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[crybabycabin]

Hey, I don't know if you take requests, but if you do, could you do a part two to the soulmate au, please? Like a time jump two years later to see where they're at now and showing them overcoming hurdles in their relationship and bucky healing. It's totally fine if you don't want to do it. I just love that au, and I would like to read more😁

well since you asked so nicely...

bonus chapter: loose threads | b.b.

**read touch and go here**

✮ synopsis: his nightmares bleed through the soul bond. you remind him he's not the only one who knows how to hold broken things.

✮ pairing: soulmate!bucky x soulmate!reader

✮ warnings: (18+) MDNI — established soulmate bond, shared nightmares/trauma, PTSD, emotional hurt/comfort, sexual content, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, praise kink, body worship, brief references to past violence

✮ word count: 2.4k

✮ a/n: this is a bonus chapter to my oneshot 'touch and go', read it here first! also I wrote most of this on my phone on my commute home so please ignore any typos <3

Two Years Later

The nightmare tears you from sleep like a fishhook through flesh—sudden, violent, leaving you gasping in the dark.

Not yours. Never yours.

Your nightmares don't taste like copper pennies and gun oil. Don't echo with the pneumatic hiss of a metal arm recalibrating, with Russian words that burn like acid even when you don't understand them. Your nightmares don't feel like falling through endless white, like ice crystallizing in your lungs, like please, I don't want to hurt anyone, please—

"Shit." Bucky's voice, rough with sleep and guilt, cuts through the phantom sensations. The bed shifts as he reaches for you, and even in the darkness you can feel him hesitating—that split-second pause where he weighs his need against your comfort. "Sweetheart, I'm—"

"Don't." You're already turning into him, seeking his warmth like a plant finding sun. Your hand finds his chest first—bare skin sleep-warm and slightly damp with sweat—and the soul bond settles immediately, that electric recognition that never gets old. "Don't apologize for things that aren't your fault."

His breath hitches. Two years, and he still can't quite believe you mean it.

The lamp clicks on, casting amber shadows across the familiar geography of your bedroom. He looks wrecked—hair sticking up at gravity-defying angles, those devastating blue eyes clouded with memory and guilt. The sheet pools at his waist, revealing the latticework of scars you've mapped with fingers and mouth so many times you could recreate them blind.

"I woke you up." Not a question. He can feel it through the bond—the jagged edges where his nightmare bled into your sleep, the phantom taste of winter he can never quite shake. His metal hand flexes against the mattress, plates whirring in that way that means he's fighting the urge to touch you.

"You had the falling dream again." You shift closer, let your thigh press against his, and watch the tension in his jaw ease fractionally. Through the bond, you feel the dream-echo: falling, always falling, Steve's face getting smaller, smaller, gone. "The train?"

He nods, throat working. "Haven't had that one in months. Thought maybe—" A bitter laugh. "Stupid. Thinking they'd stop."

"Hey." You catch his chin, force him to meet your eyes. "Two years ago, you had them every night. Now it's been months. That's not nothing, Buck. That's not stupid. That's healing."

Something breaks in his expression—that devastating vulnerability he only shows you, only here in the safety of your shared bed at 3 AM when the walls come down. "Sometimes I think I'm getting better. Then nights like this happen and I'm right back there." His throat works around a swallow. "And I can taste your fear in my mouth because I'm bleeding it all over you through the bond and—"

"I love you," you interrupt, simple and certain as gravity.

He goes still. Even after two years, the words hit him like a physical thing, like something he has to brace for. You feel it through the bond—that cocktail of awe and disbelief and desperate, aching love that floods his system every time.

"Say it again." Barely a whisper.

"I love you, James Buchanan Barnes." You shift closer, throw your leg over his hip, needing more contact. Always needing more. The bond hums brighter where skin meets skin. "I love your nightmares and your scars and the way you steal all the blankets. I love how you hum '40s songs when you cook and can't figure out how to work the dishwasher even though you can disassemble a sniper rifle in thirteen seconds."

His flesh hand finds your hip, thumbs the soft skin just above your sleep shorts. "Twelve seconds," he corrects, but his voice is thick. "Got it down to twelve."

"Show-off." You roll your hips just slightly, feel his breath catch. Two years of this and your body still lights up like a struck match every time he touches you. "I love how you look at me like I'm a miracle when you're the one who survived decades of hell and still chose gentleness."

"You are a miracle." His metal hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone with impossible tenderness. The plates are warm now, heated by proximity to your skin. "My miracle. My best girl. My—"

"Yours," you agree, and kiss him before he can spiral back into guilt.

