’re down from 6 to 7,” you remembered from what he’d said before you’d given him the medication he was on now, “that’s good.  That’s progress.  But, maybe we need to up your dosage if you haven’t seen better results after 4 weeks.  You haven’t missed any doses, have you?”

He tried to fight his embarrassed smirk but it was too late.

“Bucky!” you scolded playfully.  “I can’t up your dosage until you’re actually being consistent on the amount you already have, okay?  I know it can be easy to forget but you have to stay on it.  Set a timer on your phone or something if you need to.”

He nodded, but the problem wasn’t forgetting to take them as much as it was being ashamed that he needed them at all.  But he’d stay on them if it made you happy.

“Anything else?  Headache, twisted ankle, burns when you pee?”

He laughed and shook his head.  “No, I think that’s everything.”

“Great, then I’ll let you get to your newly-booked X-ray appointment.”  You handed him a sheet of paper for him to take to the X-ray office which informed the nurses there what angles you wanted on his ribs.  “Just know that you can call me if you need anything, alright?”

He took the slip of paper but suddenly couldn’t respond, too lost in looking at you and wondering if you’d felt that same jolt of electricity when his hand brushed yours.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“You take care of so many people,” Bucky pondered aloud, “I just wonder if someone takes care of you.”

He could tell by your face that you didn’t like the way his tone shifted, but he refused to backpedal.  Just this once, he wanted to see you squirm a little bit.  

“Wanna lollipop?” you asked him nervously as you handed him the plastic-wrapped red sucker in offering, but he waved it away.  

He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how you would look with the cherry lollipop in your mouth: the way it would push your cheek out from the inside, stain your lips and tongue bright red, make your mouth taste like pure sugar.  

Of all the things he’d imagined before, that was the one that made him realize it couldn’t just be a fantasy anymore.  Thankfully, he hadn’t just been thinking of all the filthy things he wanted to do to you; he’d also been coming up with a plan.

~

The first thing you perceived when you woke up was the smell.  It didn’t smell like your room.  Such a simple difference, one you hadn’t even realized you would notice, but one that stood out instantly.

You opened your eyes and instantly spun your head around when you saw the grey cement room you were in.  The bed underneath you creaked, unlike your bed, and you looked down at it as if you somehow expected to be in an unknown room but still be in your own bed.  

It was then that you realized you were restrained with, of all things, satiny pink rope which pulled each of your limbs to the nearest bedpost.  There was enough slack that you could wiggle around some, but it wasn’t exactly roomy either.  Your heart raced as you pondered who could have possibly done this, and why.

You startled when you heard the door open, but relaxed when the menacing form suddenly struck you as familiar.

“Bucky,” you sighed with relief, “oh thank god you’re here-- quick, help untie me.”

As soon as you said it, though, you realized something wasn’t right.  He didn’t look concerned at all, or confused.  And that should be a good thing because it meant he had answers, except that you were suddenly realizing this was more complex than you were prepared for.

“Bucky… where are we?” you asked him, quieter, as you realized that he was not going to untie you immediately.  Even still you were coming to terms with the possibility that it wasn’t really a matter of where we were and where, specifically, you were.

“Somewhere safe,” he answered simply, stepping closer.

You didn’t exactly believe that.  

“Please, help untie me,” you requested again.

“I will,” he assured, “but I want to explain something first.”

Your heart sank straight through your stomach.  You didn’t understand what was going on quite yet, but you were getting the gist enough to know that this was really fucking bad.

“Bucky,” you pleaded as he sat down beside you on the bed, “please let me go.”  You felt very aware of how thin your pajama set was, how if he tried hard enough he could see your nipples hardening underneath your top for no apparent reason.

“Don’t get upset,” he soothed, “everything’s fine.  I’m not going to hurt you-- nobody will anymore.  You’re gonna stay here, with me, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Your eyes burned with tears you couldn’t fight anymore.  “Don’t do this,” you begged, “I’m your friend-- we’re friends, remember?”

“Of course I know that,” he sighed, “but that’s not enough.  Couldn’t you tell I’d fallen in love with you?”

You shook your head, trying to process everything you were hearing.  “This is insane.  This is not what you do when you have feelings for somebody, Bucky.”

“What, you’re saying I should’ve just asked you out?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have been able to say yes-- because you’re my patient--”

“See?  That’s what the ropes are for!” he smiled, like he was actually proud of his problem-solving skills.  “You would’ve said yes if you could, I know.  But you couldn’t.  And now you don’t have to.”

You resented that he was right, that you would’ve dated him in a heartbeat if it wasn’t an ethical violation.  You got the sense there were going to be even more severe ethical violations in your future, though.

You continued to beg him to stop, but it fell on deaf ears as he reached under the elastic waistband of your pajama shorts and pulled them down slowly.  He gasped when he saw your pussy and you wished you could just disappear, turn invisible or, best of all, teleport out of here; anything to avoid this humiliation.

“Baby, you’re wet,” he observed.  You weren’t sure if the first or second half of the sentence made you more uncomfortable, but either way, you couldn’t stop the shivers from dancing up your spine.  “This all for me?  Do you like being tied up?”

You refused to answer, looking to the side as if the concrete wall was suddenly fascinating to you, but he grabbed your jaw and turned you to look at him.

“I know you don’t know all the rules yet, but here’s the first one, and maybe the most important: answer me when I speak to you.”

It was cold but not quite threatening; still scared you senseless, though.  You nodded.

“Do you like being tied up?” he repeated.

“N-no,” you answered.

“Answer honestly,” he specified.

You had, but you realized it was going to be safer to do what he wanted, so you cleared your throat and spoke again.

“Yes,” you whispered, “I like… being tied up.”

“That’s it?” he pressed.  “It’s not me being here, is it?  You never got wet when you saw me in appointments?”

This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.  It seemed like there was no right answer.

“Didja ever get wet for somebody else?  It was Steve, wasn’t it?”

“No!” you instinctively answered.  “Um, I like Steve.  But just as a friend.”

“Aw,” he smiled, “I knew you were the loyal type.  Remember just a minute ago when you were begging me to stop cause you were my friend?  I think you were lying then too, doll.  You didn’t want to be just friends with me.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, just do it,” you grimaced.  “I’m getting irritated.”

You yelped when he slapped the inside of your thigh, trying to pull away but only making it easier for him to dip under your leg so that he was between them, sitting back on the bed in front of you.

“Respect gets you a long way with me,” he promised, pulling a knife from a strap on his thigh and using it to quickly cut off the shorts.  “Sass does not.”

You winced as he slipped a finger into you-- metal, and it was cold, too.  Soothed the burn a bit, at least.

“Oh god,” he sighed, “just one finger and it barely fits…”  You watched realization pass over his face as his gaze moved to your eyes.  “Baby, are you a virgin?”

You closed your eyes because you knew they would reveal the truth.  In all honesty it was probably better that he knew so there was at least some chance of him going easy on you, and yet you were still embarrassed for him to find out.

“Oh, you’re going to spoil me,” he grinned.  “You really are too good to be true.”

A second finger pushed into you and a bite to the lip suppressed your moan.  

“I’ll warm you up first, don’t worry,” he cooed.  “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Then why did you tie me up?”

“That’s for your safety, baby.  I don’t wanna have to hurt you,” he clarified.

A third finger, immediately after you had adjusted to the second.  You had never had so much inside you before and it made you feel a bit dizzy.  His thumb grazed over your clit and you nearly jumped right off the bed as your hips bucked suddenly-- since when were you so sensitive?!

“Oh, poor little baby, you need it so bad,” he faux-pouted.  You couldn’t tell if it was a mockery or genuine concern.  “You’ll get it angel, don’t worry.  Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

That word made you feel a little sick.  No wonder he needed to kidnap girls to get his rocks off, clearly this was the kind of stuff a normal date wouldn’t agree to.

Then again, it was Bucky Barnes.  He could probably get any girl he wanted, even if he had some weird tastes.  You still didn’t understand why it had to be you, specifically.  

His thumb stayed on your clit, the pressure moving from teasing to firm to nearly too much.  You tried to angle your hips away but the ropes stopped you (of course), and you were forced to take every sensation he gave you.

“You’re trying so hard to stay quiet, just let go,” he encouraged.  “I wanna hear how good I make you feel.”

“Maybe I’m just naturally quiet,” you bluffed, but even just those few words were strained, and surrounded by panting as you failed to catch your breath.

“Oh, we both know that’s not true.  I’ve heard you when you thought you were alone, doll.”

You knew what he must have meant, but it still made you whimper when he leaned in to whisper in your ear: “I heard you touching yourself.”