He makes a sound against your mouth—relief and hunger and something deeper, something that lives in the spaces between words. The kiss starts soft, an apology and a promise all at once, but then you nip at his bottom lip and his control splinters. His flesh hand tightens on your hip, pulls you fully on top of him, and suddenly you're straddling his waist, feeling exactly how awake he is now.

"Let me," he says against your mouth, and you know what he's asking. It's become a ritual of sorts—after the bad nights, he needs to ground himself in your pleasure, needs to replace the phantom taste of violence with something sweeter. Needs to prove his hands can create instead of destroy.

His mouth trails down your throat, stubble catching on sensitive skin, and you feel the bond pulse with his desperate need to give, to please, to worship. "Please, baby. Need to taste you. Need to—" His hips roll up, just once, and the friction makes you both groan. "Need to make it up to you."

"There's nothing to make up for," you breathe, but you're already letting him reverse your positions, letting him press you back into the mattress with careful strength.

"Let me anyway." His eyes in the lamplight are winter-storm blue, pupils blown wide with want. "Let me be good for you. Let me make you feel good. Please."

How could you deny him anything when he looks at you like that? Like you're salvation and absolution all at once?

You nod, and his whole body relaxes with relief. He takes his time—pressing grateful kisses to your collarbones, your breasts through thin cotton, the soft curve of your stomach. Each touch is reverent, each kiss a thank you, until you're squirming with need and he hasn't even gotten your shorts off yet.

"Patience," he murmurs against your hip bone, but you can feel his smile, feel the way his own need pulses through the bond like a second heartbeat.

"Don't have any," you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, still messy from sleep. "Not when it comes to you."

He makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be a sob, pressing his forehead to your stomach. "Fuck, I love you. Love you so much it feels like dying sometimes. Like coming back to life. Like—"

"Bucky." Your voice breaks on his name. "Please."

"Yeah, sweetheart. I've got you."

He pulls your shorts down with careful hands, tosses them somewhere in the darkness beyond the lamp's reach. The first touch of his mouth against you is electric, makes your back arch off the bed, but he just pins you gently with his metal arm across your hips and does it again, slower.

"Perfect," he breathes against you, and through the bond you feel it—how true he finds it, how touching you like this quiets all the broken pieces inside him, makes him feel useful and whole and human. "So fucking perfect. Taste so good, baby. Could do this for hours."

And he has, on lazy Sunday mornings when the world feels less sharp, less demanding. But tonight is different. Tonight he's desperate to give you pleasure like it might erase the nightmares, might prove something to the universe about who he chooses to be.

His tongue finds that spot that makes you see stars, and your hips buck against his hold. The metal arm adjusts, recalibrates, and somehow that tiny mechanical sound in the quiet room makes everything hotter. Makes you remember exactly who's between your thighs, exactly what he's capable of, exactly how he chooses to use all that strength and skill.

"That's it," he encourages when you moan, when your thighs start to shake. "Let me hear you. Love those sounds you make. Love how wet you get for me. Love how you—fuck—"

You've reached down to tangle your fingers with his flesh hand, needing more connection, and the simple touch floods the bond with so much emotion you both gasp. It's always like this—the physical pleasure amplified by emotional intimacy, by the soul-deep recognition that makes every touch feel like coming home.

He doubles his efforts, slides two fingers inside you while his mouth works magic, and the dual sensation has you climbing fast. Your free hand fists in his hair, not guiding, just holding on, and he groans against you like your pleasure is his own.

It is his own, you realize. Through the bond, you can feel the ghost of what you're feeling reflected back—the building pressure, the electric heat, the desperate need for more. It should be overwhelming, feeling everything twice, but instead it's perfect. Like this is what you were made for. What you both were made for.

"Close," you gasp, though he already knows. Can feel it in the way your thighs tense, the way your breathing goes ragged, the way the bond itself seems to pull taut between you.

"Yeah?" He looks up at you, mouth slick and eyes wild, looking like sin and salvation all at once. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna let me taste it? Gonna be good for me?"

The words hit you like a physical thing, and he knows it. Knows exactly what that particular tone—commanding and desperate in equal measure—does to you. He curls his fingers just right, seals his mouth over your clit, and you shatter.

The orgasm rolls through you in waves, each crest higher than the last, and through the bond you feel his echoing pleasure—not physical, but soul-deep satisfaction at being the one to take you apart like this. At being trusted with your vulnerability. At being loved despite everything he's done.