Your face was burning and you were sure you’d never blushed so hard in your life.  You couldn’t be sure how much he’d heard, but just the way he smiled down at you made you sure he must have heard the times that his name passed your lips as you reached your peak.  

Of course he couldn’t just let you stew in that, he had to mock you even further.

“Oh Bucky,” he recalled, raising the pitch of his voice a little, “please let me come, I’m so close, please…”

“Stop,” you begged, tears sliding down your temples.  The fingers twisted inside you as both of you groaned.

“Yeah, it’s not a very good impression,” he sighed, “it’ll sound better when you do it.  Don’t you wanna moan for me again?”

“You stalked me,” you realized aloud, “you spied on me at night, you kidnapped me--”

“And now we’re both getting what we want.  I know you wished it was my fingers instead of yours.  Doesn’t it feel good baby?  Admit it.  Tell me it feels good.”

You were determined to resist until he pulled his fingers out and used the metal hand to slap your pussy, both of you gasping at the wet noise it made.  He did it again and your hips bucked wildly even as you were trying with everything in you not to react.  One more and you finally moaned, the pain brief but strong while the pleasure never seemed to lessen.

“Just be honest,” he demanded, “I know you love it.  I just need you to say it.”

One more spank and you were finally willing to cut your losses.  “It feels good!” you exclaimed.  You cried out when he hit you again, not having seen it coming at all since you’d done as he asked.  “Say it again.”

“It feels good, Bucky, your fingers feel good,” you whimpered.

He finally seemed to calm down, giving you an oddly friendly smile.  “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head, just trying to appreciate the stillness while you could.  

“One little thing though: you don’t call me Bucky anymore.  My friends call me Bucky; you’re so much more special than that.  You’re my perfect little angel, and you call me Daddy.”

You saw it coming, but it didn’t make it any less awful.  You squirmed a bit as he pushed up your top, biting his lip when he got a glimpse of your breasts.

“Oh, when did these get hard, huh?” he smiled as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers.

“It’s… cold in here,” you explained uncomfortably.

“Uh huh,” he pretended to believe you.  “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to warm you up.”

He let go of your tits so he could pull back and start undoing his belt; you swallowed dryly, not wanting to watch but unable to look away.

Of course he was big.  It explained his personality, and you’d had your suspicions (and/or fantasies), but now all it did was scare you.

“Will it hurt?” you asked weakly.  He smiled as he pulled off his shirt from behind his neck, tossing it aside.  

“No baby, I stretched you with my fingers so you can take me.  Might be a little bit of an adjustment at first, but we’ll go slow, okay?”

You couldn’t decide if it was sweet or patronizing.  A little of both, perhaps.

He leaned over you, resting one hand beside your head as the other guided his cock to rub through your folds.  You struggled again, barely able to process that this was actually going to happen, that you were going to lose your virginity tied up in some creepy sex dungeon to an obsessive patient who demanded you call him ‘Daddy.’  This wasn’t exactly the situation you had been saving it for.

“Ready for me, baby?  Want me to make you mine?” he asked with a look of excitement, even vulnerability.  Your body craved more after he’d left you dangling on the edge from his fingering, but your brain was thankfully still functioning properly.

“Please don’t,” you whimpered, “you can stop now, and I won’t tell anyone, and--”

“Baby, don’t talk like that,” he frowned.  “This is it, okay?  Us.  Just us.  Nobody else to get in the way.  You’re not gonna tell anyone ‘cause there’s no one to tell.”

“You can’t,” you denied, “I have a life-- people who care about me, who are going to notice that I’m gone--”

“No, babygirl, stop-- you’re not listening to me,” he growled.  “Stop fighting.  You’re mine.  You’re finally where you belong.”

“This is crazy,” you spat, “you’re crazy!”

“Baby…” he looked dejected, crestfallen.  “You’re the only one who’s ever helped me feel normal again.  If I’m crazy it’s only because I love you so much; I need you, doll.”

“You need intensive psychiatric care!”

Sadness shifted to anger as he sat back and stuffed his cock back into his trousers, even though it barely fit now that it was fully hard and leaking from the tip.

“I realize now I’ve given you more than you can handle.  I knew you liked me back so I figured you would understand a little sooner but… I should’ve known you need more time before you really admit to yourself that you need someone to take care of you.”

Your relief shifted to fear when he stood back up off the bed and stepped away.

“Wait, don’t leave me here,” you squeaked, “untie me, please.”

Instead he knelt down and pulled a box out from under the bed.  You couldn’t see what was inside when he opened it, but he seemed to find what he was looking for when he pulled out a vibrator and shut the lid.  It was thin and a little curved, so when he roughly shoved it into you it hit right on your g-spot.  You tried to squirm away but he held your hips down and turned it on to a setting that strobed the vibrations, teasing your spot but never giving you enough to get very far.

“I’ll come back when I think you’ve learned your lesson,” he informed you quickly as he started to leave the room.

“Bucky-- Bucky wait!” you called after him.  “There’s no food or water you can’t leave me here wait don’t go BUCKY!”

But he was long gone.  The door slammed behind him and echoed around the room; only when the sound was completely dead were you sure that he wasn’t coming back any time soon.

You had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but it felt like an eternity of you wiggling against the ropes, trying to either knock the vibrator out of you somehow or get it to move enough that you could at least come and feel some relief.  Trying to push it out with your muscles was useless since the curved shape kept it inside of you, and you couldn’t arch your back enough to press it into the bed-- and if you could, you weren’t sure what good that would do.

Every once in a while the vibration would echo through your clit and it made your eyes water.  You sobbed and bit your lip, hoping he would come back soon.

It was at least twice as long before he did, and at that point your voice had gone hoarse from calling out to him.  You cried out for Bucky at least a hundred times and got nothing; but when you called for ‘Daddy’ just once, he suddenly appeared.

Somehow his return didn’t bring much relief, because you weren’t exactly safe with him around… but at least you weren’t alone.

He reached between your legs and turned the vibrator off, though he left it inside of you.  You took a deep breath and appreciated the stillness, though your body panged with hunger from so much pleasure with no release.

“I hated doing that to you,” he breathed deeply as he sat beside you on the bed, “but it had to be done.  You were behaving so poorly.  I’ve gone easy on you up until now but I can’t tolerate any more rebelliousness, alright?”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his disappointment sink over you.  

When he pulled out the vibrator, the tip of it grazed over your abused and sensitive g-spot and you bit back a groan.  He set it aside and admired the mess you’d made; you couldn’t see it, of course, but you could tell that there was a wet patch of arousal beneath you on the sheets.

“Your body is ready for me, but I’m not sure your mind is right yet,” he explained, steely gaze finally meeting yours.  “Are you going to be good, little girl?”

You were too exhausted to notice the nickname, or even to speak your reply.  You just nodded again, watching him as he started unlacing his boots and slipped them off, then took his socks, trousers, and underwear off along with them.

Shit, you’d nearly forgotten how big he was.  You swallowed with a dry throat and closed your eyes, just hoping it would be over with quickly.  

“Open your eyes babygirl, I wanna look at you,” he murmured, running a finger across your cheek.  You reluctantly obeyed and saw him hovering above you.  He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips and it felt so wrong, so empty and peculiar.  It was a weak facsimile of what a kiss was supposed to be like.  He closed his eyes and ran his fingers into your hair, and it had all the trappings of the kind of kiss you’d share as a goodbye after a first or second date, but without any of the stuff that mattered like positive feelings or consent or not being in a creepy cement sex dungeon-- or whatever this was supposed to be.

He pulled away and looked down at you again, anger just starting to brew in his eyes.  “Kiss me back,” he demanded.  This time when he pressed his lips to yours, his tongue slid between them and it made you feel a little sick but you did your best to reciprocate.  You found yourself trying to reach up to put your hands on his hair or neck but of course, the ropes made it impossible.

You felt his cock pressing between your thighs, rubbing up and down slowly, and your heart began to race.  One hand slid between your bodies to guide his cock towards your entrance and he said something but you couldn’t hear it because your ears were ringing.  

As soon as he pushed into you, your body jolted, trying to squirm away, but he just kept going, sliding into you in one long stroke.

Physically, it wasn’t painful.  The vibrator had helped relax your walls, even numbed them a little bit.  And yet, even without pain it was so much.  You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, like you were so full you couldn’t even breathe.  

When he was fully seated inside you, Bucky moaned deeply, kissing your neck and mumbling something about how perfect you were.  But all you could focus on was his cock pulling back only to slam home again.  

“Fuck!” you yelped.  You had no idea anything could be so deep inside you.  

“Watch your language, angel,” he purred, biting at your earlobe.  “You promised to be good, remember?”

The hand that had been gripping your thigh suddenly moved to rub your clit and you choked on a moan.  