He works you through it, gentle but relentless, until you're pushing at his shoulders, oversensitive and shaking. Only then does he crawl back up your body, pressing kisses to heated skin as he goes.

"Better?" he asks against your throat, and you can feel him hard against your thigh, can feel his need through the bond like a physical ache.

"Are you?" you counter, reaching between you to palm him through his sleep pants.

He hisses, hips bucking into your touch. "This isn't about me—"

"Bullshit." You squeeze gently, watch his eyes flutter closed. "Two years, Barnes. I know you by now. You need this as much as I do. Need to feel—"

"Human," he finishes, barely a whisper.

"You are human," you say firmly, working him free of his pants. He's hot and hard in your hand, already leaking, and the first stroke has him burying his face in your neck with a broken sound. "You're human and you're mine and I need you inside me. Please."

"Fuck." His control splinters—you feel it through the bond like ice cracking under spring warmth. "Fuck, okay, yeah. Yeah, sweetheart. Whatever you need."

He lines himself up, meets your eyes in the amber light, and pushes home in one long, perfect slide. Two years of this and it still feels like revelation. Like puzzle pieces clicking together. Like the universe admitting it got something right.

"Love you," he breathes against your mouth, starting to move with slow, deep strokes that have you seeing stars. "Love you so fucking much. Love this, love us, love—"

You kiss him quiet, pouring everything you can't say into the contact. The bond opens fully between you, that rare perfect circuit where you can't tell where you end and he begins. Where his pleasure becomes yours becomes his in an endless feedback loop that builds and builds until you're both shaking with it.

He makes love to you like a poem—all rhythm and reverence and barely contained desperation. Like he's trying to say with his body what he still struggles to say with words: that you saved him, that you see him, that you chose him despite everything.

"Close," he warns after what could be minutes or hours—time tends to blur when you're like this, when the bond sings so bright between you. "Can't—fuck, you feel so good. Perfect. Mine. My perfect girl, my—"

"Yeah," you gasp, already falling again, dragged under by his need and your own combining into something greater. "Yours. Always. Forever."

He breaks with your name on his lips, face buried in your neck, hips grinding deep as he spills inside you. The physical sensation is intense, but it's the emotional wave through the bond that devastates—love and gratitude and home home home flooding your system until you can't breathe with it, until you're crying with the beauty of being so thoroughly known, so completely held.

After, he doesn't pull out immediately. Never does, on nights like this. Just shifts enough that his weight isn't crushing, keeping you close, keeping you full. His metal hand traces lazy patterns on your spine while his flesh hand tangles in your hair, and through the bond you feel the nightmares retreating, chased away by present sensation and future promise.

"Thank you," he murmurs against your temple.

"For what?"

"Existing. Choosing me. Letting me—" He shifts slightly, and you both gasp at the oversensitivity. "Letting me love you. However I need to. However I can."

You turn to kiss him properly, slow and deep and full of promise. "Always. In any universe. In every universe. I'd always choose you."

He shudders, holds you tighter. Outside, Brooklyn starts to wake—sirens and car horns and life going on. But here in your bed, in the circle of his arms, in the warm glow of the bond that ties you together, the rest of the world can wait.

"No more nightmares tonight," you say, and feel him smile against your skin.

"No," he agrees. "Just good dreams now. Just this. Just us."

"Just us," you echo, and let sleep take you under, safe in the knowledge that when you wake—whether to sunlight or storms—he'll be right here, yours as much as you're his, two souls made one by choice and time and the kind of love that survives everything.

Even falling.

Especially falling.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

[figtreesandmoonlight]

Stuck in the God Damn Elevator

Bucky Barnes X Reader One Shot. Because who doesn’t love this troupe?

hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes did not get on. He was arrogant, reclusive and all in all a bit of a dick. He wouldn’t even acknowledge you when your paths crossed in the kitchen. He thought you were loud, obnoxious and ignorant of the realities of real life, you were ‘too much’. You thought he was too inclined to search for darkness in the world. You could think of nothing worse than getting stuck in a lift together. But oh, how the universe likes to laugh at your misfortune.

TW: panic attack (Bucky), swearing. 4.5K words <3

You let out a little sigh as you got into the elevator. Most of the team had been called away on a mission a few days ago, and while you understood why you weren’t with them, you were bored. Your arm was still healing after your last mision, and with your skill set, you wouldn’t be particularly useful in an underground bunker: there wasn’t enough sunlight down there for you to draw on its power. The lab team were still tinkering with a new artificial sun-source for your suit after the last one had been ‘put out of commission’ (read accidentally crushed by Alexi in the middle of your last mission, leaving you powerless and almost getting your arm ripped off by a mutant Hydra had created). 

So, between having no power source and being on a medical ban until your arm healed, you hadn’t gone on the mission. This left you wandering aimlessly around the compound for the last week, occasionally catching a glimpse of Bucky’s shadow, who also hadn’t gone on the mission. You weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t like you two had a glowing relationship where you could ask. Instead, he would just skulk around the compound, and you did everything you could to avoid him.

It didn’t particularly bother you anyway. You’d tried to be nice to Bucky when you first joined the team, but his cutting comments and withering glares made it clear he didn’t want to be friends. Well, you’d thought, his loss. You’d given up trying to be everything for everyone long ago. If you and Bucky didn’t get on, that was that. Sure, it upset you. You could see he was hurting a lot of the time, and with your shared history, you’d initially thought you could be a source of comfort for each other. Apparently not. 

The team were due home tomorrow, and you were going crazy on your own, so you decided to kill two birds with one stone; you’d welcome the team home by baking them cupcakes. Inevitably, Alexi would eat nearly all of them, which John would then complain about while demolishing the other hald himself, Ava would steal one away to her room needing some space after a mission (she always did) and Yelena and you would crack open a bottle of wine, eating cake and debriefing as friends before any kind of actual debrief. Bucky could eat a cupcake or not, you didn’t care. 

You’d overheard him once, complaining to John over beers on the balcony that you were ‘too much’. The comment might have hurt you once, but you’d decided long ago to stop letting other people’s opinions of you dictate how you spent your time. You were extroverted, kind, highly dangerous when angry, loyal to a fault, and happy. You were you, and you weren’t going to change that for anyone, especially not a grumpy old man incapable of saying a single kind word to you. And you were too damn good at your job, too damn professional to let your personal dislike of each other cloud your efficiency on missions. He could complain all he wanted, but you got results. You got them while choosing to always look for the light. You got them showing mercy to those you fought. You got them, in between baking and singing along to musical theatre. You got them while always watching your team’s six. 

You got them in spite of Bucky’s personal dislike of you.

You decided it would only be appropriate to listen to Waitress while you baked, trying to keep yourself from going stir-crazy. The elevator doors closed as gentle harmonies flowed from your headphones, and you squared your shoulders, even in the privacy of the elevator, pulling a smile onto your face. You missed Lena. You missed your friends. But they would be home soon. You always looked for the light. There was too much darkness in your past for you to do anything else. 

The doors slowly peeled open, and you began to step out of the elevator before lifting your head only a moment before stepping directly into Bucky, too late now to change your course. You crash into each other. Letting out a small gasp, your bodies collide, only lightly, but enough to startle both of you out of your separate reveries. Bucky’s hands were on your arms in an instant, simultaneously balancing you and pushing you away from him in one motion. 

‘Watch where you're going,’ his gruff voice huffed out as he stepped past you, letting you go and pressing the button for the roof. ‘I- sorry’ you mumbled out, pulling your headphones, which had been knocked around your neck when you collided, back over your ears, kicking yourself slightly for the moment, a faint blush rising to your cheeks. You certainly weren’t going to be making small talk with Barnes in the elevator. Hell, you turned the volume of your music up. 

The doors to the elevator slowly shut once again, and it continued its movement downward to the communal kitchen. Your eyes were burning a hole in the doors of the elevator, silently commanding it to hurry the fuck up and get you away from Barnes. You guessed he was doing the same, probably with his signature moody scowl written across his forehead. But sadly, you couldn’t actually talk to elevators. And clearly, you’d done something to piss off the universe. To majorly piss it off. So much so, that almost as soon as the elevator started moving, it came to a thundering stop, dropping you both about half a foot alongside a loud clang, and plunging you both into total darkness on unsteady feet.

Both you and Bucky let out sounds of surprise in the split second you dropped, Bucky immediately pulling you behind him in the corner of the elevator, his whole body blocking yours as both of your eyes darted around the room, assessing whatever threat was coming for you. ‘What the fuck,’ you called out, directed to no one in particular as your heart hammered inside your chest so hard you could hear it in your ears and feel it shaking your whole body. At some point, your hand had grabbed onto Bucky’s metal arm. You were clutching it so tightly that your knuckles had turned white. 

Both of you remained frozen, tension coiled so tightly in both of you that it threatened to snap any moment. After what could have been seconds or minutes, the fault button on the panel of the elevator flickered red, and the backup light above your heads flickered on, the harsh brightness of it stinging both of your eyes thanks to your enhanced senses. You’d only just adjusted to the darkness of the small space. You let out a small sigh of relief. You weren’t under attack. The elevator had just broken. Annoying? Yes. But not an attack. 