“It’s okay, it’s supposed to feel good,” he encouraged.  “It’s okay to come, baby.  I know how bad you wanna come for me.”

You were embarrassingly close as he had observed, a side effect of having been left on the edge for so long.  You could feel your walls rippling around him, and you wondered if he could feel it, too.  Every thrust stroked parts of you that you hadn’t even realized existed, and when he pushed as deep as he could into you, the tip of his cock hit something so sensitive that you genuinely couldn’t tell if it was painful or pleasurable.  

“Are you close?  I don’t know how much longer I can last, you’re so tight,” he groaned.  “Fuck, you want me to fill you up don’t you?  Wanna be full of Daddy’s cum?”

Before you could even consider ignoring his question, he wrapped his left hand around your neck.

“Yes, Daddy,” you croaked through the weight on your windpipe, “fill me up, please.”

Talking like that made your heart twist with shame but somehow pushed you even closer to your peak.  You knew he could tell that you were turned on by it from the way your muscles tightened around him.

“I will baby, I promise,” he smiled.  “Do you wanna beg to come, like you did when you were by yourself?”

You moaned because it was like a fantasy come true, in a monkey’s paw sort of way.  This is what you had wanted, right?  Just… in a way completely different from how it was turning out?

“Daddy, please,” you answered, so quiet and heavy with embarrassment that it was barely above a whisper, “please let me come.”

“Oh fuck,” he responded hoarsely as his thrusts came faster, more ragged.  “Come, princess.  I wantcha to scream for me.”

As you started to fall over the edge, you felt like you had lost control over your body; your arms and legs tugged at the ropes as jolts of pleasure coursed through them, and your mouth was spilling moans and whimpers and even his name.  His real name, specifically, though he thankfully didn’t seem to mind.  He kissed you again as he came, moaning into your lips and still inside you.  

You felt cold and sticky and humiliated as he sat up and pulled out, admiring the way your hole leaked out his seed and flexed involuntarily around nothing.

“Oh look at you,” he praised, “my perfect little girl.  You’re even more amazing than I dreamed, doll.”

You tried not to listen or watch him as he got off the bed, coming back with boxers on and a damp washcloth to clean you.

“I’m gonna untie you now, okay?  Promise you won’t kick me or anything?” 

You quickly nodded, willing to promise anything if it meant getting untied.  “You’ll just do more harm to you than to me if you try anything, angel,” he reminded you quickly as he started work on your right ankle.  The ropes were silky so they hadn’t been rubbing your skin too raw, but there was still soreness from the tight knots.  You were a bit surprised when he gave your ankle and foot a brief massage once he was done untying the rope, and did the same to your other foot, and then your wrists and hands.  It helped a lot with getting the blood flow back to normal, and you almost considered thanking him but that would’ve been ridiculous.  ‘Hey, thanks for the foot massage, next time don’t tie me up and rape me first but, otherwise 10/10.’  

~

Bucky was so impressed with the progress you’d made in a week.  Only two escape attempts and you’d taken your punishment quite well both times.  He had expected a rocky start, he’d understood what he was getting himself into, so none of it really came as a surprise.  You’d managed to get a good crack at his nose once, kicking him straight between the eyes before making a run for it.  Yes, it hurt like a bitch and took a few days to heal, but it had actually been a blessing in disguise; that day you’d made it out the front door and realized that you were in the middle of nowhere.  When he’d caught up to you, you were standing barefoot and half-naked in the snow, not even running anymore because, apparently, you’d realized there was nowhere to run to.  

“I built this place for us, for you,” he explained.  “Somewhere far away, all to ourselves.  Nobody for miles.”

“How many miles?”

He chuckled a bit to himself.  “Baby, it’s a really big number.  You’re too little to understand.”

Normally you resisted that sort of talk but this time it shut you up.  Hopefully you were beginning to properly realize that this was your new life.

“Are we in New York?” you asked, quieter.

“I’m not sure if I should tell you that yet.  I don’t want you to get any complicated ideas in that pretty little head,” he cooed, kissing your forehead for emphasis before leaving you behind to start cooking dinner.

“I’m not eating with these,” you announced firmly as he set your place at the table with a set of pink, rubber-coated utensils.  

“It’s too messy to eat with your hands,” he frowned.

“Do you honestly not realize that I want to eat with normal utensils?  Or are you just trying to drive me insane?”

Bucky set your plate down a little too firmly, making you and the food on top jump.  “Don’t talk back to me.”  

“I just… it’ll take me forever to finish an adult-sized portion of food with child-sized utensils.”

“Then maybe you’re not ready for an adult-sized portion,” he threatened.  That seemed to get your attention, but you stayed quiet.  “Maybe you’re not hungry at all?”

“I’m hungry,” you denied.  “Please, I want to eat.”

“And I want to eat with you.  But this roundabout is getting on my last nerve, doll.  Now are you gonna be good and eat your dinner?”

“...yes, Daddy,” you sighed.  He smiled and sat down across from you.  You were learning.  Slowly, but surely.

Bath time was always a fight, though.  You still had some ridiculous notions about ‘privacy’ and ‘autonomy’ and crap like that, and it meant that you were likely to act up and refuse to be washed.

“I can do it myself!”

“But you don’t have to, don’t you see?”

“I want to.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around what you want, angel.”

“Let me guess: it revolves around what you want?” “No,” Bucky shook his head and tried to summon some more patience, “I have to take care of you.  Sometimes that means doing things you don’t like, because I know what’s best for you.”

“I hate you,” you mumbled as you turned away, and that really broke his heart.  He knew you didn’t really mean it, but it still hurt.

“Baby… don’t say that,” he pleaded as he turned your face to him.  “It hurts Daddy’s feelings when you say things like that.”

“Yes, that was the idea,” you hissed.  “I just want to take a shower, alone.”

“Any chance you had at that is long gone,” he grimaced.  “What you’re getting is a bath, with me, and if you quit this attitude now you might still be able to avoid getting a spanking as well, do you understand?”

Your shoulders slumped as you nodded.  He knew your poor little bottom was still sore from the last spanking, and as he helped you undress for the bath, he could still see a few welts along the skin.  He kissed them quickly, a reminder to both of you what he was capable of, before helping you into the water and slipping in behind you.  It was spacious, so there was ample room for the two of you, but he still held you close and pressed your back into his chest.  

He had a lot of ideas about what you two could do in this bath, but he knew that now was not the time.  Still, he let his mind wander and smiled to himself when you gasped from his erection pressing into your thigh.

He helped you wash your hair, and for that moment where your head was nearly submerged and he was using his fingers to massage out the shampoo, you looked so peaceful.  He normally only got to appreciate this look on your face as you slept, but you were almost smiling this time, and it made his heart sing.  A week of tantrums was worth it for just a few quiet moments like this.

“I’m gonna let you finish up on your own, okay?  I trust you not to do anything dangerous…” he decided as he stepped out.  

“Really?” your face instantly lit up.  Sure, you’re never supposed to leave them alone in the bath, but he was feeling extra generous and he sympathized with your desire for control.  Freedom could be good for you, in moderation.

“Of course.”

“T-thank you, Daddy,” you awkwardly responded.

He dried off and dressed, and waited nearby in the living room, listening to you drain the bathwater and start a shower.    

You emerged wrapped in a towel and looking slightly lost.

"Honey, where are your clothes?" he asked you with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you informed him.  Oh, right.  You were being resistant to wearing the clothes he had picked out for you.  Apparently you found the overwhelming presence of baby pink to be tacky, and you hated that everything was cute and tiny… he couldn't understand seeing something cute and tiny and not liking it.  After all, you were the most adorable thing he'd laid eyes on and it made it impossible not to like you.  You just needed clothes to match.

“I have clothes laid out for you,” he explained.

“I’d rather be naked than wear what you pick for me,” you snarled.

“Hey, I wouldn’t complain,” he shrugged, trying to suppress his frustration.  “Don’t come bitchin’ to me when you’re cold, though.”

You sat next to him on the couch, defiantly naked and confidently ignoring him.  He admired your stubbornness, or at least he found it amusing.

“Do you wanna watch a movie now?” he asked, but he knew you had figured out that this was a mandatory activity.

“Don’t see any reason to wait,” you smiled sarcastically.

Of course, when he got up to show you some DVDs so you could pick what you wanted (Wall-E; he knew you didn’t actually want to watch that since your typical fare was horror and action movies, but it was your favorite of the options), he quickly turned down the thermostat.  Perhaps a comfortable 55 Fahrenheit would help you remember why it’s important to take what Daddy gives you.

He hadn’t seen Wall-E before but he found it oddly relatable.  A robot, built for someone else’s purpose, abandoned in a filthy, empty world… it brought back some old feelings that he managed to press back down.  

Regardless, he was distracted from it when he could literally feel you shivering from across the couch.

“Are you cold, darling?” he asked presumptuously.

“No,” you denied, barely managing to suppress the chattering of your teeth.

“Do you want the clothes?” 

“Shut up.”

He just laughed a little to himself, ignoring your rude language and turning back to the TV.

It did kill him a bit to have to pretend he didn’t care when you were obviously uncomfortable, but you would’ve been even more irritated with him if he’d held you down and forced you to put the outfit on.

~

This fucker was smart, you’d give him that.  Or maybe it was just that you were stupid.  Not stupid, really, but having no sense of self-preservation.  Why had you chosen this hill to die on?  You couldn’t even remember why you’d put up a fight at all.  You were so cold that you couldn’t even understand what could’ve ever compelled you to reject an offer of clothes.  Didn’t help that you knew he was so close, that if you cuddled up to him you would be warm, but that it would mean the loss of your last shred of dignity.

Only a week and you were starting to completely lose your sense of yourself.  You searched within and couldn’t find any of the fight you’d had so many times before.  You remembered that time you kicked him right in the face, and where you once found pride at the memory, you found guilt.  You felt guilty for hurting him, after everything he’d done to you-- why?

“B-bucky…” you finally relented not even an hour into the movie, stammering from the force of your shivers.

“Hm?”

“I want… I want the c-clothes.”

He smiled a little, in an insulting way.  “Ask nicely, doll.”

“P-please, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He came back with the clothes in hand, but when you reached out for them, he shook his head and motioned for you to stand up.  You sighed but obeyed, your entire body shaking with violent shivers as your bare feet hit the cool concrete floor.  

He knelt down, holding the lace panties open for you as you shyly stepped into them.  He pulled them up to your hips and let the elastic slap your skin a little as he let go, making you jump.  He did the same with the fuzzy pink pyjama pants, running his hands over soft fabric for just a second as he stood up, helping you into the loose grey sweatshirt.  It was the least feminine thing he’d ever let you wear, noticeably absent in anything pink or fuzzy or girly or adorned with bows.  You only realized as it slipped over your head that it was his, because once you plunged into darkness inside of it, you were overwhelmed with the smell of him.  You wouldn’t have known that you could recognize his smell, but now that you were in it, it was undeniable.

You were almost surprised to see him when your head popped through the neckline, somehow.  It’s not as if you had forgotten he was there in the three seconds you couldn’t see him, just that he looked so different to you now.  He had this stoic, nearly stern look on his face as he helped you get your hands through the sleeves, and the way he caressed your fingers as they emerged from the cotton was so upsettingly tender.

“Daddy…” you mumbled, and he looked back at your face.  

“Is this better?  Are you warmer?”

“My feet…” you realized, looking down at them.  

“I’ll get you some socks, baby,” he nodded, dashing away for a moment.  You felt colder with him gone.  It couldn’t be loneliness, could it?  Even knowing he’d only be gone less than a minute, you were unduly anxious for his return.

He came back and held your feet up by the ankle one at a time as he rolled pink fuzzy socks-- with lace at the ankle, of course-- over your feet.  You wiggled your toes into them, finally feeling like you’d be able to get warm again.

“Let’s finish the movie, okay?” he suggested, rubbing his hands on your arms.  You nodded, allowing him to guide you back to the couch and finding yourself cuddling into his side as he laid an arm over your shoulders.

You barely managed to pay attention as you felt his hand slip lower, resting on your waist.  Then your hip, then your thigh.

Something about the way the lace panties rubbed against your pussy made you feel so oddly sensitive, and even the inside of his sweatshirt was just rough enough to make your nipples react every time you adjusted your position.

You figured he realized your condition pretty quickly, but he didn’t react until a moan, so quiet that you were sure he wouldn’t hear it, passed your lips.

“Everything alright, doll?” he asked, failing to hide the fact that he clearly knew the answer.

You didn’t respond, distracted by his other hand reaching over and stroking your thigh.  You were caged in his embrace now, and your heart raced in a way that was oddly lacking in fear.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he demanded, watching your nervous reaction to his intensity.

“Daddy I… I feel tingly,” you murmured, feeling yourself blush.

“Where, baby?”

“D-down there,” you admitted as you forced your eyes shut, too embarrassed to look him in the face as you said it.

“You need Daddy’s help?”

“Please,” you whispered, hating yourself a little for needing him but too desperate to really care.

In one motion he’d already turned the TV off, pulled you onto his lap, and started kissing where the baggy neckline of the sweatshirt exposed your collarbone.

You were rubbing yourself on his thigh and you didn’t even know how to stop.  It felt so good.  It made your skin warm up even faster as you recovered from the cold.  

He slipped his right hand into your pants as the other pulled you closer until your face was buried in his neck.  If there was anything worth appreciating about Bucky, it was how good he was with his fingers.  He knew your body better than you did at this point-- but then again, he had spent so much time exploring it in one week that he was probably competing with you already in terms of practice time.  

“Oh my god,” you moaned as his fingers moved faster and firmer, making your hips jerk forward unexpectedly.  

“It feels good?” he asked in that way that made it obvious he knew the answer.

“Yes, Daddy, it feels so good,” you whimpered.  You’d gotten pretty good by now at appeasing him by performing the role he wanted you to play… so good, in fact, that it was starting to feel very real.

Just as you were grabbing onto his shoulders to hold you steady through your orgasm, he was pulling out his hand and reaching for his own pants instead.

“Need to be inside you,” he explained quickly as he pushed them down and revealed his hard, leaking cock.  “I need to be inside you when I make you come.”

He helped you slide off your pants and underwear but pulled you back into his lap the absolute second they were discarded.  He slid you down onto his cock with a groan, and your face was so hot as you processed how wet you were, how easily he entered you.  Your joy halted, though, when he held your hips down.  You tried to wiggle around for some friction but he was so strong that it was a complete waste.

“Daddy,” you mumbled with confusion, “what are you doing?”

“You’re mine, baby, ‘m gonna use you how I please,” he reminded you darkly, “and right now I want you to stay still and wait.”

“But--” 

He slapped your ass harshly, and you whimpered but decided not to put up much more of a fight.

All the while as you tried to stay still, he was kissing your neck and jaw and cheeks, murmuring praises and leaving the softest bite marks every once in a while.

“Please let me move,” you sobbed against his shoulder, having to fight everything in you not to start grinding on him like your life depended on it.

“I’m not ready yet,” he denied.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you whimpered.  “I’ll do anything.  I just need to come, and I need to make you come, please…”

With a hand on either side of your hips, he started to move you on top of him, excruciatingly slow.  Your head fell back from how wonderful just that felt.  

“Anything?  You’re gonna spoil me talking like that, doll.”

“Oh god, anything, just move a little faster, please,” you begged.  Of course you knew it was a bad idea, and you figured you were going to regret saying it, but your need was surpassing your sanity at the moment.

He grabbed your face and pulled you down until your lips were almost brushing his, but not quite.  “Keep riding my cock, babygirl.”  You nodded, finally free to pick up the pace to where you wanted it, and you bit your lip as his cock stretched you exactly how you needed it to.

“Daddy, you feel so good inside me,” you moaned.

“I can tell,” he smiled, “you’re making those perfect noises, it’s killing me not to flip you over and fuck you so hard right now.”

You were much more inspired by that mental image than you expected to be.  Those few times he’d gotten really rough with you, it had made you so wet you thought you might get dehydrated.

When he spoke again, his voice was so low that it sounded like a growl, echoing in his chest and making shivers run up your spine.  “I know what I want you to do for me.”

You swallowed and braced yourself as he pulled you even closer, looking right into your eyes.

“Tell me you love me,” he demanded.

You gasped, tears starting to burn at the back of your eyes.  It was the last thing you expected, but it also tracked.  Of course that was what he wanted.  But now that you were trying to form words and nothing would come out, you were kind of wishing he’d just said he wanted anal.

“D-daddy,” you stammered, distracted by him grabbing your hips and moving you even faster on top of him.  He was practically throwing you up and down on top of him, and somehow doing it effortlessly.

“Just say it,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you whispered back.  He smiled and pulled you into a deep kiss, swallowing every moan as you felt yourself barrelling towards your peak.

“Please, I’m about to come-- can I come, Daddy?”

“Almost,” he nodded, “say it again, babygirl.”

“I love you,” you panted, “Daddy, I love you, please--”

“One more time,” he grunted, watching your face. 

“I love you!” you yelped, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer and feeling your walls flutter as sensation washed over you.  Thankfully he wasn’t far behind, only thrusting up into you a few more times before he spilled himself with a groan.