It was only as you watched the tension slowly dissipate out of Bucky’s shoulders that you realised what he’d done. For all of 10 seconds, you’d both thought you were under attack. And Bucky? His first response had been to put himself between you and whatever danger was coming. He hadn’t even thought about it. 

And something about it made you want to laugh. Not that his being ready for a fight was anything other than typical, but that he’d gone to protect you? You, who he scowled at on a daily basis? You. Who he avoided at all costs? He’d moved to try to protect you. 

As Bucky took a step away from you towards the other end of the elevator, his hand came up to the back of his neck, rubbing softly (a classic tell that he was stressed), you stifled the laugh that wanted to work itself out of your body. Bucky didn’t turn to look at you. Didn’t snap. Didn’t curse. Instead, he gripped onto the bar that ran around the elevator, hunched over and facing the wall, a stiffness returning to his body doublefold. ‘You okay, Barnes?’ You asked, voice soft from the other end of the elevator. 

He didn’t reply. He looked like a cat with its hackles raised, ready to bolt or strike at any sudden movement. He was mumbling something under his breath. Something in Russian. ‘No, you’re not there. You’re safe. You’re at the tower.’ He was looping it over and over. Shit, you realised, Bucky thought this was Hydra. 

‘Hey, Barnes,’ you tried again, voice becoming even softer as you slowly held your hands up in front of you, taking a slow, clear step towards him, ‘we’re okay. We’re safe. The elevator’s fucked, but we’re safe. The team’ll be back soon, they’ll get us outta here.’ 

Again, no response, but a sound, tiny and whimpering, made it out of Bucky’s lips. As you took another step over you clocked the insane pace of his breathing, shallow, fast, and hard. The metal bar was groaning under his tight grip. 

He was having a panic attack. 

‘Bucky?’ You never called him Bucky, and the sound of it made his breath catch in his throat, leading to some desperate, spattering coughs as he gasped for air. You’d made your way to be next to him, stood at his side, hands still clearly in view. ‘I think you’re having a panic attack. I don’t know if you’ve had one before, but I promise it’s okay, you’re gonna be fine.’ You slowly lowered a hand onto his vibranium arm, and he flinched slightly at the contact, but didn’t pull away. You could see his face now, drawn tight, eyes pinched shut, cold sweat running down his forehead. Something in it broke your heart a little. 

‘You’re gonna be okay, but we gotta slow your breathing down, ok? Can you try and breathe with me, James?’ Another name you’d never used for him, but it seemed to get a response from him, the smallest nod of his head. ‘Ok, great. That’s great. I’m gonna put your hand on my chest, and I want you to try and match my breathing. Is that alright?’ Again, the smallest nod of his head.

You slowly lifted his vibranium hand off of the metal it was gripped onto, wincing slightly at the dents it left behind as he lifted it. Valentina wouldn’t be pleased, but she could quite honestly fuck off. You brought Bucky’s hand up to your chest. The coldness of it settled on you, grounding you in the moment as you tried to exaggerate your own breath as much as possible to help Bucky match it. All the while, gentle nothings came flowing out of your mouth, promising Bucky he was going to be okay. That ‘yes this sucks ass, but it will pass.’ 

Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours as his hand made contact with your chest. You’d never seen such an intense sorrow in his expression before. His icy blue eyes cracked your heart a little more. He looked fucking terrified. 

With his hand still on your chest, you placed your own over his metal one, your other hand reaching for his flesh one, as you told him, ‘let’s have a sit, yeah? Get us comfy while we wait.’ By this point, Bucky’s breathing had evened out enough for him to be able to nod his head in agreement, but he didn’t dare speak yet. He didn’t trust his voice. The tears collecting on his waterline told you it would be a while before he could. 

The pair of you lowered yourselves onto the floor slowly and stayed like that, Bucky’s hand on your chest, your own over his, for a while. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually, you Bucky’s breathing slow down, his shoulders stop jumping so much, and some of the frown on his forehead lessened. You felt Bucky’s hand twitch underneath your own, so you eased up the pressure of your hand on top of his, giving him the option to pull away if he wanted to. He shifted his weight beside you. Bucky drew his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, eyes shut, his head hanging back, resting on the metal wall of the elevator. He looked so small. Not shattered, but not whole either.