He kissed you long and slow, staying inside you even as his cock began to soften a little.  When he pulled away, he looked up at you with an expression that brimmed with restrained excitement.

“Oh, doll, you have no idea how good it is to finally hear you say that,” he beamed.  “We’re gonna be so happy here together… just me and my best girl, right?”

“Right,” you smiled, but as soon as you blinked a tear was rolling down your cheek.  He wiped it away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, “everything’s finally the way it’s supposed to be.  You’re finally where you belong, with me.”

You nodded weakly and felt whatever grip you had on your sanity loosening.  Dreams of escape faded as he carried you to bed, holding you in his arms all night long.  You were beginning to embrace the simplicity of just letting life happen to you.  For every time you felt belittled and patronized by his coddling, there was another time that you secretly felt protected and loved.  The truth was, even though you had experienced so much that you couldn’t begin to describe in the past week, you had been relieved of so much of the stress you dealt with before.  As you drifted to sleep, you only hoped that you could manage to hide that truth from yourself just a little bit longer.

~

He was honestly proud of himself for managing to keep his hands off you while you slept all this time.  But it wasn’t too much longer before you woke him up with your stirring.  At first he was just going to give you a quick hug and then get back to sleep, but then as he pulled you closer, he realized you were dreaming.  And when you moaned quietly in your sleep, he realized it wasn’t just any dream.

He smiled to himself as he kissed your neck gently, wondering if you would wake up or not.  It was sort of a win-win either way for him.  He let his hands slide down your body, listening to your breathing as it began to pick up.  Your mouth fell open and it made your sounds even more apparent as he carefully opened your legs.

“Oh baby, you’re drenched,” he murmured to no one in particular, admiring the way your pussy glistened in the low light of the room.  This was one of those times that he really appreciated his choice to make you sleep naked almost every night.

One metal finger sliding through your folds made you shiver.  He wondered if it was from arousal or if the metal felt cold on your warm skin.  Your clit was swollen, and apparently extra sensitive from the way your sleeping body erupted in goosebumps when he drew lazy circles around it.

Suddenly lacking in the patience more foreplay would require, he found himself shoving down his boxers and stroking his cock, preparing to push into you.  If that didn’t wake you up, he’d be slightly concerned… but he wasn’t sure if he’d be concerned enough to stop fucking you.  Thankfully he didn’t have to face that dilemma because the second he was pressing his head into your opening, your eyes flew open.

“Daddy!” you yelped, your voice sounding a little strange as you were torn from your sleep.

He bottomed out and groaned softly, relishing how tightly you wrapped around him.  “You looked so beautiful, baby, I couldn’t help myself.”

You mewled but said nothing, only wrapping your hands around his biceps as he pulled back to thrust into you again.  

“What were you dreaming about?” he asked firmly.

“N-nobody-- I mean, uh, nothing,” you stumbled over your words.

“Oh, you can’t lie to me very well can you?  It’s okay doll, you can tell me, but if it’s someone other than me I’m probably gonna kill him.”

He felt you tense up a little and he knew he’d scared you.  He sort of wanted to do it again, because he loved the way your cunt tightened in that moment, but he decided against it.

“Aw, I’m just joking,” he dismissed, though he wasn’t quite sure if he actually was or not.  “Go ahead, tell me what you were dreaming.”

“Y-you were there,” you explained, “but it wasn’t just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Um, yeah,” you deflected nervously.

“Go ahead, spit it out,” he hissed as he started to thrust into you a bit harder.  

“Well, uh, Steve was there too,” you finally admitted.  A lot of emotions hit him at once when he heard you say that.  Of course jealousy was prominent, but it was different than it would’ve been before... you were home now, and nobody could take you away.  Both of you knew that.  So it might have been a slight blow to the ego, but he didn’t see Steve as a threat.  What he did see was an opportunity to make you squirm, which he was always looking for.

“Was he watching us?” Bucky pressed.

“Uh, sort of…” you trailed off.

He leaned down, putting his lips right against your ear.  “Was he fucking you?”

You whimpered but he could tell you were turned on.  He reached down and roughly rubbed at your clit.  “Be honest, darling.”

“He wasn’t,” you explained, “you were; you said he wasn’t allowed to… but I gave him a-- a blowjob.”

As much as Bucky wasn’t exactly the sharing type, he was intrigued by the mental image of you stuffed with cock at both ends like that.  Even more so he was intrigued by the fact that it apparently turned you on.

“Is that what you want, huh?  One cock isn’t good enough for you?  Who knew you were such a fucking slut.”

“‘M not!” you denied.

“Then why are you soaked from dreaming about choking on somebody else’s cock while I fuck you, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“And how did you feel when I told Stevie he wasn’t allowed to fuck you?  Even in your sleep you know your Daddy owns you.  That this is my hole and I decide everything that happens to it.”

You moaned so loud that he was afraid he would come right then and there.  You sounded like heaven.  He thrust into you as hard and deep as he could, slamming into your cervix and hitting your clit with his pelvis with each brutal motion.  You cried out and dug your nails into his skin.  

“Fuck, you like it rough don’t you?  Of course you do.  ‘Cause you’re Daddy’s needy little whore.”

“Yes, I’m close!” you yelped.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not gonna let you come until you beg for it.  Seems like you need to remember that I’m the only one for you.”

“Just you, Daddy, I only want you!” you reassured, but he wasn’t buying it.

“I’d die before I let you get on your knees for another man, do you believe me babygirl?”

“Yes, I know Daddy, I’m yours, there’s nobody else.”

“If you wanna come you better start askin’ really nice,” he growled.

“Please, Daddy, I want you to make me come!  It feels so good, please…”

“Keep going.”

“You’re amazing, your cock feels amazing, I wanna come for you so bad--”

“Fuck, baby, beg me to use you.”

He knew you were flustered by that.

“I-- I don’t know how,” you protested.

“Oh come on, you’re dumb but you’re not that dumb,” he grinned.  “Just how I said it.”

“Use me,” you murmured in defeat, “please.”

“That’s it,” he praised, “just like that-- come for me, doll.”

You were so obedient, tightening around him and nearly screaming with pleasure the moment he commanded you to.  He wasn’t far behind, succumbing to the perfection of your wet heat and filling it with his climax.

“Fuck!” he groaned when he hit the peak of it, trying somehow to focus entirely on both the way you felt and the way you sounded.

Normally he cleaned you up after this but right now he wanted his come to leak out of you all night, make your thighs and the sheets sticky.  Apparently you had some sort of implant or something which kept you safe… he was trying not to count the days until it wore off.  He figured you would totally lose it if he told you that he wanted to get you pregnant, and yet, he was surprised that you hadn’t asked him about getting your implant replaced.

~

You knew that life was unpredictable and all that, but if never in a million years would you have expected for the Winter Soldier to be painting your nails.  But there he was, focused intently on each stroke of the tiny brush as he held your hand still.

“This’ll help you stop chewing your nails,” he gave as his excuse.  It was almost believable, except that he did your toes too.  Amazingly enough, you’d never chewed on those.

They were actually sort of pretty, if you were being honest.  You admired them a little, as they dried.  It wasn’t a perfect paint job by any means, but much better than you expected from Bucky and honestly, a bit better than you would’ve done it in all likelihood.  The baby pink color was a little nauseating as always, but it admittedly did look nice with your skin tone. 

“What do you say?” he prompted.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you smiled.  “It looks nice.”

“You’re welcome, angel.  I think so too.  We’ll take ‘em for a spin when they’re dry.”

You swallowed.  You had a pretty good idea of what that would entail.

Next was your hair.  Pigtails, the way he always did it.  You never quite understood what he liked so much about turning you into a girlier, more childish version of yourself, but you were finally embracing the things that you liked about being in this role.  He certainly pampered you, which was hard to complain about.  In your whole time here (you struggled to keep track but it must have been over a month now) you'd never cooked once.

After lunch he had you on your knees, looking up at him while you started to unzip his fly.  You found yourself salivating a little as you pulled his half-hard cock out of his boxers.

“Baby, your hands are so small…” he noticed reverently.  “Barely fit around it.”

“It’s not that they’re small, it’s that you’re so big,” you replied, more honest than you were used to being with him.

“You flatter me,” he grinned.  “Do it some more.”

You felt put on the spot, but feared disappointing him.  “Daddy, your cock is… so big,” you improvised, still stroking him as he got harder for you, “I can’t believe it fits inside me.”

“Hmm, it almost doesn’t,” he recalled.

“But it feels so good when-- when I get used to you and, um, your cock… stretches me…”

He groaned a little, and you moved your hand faster.

“Fills me up so good, Daddy,” you moaned, getting more into it than you had intended to.  “Your cock feels so fucking good, it’s like it’s made for me--”

He cut you off suddenly by pushing you back onto the mattress, hovering over you as a muscular hand wrapped around your throat.

“Got quite the mouth on ya, doll,” he growled.  “Do I need to wash it out with soap?” 

You shook your head; he wasn’t choking you hard enough to stop you from speaking entirely if you had really wanted to, but you were too stunned to say much.  His attitude could flip on a dime like this, and you could never see it coming.  The fear made your heart race; the anticipation made your thighs clench together.  

He smiled as he pulled back, letting go of your neck and reaching for his cock instead.  “I can tell you’re worked up.  Go ahead, touch yourself.”

You hesitated because typically that would be an infraction, but he nodded for you to continue as you nervously reached between your legs.   

You gasped softly when you touched your clit: it was swollen, and especially sensitive.  You hadn't realized how turned on you really were.  Slowly, you started to rub circles around it as your hips rocked with your movements.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, and when you looked up at him, he was stroking himself as well.  You nodded quickly.  "'M gonna come on that pretty face, little one.  Beg me for it."

"Daddy…" you murmured in shock, "I… want you to come on my face, please.  Wanna be covered in it."

"You're not a good liar," he grinned.  "I know you really want me to fuck you."

He wasn't wrong, so you nodded again and watched his hand speed up as it moved up and down his length.

"You poor thing," he cooed.  "I fuck you daily and you're so disappointed to be going without, to just be getting my come on your face like the dirty little whore you are."

His words stung but your hand was moving faster between your legs.

"You're getting close, aren't you?  Wait until I'm ready," he ordered.  You swallowed dryly but slowed down a little to buy yourself some time.  

He grunted a bit and you really hoped it was signalling an orgasm because you felt yours building unstoppably.  You didn't even think you could pull your hand away from yourself if he asked you to, you needed to come so bad.

"Fuck, open your mouth baby-- stick your tongue out," he commanded quickly, stepping forward until his cock was casting a shadow over your face.  "Oh god, just like that… ready baby?"

You nodded one more time and heard yourself panting loudly through your open mouth, your moans only interrupted by a wince as his come spurted forward and painted your face and exposed tongue in hot stripes.  Your orgasm hit just in time, embarrassingly spurred on by the degrading position you were in.  

When he was done-- which seemed to take forever because he came so much-- he started to catch his breath before slipping his softening cock onto your come-coated tongue and into your waiting mouth.

"Mm, you look so good like this," he praised, "I'm not sure I wanna let you wipe it off."

A flesh thumb moved down to your cheek and rubbed a stray drop of spend into your skin.  

"My perfect little cum dumpster, huh?" he said proudly, as if it was an award or achievement or something, and not a sick, insulting term.

Weird thing was, you felt proud of yourself, too.

~

He’d been working outside all day, chopping firewood in preparation for the upcoming winter.  Sure, the cabin had heating, but he had a lot of ideas about cuddling in front of the fire, or maybe making love beside it.  

Regardless, even super soldiers tire and must rest after working.  He decided to head inside and heat up something warm to stave off the cold.  You were still sleeping last he’d checked, exhausted from a long night-- yes, that kind of long night.  He almost felt guilty for putting your body through so much…  you were so delicate, sometimes he forgot you couldn’t always handle what he could.  However, you were stronger than you realized, and such a perfectly obedient little girl; he smiled at the memory of your skin under his fingertips, your fragile form writhing and whimpering beneath him as he’d taken you for hours.  As he daydreamed and began to enter the kitchen, he was torn from his imagination by a sound from your room.  At first he wondered if he’d misheard it, but when he heard you cry out again, he assumed you were hurt and nearly tripped over himself to run to you.  His heart was racing and he almost considered reaching for his sidearm-- there was no way someone could’ve broken in and tried to hurt you, right?

But as he flung open the door, instead he found you alone with your hand between your legs.  You jumped up when you saw him, but it was too late.

“The fuck are you doing?!” he exclaimed, climbing onto the bed and trapping you before you could crawl backwards away from him.

“I-- I was just--”

He cut you off with a quick slap to the face.  Not to hurt you, just to get you to focus on him.

“You know you can’t touch yourself without my permission.  Did you forget?”

“No…” you murmured ashamedly.

“If you knew it was wrong, why did you do it?”

“I… I just missed you…”

“Why didn’t you call me for help?  I can’t take care of you if you don’t ask.”

“I knew you were busy, I didn’t want to bother you--”

“Show me what you did,” he growled, watching you sheepishly spread your legs again to reveal your wet pussy and swollen clit.  “Oh doll, you really did a number on yourself.  Did you come without me?”

You looked away.

“Don’t bother lying.  Did you make yourself come with your fingers?”

“Yes…” 

You were hiding something.  He almost didn’t want to know the entire truth because it was breaking his heart to know you’d disobeyed so severely, but he had to know what happened if he was going to discipline you properly.

“Was it more than once?”

You shook your head and his blood went cold upon the realization that you were hiding something worse.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked you slowly.  He could hear your breathing quickened and he was sure he might die if you said what he was afraid of.  “Answer me.”

“I was thinking about… being fucked…”

“By who?” he asked.  You opened your mouth instantly but he cut you off.  “Don’t lie.”

You spoke but it was so weak that it wasn’t even a whisper.  “What was that?” he pressed.

“Sam,” you finally relented, “it was Sam.”

He was livid, but at least it wasn’t Steve.  

“Go stand beside the bed and kneel,” he commanded firmly.  You nodded weakly and slithered out from under him to do as he asked.  

He took a deep, slow breath hoping to calm himself a little.  He had heard that you shouldn’t punish little girls when you’re angry.  But he needed to nip this in the bud.

He got off the bed and approached you after a moment, running a finger under your chin and guiding you to look up at him.

“You understand you’ve been very naughty, don’t you?” he asked with a cold fury tinting his voice.

“Yes, Daddy,” you answered.  Clearly you were trying to be extra good and dutiful, hoping that strict adherence to the rules from here on out could save you some pain.  You weren’t wrong, but he wished that you would’ve had that attitude a little sooner.

“And if I don’t teach you a lesson, that would be unfair to both of us.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and opened his belt and fly, pulling out his cock.  He sensed that you were compelled to lean forward and take it in your mouth, but you stayed still; you knew he would tell you exactly what he wanted you to do.

As he stroked his cock to full hardness, he glared at you so intensely that you couldn’t keep his gaze, looking up briefly but always glancing back down to the floor shamefully.  

“I-I’m sorry, Da-” you began weakly.

“You’ll speak when spoken to,” he interjected harshly.  Finally, he held your jaw with one hand, the other holding his cock forward as he plunged it between your lips.  He moaned a little when you swirled your tongue over it, doing your best to coat every inch of it in wetness.

As quickly as he had pushed in, he pulled out again.  He slapped his cock on your face, smearing your own spit on your cheek.  He rubbed his tip over your lips in a circle, but when you opened up your mouth for him, instead he leaned forward and spit into your open mouth.

“Swallow it,” he demanded through his teeth, and you did though it made you shudder with disgust.

Only then did he shove his cock in again, and with brutal force as well.  He used fistfuls of your hair to pull your face up and down on his cock, ignoring your whimpers of pain.

The room was filled with the sounds of your choking and coughing, until those extended periods of silence when his cock was shoved all the way into your throat and you couldn’t even get enough air for that.  It was the sexiest thing he’d ever heard in his life.

When he pulled you off of him to look at your face, he grinned proudly.  “Doll, you look like a fuckin’ mess.”  And it was true; spit and pre-cum dribbling down your chin and onto the floor, red nose and puffy eyes from crying… truly a sight to behold.

He gave you one more slap for good measure, the fist in your hair preventing your head from spinning to the side.  

“Gonna fuckin’ come in your throat.  You’d better swallow it all, bitch.”

He could feel your whole body jerk when he said it, and it only served to make your throat even tighter around him.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, “just like that, choke on me, fuck, oh god, fuck--”

He came with a stuttered moan and the sounds of protest you tried to make were lost as cum filled your throat and mouth.  

He smiled when you swallowed quickly, determined to obey.  He wasn’t even done coming yet and you were swallowing it.  Probably a good strategy; he had been pent up for a while now and he probably could’ve filled your tiny mouth until it was leaking.

When he was sure every drop of come had been spilled and swallowed, he pulled out and gave you some reprieve.  You gasped for air loudly, coughing a few times but mostly maintaining your composure like the good little slut you were.

He watched you shift your hip uncomfortably and realized you must be quite agitated yourself.

“If you want something from me, just ask,” he encouraged.  “That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?”

“Please fuck me,” you whimpered.