The pair of you sat like that for a while, in a silence that somehow didn’t feel awkward or tense. If anything, it felt like there was something sacred about it. It was Bucky who eventually broke it, as a hoarse ‘thank you,’ came out of his lips. You turned to look at him, his eyes now looking at your own, a mixed expression of gratitude and embarrassment on his face. You gave him the warmest smile you could, your posture now matching his own, ‘any time.’ 

A beat passed before Bucky, eyes now firmly fixed on the floor in front of him, asked, ‘How did you do that?’ 

You looked at him, confusion written on your face. ‘Do what?’ You replied. ‘Help me calm down? The only person who could do that was Steve.’ 

You couldn’t hide the surprise that briefly flashed across your face. You had no idea that Bucky had had panic attacks before. But if experience had taught you anything (and it had taught you a lot), the last thing Bucky needed was someone to gawk at him. So instead, it was your turn to look at the floor in front of you, suddenly seeming like the safest option. ‘I get them,’ you replied, before softly adding, ‘a lot. I just did what I wish I had someone to do it for me. What my sister used to do for me.’ 

It was Bucky’s turn to look shocked now as he turned to look at you. And he didn’t clear it from his face for a long time. You never talked about your sister. Never. Everyone on the team knew that. She’d died, that was all the team had been told. Your file had added that it was at the hands of Hydra. But you never spoke about her. After hits to old Hydra bases, you’d turn silent on the jet home and disappear for a few days. The team knew better now than to ask why. 

But here you were, talking about it with Bucky. About her with Bucky. 

You shrugged before he could say anything else. ‘How long do you reckon we’ll be trapped here anyway?’

‘Not too long. Team are on their way back early, I was heading to the roof to meet them.’

You nodded in response. That made sense. Looks like you won’t be greeting them with cupcakes this time around, though. ‘Well, looks like it’s just you and me then, Barnes,’ you flash him a cheeky grin, knees knocking into his own, ‘Your worst nightmare, huh?’ Bucky mumbled something under his breath in response. You assumed you wouldn’t want to know what he had to say. 

‘Shame too. I was about to make some damn good cupcakes. Would’ve even let you have some, if you asked nicely.’ You were teasing him. Trying to help him feel some sense of normality, trying to show him that nothing changed because you’d seen him have a panic attack. ‘Although, knowing you, you probably would’ve just taken one and sulked off back to your room.’

‘I don’t sulk.’

‘You definitely sulk, Barnes. This whole thing,’ you gestured to all of him, ‘it’s sulky.’ 

Bucky looked at you with shock, which quickly turned into something sour as he bit out, ‘Well, at least I dont pretend to be happy all the time when my life’s a fucking mess.’ 

You felt like someone had punched you in the gut. Knocked the wind right out of you. It was one thing to hear Bucky moaning about you to John over a beer. It was another thing entirely for him to say it to your face. You looked at Bucky with a look bordering hurt and confusion, saying a simple ‘fuck you,’ and shaking your head before picking up your headphones that had dropped from you while you were helping Bucky earlier and moving to the other end of the elevator. 

You sat with your back against the wall, knees pulled into your chest, head hung slightly inwards, headphones securely over your ears, playing your choral playlist, something which grounded you, helped you centre yourself, loudly enough that Bucky could hear it across the elevator. 

Bucky immediately winced and then froze in shock, regretting what he’d said, kicking himself over and over again. You’d just helped him, and the first thing he did was be an asshole to you. A true asshole too. A brick seemed to settle itself in his stomach and he felt sick. He ran a hand over his face in frustration, letting out what could almost be described as a growl of annoyance with himself as he tried to think of what to do, hitting his head against the wall behind him. You didn’t want to talk, he could see that clearly enough from the volume of the music pouring out of your headphones. He could text you? No, that was a stupid idea, and likely to piss you off more. 

God, he thought, why do I always do this? The silence that had earlier sat so comfortably in the room was now heavy, weighed down with anger, frustration and hurt. Contrary to what you thought, Bucky didn’t hate you. Part of him longed for you. So hot, so deeply, that he didn’t know what to do with it. It scared him. The idea that you could be friends, could be something more, terrified him. He terrified himself. He didn’t trust himself. So he could never trust himself with you. You were light and happiness, he could never taint you. So, as usual, he pushed you away, it was an automatic response at this point.

I gotta make this right. 

Bucky took a deep breath in, steeling himself to push himself off of the floor, legs still slightly wobbly from the stress and anxiety running through him. Slowly, he made his way to sit about a foot away from you. You could almost feel his eyes boring into you, begging you to look up, to talk to him. Enough that it almost made you feel bad. It was a chronic problem you had, being unable to be the reason someone was upset, even if it came about through them hurting you first.

A bone-deep tiredness had settled over you in the moments you’d had sat listening to music. You didn’t have it in you to fight. Not now. Not when you didn’t know how long you were going to be stuck with each other. You’d had enough fights in your life, you didn’t want another. With a little huff, you pulled your headphones off, the weighty silence of the elevator ringing in your ears louder than any music could. You didn’t have it in you to draw out the impending argument, allowing the weariness in your body to show through as you asked Bucky, ‘what?’ 

‘I-’ he stalled, ‘I’m sorry. That was unfair. That was cruel.’ 

You were almost as surprised as when the lift had broken. Not once, not once in your years of knowing each other had Bucky ever apologised to you, ever acknowledged that what he had said or done could have been hurtful. You didn’t know where to go from here. 

Bucky must have mistaken your stunned silence as you still being angry, because he carried on, ‘I just,’ he let out a small sigh himself, ‘I dont get how you do it. You’ve been through hell. A hell far too similar to my own. But you’re good. You’re a good person. You’re kind. You look for the light, and not just to fuel your powers. You’ve seen so much darkness. Too much. Yet here you are, making cupcakes for the team coming back from a mission days after your arm nearly got ripped off. You listen to fucking choral music. You tell jokes, you watch films. Hell, you just helped me through a panic attack because the stupid elevator broke down. Because I couldn’t keep my shit together.’ 

Bucky drew in a shaky breath. At some point, he’d turned to look away from you, stood up and started pacing. ‘Because,’ Bucky wavered here, debating if he could go on or not, ‘because you’ve been through so much, and you’re not a wreck. So much of our lives have been the same, and it makes me- it makes me wonder how you can be okay when I find everything so god damn hard.’ Bucky let his back connect with the wall behind him, feeling suddenly too vulnerable to support himself. ‘I can’t sleep. I work myself into the ground because I’m scared of stopping. Of being taken again. I push everyone away because I’m terrified that one day the programming will snap back into place. One concussion, one word, could bring it back, and I could hurt people. I could hurt you.’

You were stunned into silence, unable to quite believe what you were hearing.

‘I just don’t know how you do it. Why you do it. How you’re strong enough, and… and how I’m not.’

‘I do it,’ you whispered, a tear making its way down your face, ‘because if I don’t, the darkness will be too much. It’ll take me over. I let that happen once, Bucky. I let them win once. I won’t do it again.’ You wiped the stray tear away quickly, looking into Bucky’s eyes. He’d stopped pacing the second you spoke. ‘I’m still a fucking mess. I’m never not going to be. Look at me! I lock myself away when I’m having a panic attack, I go off the grid pretending to be on missions when I hit a depressive episode.’

‘But I was alone so long,’ you carry on, ‘and I found a family here. I found people who get what I’ve lived through, who I can talk to and find comfort in.’ 

Now, Bucky was stood still across from you in the elevator, staring at you with a look you’d never seen before. It might have been shock. But there was something else under it. Admiration? Pride? And something softer too, something you weren’t ready to name yet. 

‘And yeah,’ you continued, ‘our lives have been pretty shit. So maybe I work a little bit too hard at being happy, at putting on a brave face. But I’d rather be someone who brings something positive to a room, someone people can go to, someone people can rely on, someone who tries to smile, even when people can see it crumbling,’ you let out a humourless laugh, ‘than let it consume me. If I let it take over me, for the first time since I got out, I would stop. And I don’t want to know what happens when I stop.’

You paused, steeling yourself to carry on with a deep breath. ‘They- Hydra, they wouldn’t let me feel anything. Happiness is my defiance and my defence, Barnes. It’s my way of winning.’ 

Your eyes hadn’t left Bucky’s. Tears were streaming down your face now. Bucky looked stricken, almost like a broken man. Both of you sat staring at each other. For a while, there was no other sound than your deep breaths, which occasionally staggered and caught as your emotions slowly dimmed. It was Bucky’s low, hoarse voice that pulled you back into the room.