He wagged his finger disapprovingly.  “I don’t know if you deserve it.”

“Please!” you yelped, and he yanked you off the floor and into his lap quickly.

“You get so dumb when you need me,” he growled into your ear.  “So desperate that you don’t know how to think about anything else but cock.  Isn’t that right?”

You nodded with a gasp.

“You’re my dumb little baby, aren’t you?  Say it," he hissed in demand.

“I’m your dumb little baby,” you repeated breathlessly.

“Get on your hands and knees and get that ass up.”

You obeyed quickly, almost eagerly, and he grinned at your obedience.  You really needed it bad, and he was helpless but to oblige you.  As soon as he was on his knees behind you and lining up with your sopping entrance, he was shoving his cock into you all at once.

You yelped at the brutality of the intrusion; he stayed still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your warmth, before pulling back out again.

“Wh-?” you began to protest in confusion, but he was a step ahead of you.

“That was just to get my cock wet, baby.”

One metal finger slipped into your puckered hole and you yelped.  “D-daddy, not there!”

“Shhh, just relax,” he soothed.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you whined.

“That’s sort of the idea,” he explained.  “I know what you can handle, doll.”

“And I can handle this?”

“I never said that.”

And with only one more finger and a few more minutes of hasty preparation, he was pushing his cock into your tighter hole.

“Shh,” he soothed when he felt you clench around him, but still pushing forward, indifferent to your hiss of pain.  

“It hurts!” you sobbed.

“I know baby, you’re just gonna have to take it.  This wouldn’t be happening if you had just asked me to help you.”

You pouted and it was equal parts adorable and pathetic.  “I’m sorry!”

“I’ll tell you when it’s time to apologize.  Right now you just need to be quiet.  Don’t you wanna be a good little girl?”

“Y-yes.”

He started to move his cock inside you and you shivered under him.  

“Please come,” you begged weakly after a few more minutes of thrusting.

“You wanna get it over with?  Don’t like it?”

You nodded and he did feel bad for you, but he knew it was what you needed.

“I’ll come when I’m ready, doll.  Just take Daddy’s cock, ‘s all you’re good for anyways, right angel?”

You nodded and bit back another sob, blissfully unaware of his adoring gaze; you looked so cute crying for his cock.  He liked being strong enough to hurt you almost as much as he liked being strong enough to protect you.

“My perfect little crybaby,” he cooed.  “Don’t whine too much or I’ll have to stuff that filthy mouth with a paci, alright?”

He watched you bite your lip and try to stay calm.  Out of pity, he moved a little slower than he wanted to, giving you some more time to adjust.  Eventually he felt you relaxing, though you still yelped a little when he pushed in all the way.  It was hard to choose between watching your face or watching his cock stretch open your hole.

“God, you’re takin’ me so well,” he praised.  “Who knew you were such a whore, huh?”

Before you could deny it, he reached down and swiped his fingers through your folds quickly, groaning when he felt how swollen and wet they were.  “Fuck, baby, you’re drenched.  You like getting fucked up the ass; such a dirty little slut.”

“Just for you, Daddy,” you informed him with a weak voice.  He was still angry with you, of course, but he was so proud of you, too.  He could remember all those times you’d tried to run or fight, now you were just laying there and taking it like a champ-- no restraints, no threats, just the desire to be good for him.  You were everything he’d ever dreamed you could be and more.

The thought spurred his orgasm ahead sooner than he expected, but he still wanted to hold back.  You needed more to learn your lesson, and he wanted to savor this feeling as long as possible.

His fingers had been digging into the supple flesh of your hips and ass, hard enough to bruise, but you felt too warm and too soft, so he gripped the sheets instead in his attempts to stave off his rupture.

But it wasn’t much longer until the tightness of you, the heat of you, the sweetness of your sobs all became too perfect to ignore.  His cock was aching for release, and if he denied himself much more, he figured his balls would never relax from their tightened state.

“I think you’re ready to apologize now,” he groaned.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy,” you sobbed.  “I swear, I’ll never touch myself without your permission again-- and I’ll never think about anybody but you!  I only want you, I swear!���

“You sure, baby?  You don’t think Sam would treat you better?” he mocked.  Sam definitely would be nicer to you, but there was no way he could treat you better than Bucky did.  Maybe you wanted a guy who was sweeter, more traditional, but this was what you needed and only your Daddy could give that to you.

“I’m sure!  I only want you, please!  Please, please come.”

“Is that what you want, angel?  Want me to come in your tight little ass?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please…?”

“Please, Daddy.”

And he came, though it was a little more physically taxing since it was the second of the night.  You whimpered a little but he could tell you were relieved it was over.

You didn’t put up any fight at bath time that night, just curled into his arms and let him wash you as you whispered more apologies.  

“Shh, it’s alright,” he soothed as he washed your hair, whispering right against your ear before giving it a little kiss.  “You did good, baby.  You made a mistake but you’re gonna learn from it and we’re gonna be better than ever.  You took your punishment so well, darling, you should be proud.”

~

Today you'd woken up to an empty house, with a note on the kitchen table:

Gone for groceries, I'll be back in the afternoon.  When I get home, greet me at the door wearing what I've laid out for you in your closet.

You figured it wasn't going to be something conservative by any means, but you were still taken aback by finding a tail, collar, and cat-ear headband.  The collar was pink leather with a tiny bell and a little heart-shaped steel tag with your name on it.  The realization that he had this custom-made sent a shiver down your back.  On the back of the tag was another engraving:

IF LOST RETURN TO BUCKY BARNES

You were a little concerned about wearing only a collar, ears and tail… especially when you realized how the tail was intended to be worn.

Still, you had become thoroughly obedient, and you trusted that this would make him happy which was all you could hope for.  You fought past your hesitation and changed out of your pajamas into the outfit (if it could even be called that when it contained no actual clothing).

He had the biggest grin on his face when he opened the door to find you on your knees just outside the entryway.

“Oh look at you, kitten,” he beamed.

Being naked on the floor was cold and awkward.  You crossed your arms to cover your chest, frowning as you tried to avoid his penetrating gaze.  “This is stupid.  I feel stupid.”

“You are stupid," he smiled.  "But you look great!  Now behave or you’ll have to eat out of a bowl on the floor until you’ve learned to love being Daddy’s pet.”

Your eyes went wide.

“You’re gonna behave, right?”

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

He smiled and curled his finger, motioning for you to come closer.  You awkwardly crawled towards him on your hands and knees, biting your lip absent-mindedly.  When you were on the floor in front of his legs, he knelt down a bit and grabbed a handful of your ass.  It made the plug inside you shift and you whimpered.

“Mm, this tail looks lovely on you,” he praised.  “And the ears… you’re a natural.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you shyly accepted the compliment.

"I bet you got wet putting this on, huh?" he presumed.  You nodded as he moved to rub two fingers through your folds, proving himself right.

When he leaned back and pulled his cock from his jeans, you were surprised at how hard it already was.  Clearly the kitten thing was working for him.

"Go ahead kitty, I know you want a taste," he encouraged.

You leaned forward and gave, fittingly, small kitten licks to the tip of his cock and he groaned.  “Just like that, fuck.”

You hummed when you tasted his pre-cum on your tongue.  You’d gotten so accustomed to it that you actually enjoyed the flavor now.

Hesitantly, you wrapped your lips around the head and suckled on it gently.  Apparently, he didn’t care much for the slow-but-steady method; he slipped two fingers under your collar and used it to pull you down further until you choked.  

He continued to guide you forward and back, moaning every time your throat accepted the leaking head of his cock.

“You don’t want me to come in your mouth, do you?” he asked with a grunt.

You shook your head.  

He grinned knowingly, pushing you back until your mouth was empty and free to respond.  “Where do you want it?” 

“In my pussy.”

“Full sentences only, please.”

“I want you to come in my pussy, Daddy, please.”

“Hmm, you did ask very nicely,” he smiled.  “But I have something else to do first.  Go get on the couch, kitten, hands and knees.”

You almost stood up but realized he wanted you to crawl again.  As soon as you’d done it, he was behind you, humming contentedly as he ran his rough hands over your skin.  You mewled when he started to kiss along your back, down your ass and between your thighs until he was licking long stripes through your folds.  Both of you moaned when he sucked your clit into his mouth, even allowing it to graze against his teeth which nearly hurt but made you gush with wetness anyways.

"Please-- I'm close, Daddy, can I come?" you whimpered.

"Go ahead," he mumbled before returning to his work, knowing exactly how to use his tongue to take you apart in mere minutes.  Your hands grabbed desperately at the back of the couch for stability as your legs began to quiver with the force of your orgasm.  You yelped and bit down on your lip as it crashed over you; sometimes when he ate you out, he wouldn't stop after you'd came and keep going until you were begging for mercy, but he was apparently feeling generous today and stopped once you'd finished.

That, of course, did not mean he was finished with you.

He pushed his jeans down to his thighs and laid back onto the mattress, cock so hard that it was pressing into his abs.

“Come on kitten, ride me,” he grinned, motioning for you to climb on top of him.  The moment you did he was rubbing his cock against you, pushing it upwards for you to sink down onto it.  You moaned as it stretched you open, and when your hips met his, the tip of it brushed against the deepest places inside you.  You yelped and tried to move back up but he suddenly grabbed your legs and held you down.

“Nuh-uh, kitten, no running away.  You’re gonna take all of me.”

“It’s too deep,” you protested weakly, even though you felt your walls throbbing with pleasure.

“Not at all, angel; you’re made for me, so you fit me perfectly,” he explained.  “If I let you go, you’re gonna ride me properly, take my whole cock, right?”

You nodded and he eased up his grip.  You felt your legs shaking as little as you pushed yourself up only to drop back down, wincing as he filled you so completely once again.  You repeated the movement over and over, picking up pace and moaning every time.  You could feel his cock moving the plug inside your ass, and each bounce on top of him made your collar jingle a little.

You did your best to keep up the pace, but to lift yourself required use of a muscle that you clearly hadn't been getting much exercise for; it wasn't more than a few minutes before you were faltering, your moans of pleasure accented with the struggling groans of exhaustion.

"Oh kitty, are you too weak?  Too wimpy and small to ride my cock?  Baby… that's pathetic," he moped.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," you pouted.  "I'm just tired…"

"Just a little longer, kitten, just ride my cock a little more then I'll help you out, okay?  I know you can do it.  I know you can be a good girl."

You hoped he was right.  You nodded weakly as he looked at you expectantly, before slowly beginning to move again in spite of your sore thighs.

Soon, as he'd promised, he pulled you down and wrapped his arms around you, thrusting up into you.  Your moans echoed against his skin when your face was shoved into the crook of his neck.  When his cock slammed into your most sensitive spot, you bit him there as a way to stifle yourself and he slapped your ass.

“Only bad kittens bite, doll.  I thought you were going to be a good kitten for me?”

“Feels so good,” you tried to explain though it came out slurred, “please don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop, baby.  Not gonna stop until that pussy is full of my come.  That what you want?”

“Yes,” you pleaded, “oh god, yes, please…”

He moaned loudly as his thrusts lost all rhythm, his cock moving so fast inside you that the sensation became one hot blur against your walls.  Finally, as he groaned and gripped you tight enough to bruise, he spilled inside you. 

As he let out a long breath and his body relaxed under you, he smiled softly.  "You really are perfect, pet."

"C-can I take off the ears now?  And the tail?"

"Hmm, not yet," he grinned, "we need to take a few pictures of you like this first."

~

He was working in the kitchen when he heard your footsteps approaching.

"Don't come in here!" he ordered you.  "Wait for me at the dining table."

"Why, Daddy?" he heard you respond from the hall.  He smiled just to hear your sweet voice.

"It's a surprise, babydoll," he explained.  "It's almost ready-- just wait, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," you answered dutifully, your footsteps moving to the dining area as he'd requested.

Stepping back and admiring his work, he lifted it and turned out the door to deliver your surprise: a cake, with pink frosting and one pink candle.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him holding the cake stand, being careful not to tilt it or get the flame of the candle near his long hair.

He smiled and set it in front of you, looking to your face for a reaction.  Suddenly he felt self-conscious about it, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.   "Um, I made it myself.  Sorry if the decorating isn't that nice…"

"It's beautiful, Daddy, and I bet it'll taste great, too," you beamed.  "What's the occasion?"

"It's our anniversary," he replied, his voice suddenly low and dark.

He saw recognition cross your face, though you looked confused as well.  The meds he'd given you throughout the year had disrupted your memories, and probably distorted your perception of the passage of time as well, but it was all necessary to get you compliant.  He hoped reminding you of that somewhat violent first day wouldn't set back any of your progress.

"I've… been here a year?" you asked weakly.

"We've been here a year," he corrected, sitting down beside you and wrapping an arm around you, "but that's not what we're celebrating."

The hand on your shoulder slipped down to the underside of your arm, stroking it slowly.

"We're celebrating that a medication somebody gave you a long time ago, before we were together, is finally worn off," he explained slowly, a grin creeping across his face. "We're celebrating that the next time I come inside you, I'm gonna get you pregnant."

He didn't fuck you for three days after that, loving the way you were clearly on edge as you waited for him to make good on his promise.  And he didn't blame you for being nervous about it, even if you seemed to understand that any protest from you would fall on deaf ears.

So, he was quite taken aback when you came onto him one night, bedtime cuddling quickly turning into something more as you rubbed your ass against his crotch.  He hadn't even realized that you would want it all on your own.

God, you were so fucking perfect he couldn't stand it.

"What are you doing, angel?" he asked you with a growl as he grabbed your hips and forced them to still.

"Nothing, Daddy," you answered coyly.  He grinned and nipped at your earlobe.

"Are you horny, babygirl?  Because you're acting like a whore."

You nodded and gasped, shivering under his touch.

"Want Daddy's cock inside you?" he pressed, voice getting darker.

"Yes, please!" you begged.

He sat up and flipped you onto your back, caging you in with his arms as he hovered above you.

“You wanna have my baby?” he asked in a husky whisper.

“Yes,” you nodded your head quickly.

“Want me to knock you up, doll?  Right now?”

“Please,” you whimpered.

He leaned down, almost close enough to kiss you, as his gaze wandered over your face  “I don’t want it to be like the other times.  None of the crazy shit, nothing rough.  If I’m gonna get you pregnant--”

“Whatever you want,” you pleaded.

He kissed you suddenly, deep and slow.  “I love you,” he told you quickly as he pulled back, breathless but confident.  

“I love you too,” you answered without even questioning it.

He was gentle, and thorough, and patient.  It was love-making in a way that was out of character for him.  He lifted your legs to wrap around his hips, pushing into you as deep as he could but with a contemplative slowness; he cradled your face in his hands and kissed all over it as he praised you in whispers.

My pretty girl, my perfect little girl, gonna fill you up, gonna make you mine.

You were only moans and sobs, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.  

The first time you came was unexpected, building slowly but crashing into you all at once, judging by the way you went from softly whimpering to nearly screaming in seconds.  The second was quieter, more subtle, but he could tell by the way your walls tightened around him.  The third left you in tears, beyond overstimulated and broken down into a babbling mess.

“Please,” you cried, “please I need you to come-- come inside me.”

He struggled to resist that offer, but he didn't want it to be over too quickly.

“Soon,” he promised, “I’m close.  You feel so good.”

You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close for a kiss but stopping as his mouth brushed against yours.

“Please, Bucky… please come…” you whispered.

He moaned, his thrusts getting a little more erratic.

“Need it so bad,” you whimpered, “need you to put your baby in me--”

“Fuck,” he hissed, “‘m gonna, promise.”

“Now,” you demanded through your teeth, “I need it now.”

“Not until you come one more time,” he responded.  You whined and he knew you were questioning whether it was possible.  “I know you can, just gimme one more.”

His angle shifted and he stayed deep within you, grinding his hips on yours just the right way to rub your clit with his pubic bone.  Your back arched but he held you close, barraging you with the sensation and pressing his forehead to yours.

Your hands gripped his shoulders for dear life, as if you were afraid to fall.  He smiled and kissed your neck, feeling your walls flutter around him once again.

“That’s it,” he praised, “I know you’re close.  Just let go.  I’ve got you.”

Tears streamed down your face as it tore through you, hitting you so hard that instead of moans it was just silence.  He watched your face intently, breathing through his teeth as he summoned all his willpower to hold on just a little longer.  

"Daddy!" you yelped, and he couldn't take any more: with a high-pitched, stuttered moan, he felt his cock flexed as he came harder than maybe he ever had before.  Knowing that you were fertile made it all so much more intense.  Normally, his orgasm just meant the end of sex-- maybe just for a few minutes on a good day.  But now?  Now it was the beginning of something.  His perfect little angel was going to finally fulfill her final purpose and give him a baby.  He'd waited so long, dreamed of it every day for years, and finally it was going to happen.  

He refused to pull out or let you move until he was sure it would take; he killed the time by kissing every part of your face and neck that he could reach.

He hadn't even gotten you pregnant yet, technically, and he already couldn't wait for more children.  He'd always wanted to have a big family, but he gave up on that dream years ago; meeting you had brought it all back, and made him realize that all this time he'd just been waiting for the perfect wife to start it with.

You were well worth the wait.