‘I’m sorry.’ You’d been looking at him already, but now, now you saw him. Bucky carried on talking. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been struggling since the void, more than I wanted to admit. And you’re a light. You’re like the human version of a sunrise. You make people laugh. Make them smile. You attract people to you. I wish I were the same. I push people away, because it’s all I’ve ever known, but I wish I knew how to hold them close. You have that. You can do that. And it hurts that I can’t do that too. So I’ve been cold. I’ve been cruel. And I’m sorry,’ he ran his hands over his face, a stray tear falling from his eyes, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Bucky had stopped looking at you at some point during his speech, his eyes falling to stare at his hands in shame. You took a deep breath and stood up, crossing the tiny space between you to sit next to Bucky. Bucky’s face turned, full of surprise and questioning, as you sat next to him. ‘You’ve been alone long enough, Barnes.’ You rest your head on his shoulder. He tensed ever so slightly when your head came to rest on him, but quickly relaxed. ‘If you don’t know how to keep people close, we’ll work it out together, yeah?’ 

You looked up to Bucky to see a small, tentative smile pull at the corners of his lips, to see his eyes soften, ever so slightly. ‘I’d like that.’ You smiled back up at him, disconnecting your headphones from your phone, letting the sound of The Bluebird spill out into the elevator. The two of you fell into an exhausted silence, but not one which was uncomfortable. It was a safe silence, one where each of you felt comfortable enough to let yourself feel the exhaustion that was claiming you. 

At some point, the weight of your head, of your body resting against Bucky’s grew stronger. Bucky looked down to see you dozing off to sleep. Ever so gently, he shifted your head on his shoulder so that it sat more comfortably against him as he shrugged off his jacket, pulling it over you while you slept. Bucky would stay awake, would sit guardian over you while you slept. You’d spent enough time performing happiness for other people. It was time for someone else to look after you. 

Bucky had no idea how long it had been when the elevator finally started to move. The normal lights flicked on, as the emergency ones shut off, and the elevator jolted to life. It wasn’t enough to wake you, though. Your head remained firmly set on Bucky’s shoulder, though his jacket had slipped slightly now. Bucky hesitated for a moment. Should he wake you? No, he decided, you looked too peaceful. Instead, he slowly snaked his arms around you, lifting you into his arms as he stood up. The doors eventually slid open, to reveal a slightly dishevelled team, Yelena holding a bleeding wound on her arm, John with a black eye, and Alexi holding Ava upright. 

The look Bucky gave the team very clearly threatened them into silence. He stepped out of the elevator softly, slowly, doing everything he could to not wake you while he walked down the corridor to one of the spare rooms on the floor for you to sleep in.

 The second he was gone, Ava turned to Yelena with a smirk: ‘so, looks like they finally sorted their shit out.’ Yelena only shrugged her shoulders with a smirk before a grimace took over as her arm stung in complaint. ‘What did I tell you. Broken elevator. Oldest trick in the book.’ John piped up almost immediately asking, ‘Sorry, am I missing something here.’ Alexi just let out a booming laugh, clapping John on the back, ‘You miss all the things, my friend.’ 

The four heroes trudged into the elevator, while down the corridor, Bucky placed you gently into a bed, pulling the duvet over your shoulders. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before whispering, ‘I’ll stick around, I promise. No more pretending to be okay. No more pulling away.’ Bucky slowly walked towards the door, and just as he was pulling it to, he could have sworn he heard you whisper ‘good,’ back to him. 

You two may not have been friends going into the elevator, but you came out something much deeper than that, even if that thing didn't have a name yet. 

Much love as ever, dear readers! Please do like and share, and if you have any requests don't hesitate!

[alexanderlightweight]

Some more of in his wake, petals fall would be great cause that's some of the sweetest Malec I've read and it gets better each time I reread it. I hope you enjoy your day!

it's very fun to write, they're very much in love your honor. you see, they don't know any other way to be. last part here

i'm glad that it gets better with rereads, that makes me incandescently happy!!! it's been a very nice evening and that's been honestly just nice. i hope you have a good day whenever you see this and i hope you enjoy!

<3 lumine

in his wake petals fall

It’s a full moon and Alec can think of nothing more that he’d like to do than be able to enjoy it with Magnus.  The night is still young, there might be time if he can get through the next three or four hours without anything too major going on.

There is always a risk when Simon, Jace and Izzy go out together. The three of them together attract only half as much trouble as a single Clary, but it’s trouble all the same.  They’re especially untrustworthy when they go on patrol together. 

Alec has shamelessly both bribed and commissioned Magnus with both sex and Institute treasures to check Simon for curses.

Twice now.

Not because he thought Magnus failed the first time, but he asked Magnus to look for neutral or ‘helpful’ spells the second time.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Simon remains magic free and it’s just natural.

Thankfully he gets into far less trouble without Clary, but he gets into trouble all the same.  In a way, that part of Clary’s legacy remains.

Unfortunately.

It’s not like Alec’s going to forget her anytime soon.

He really doesn’t need these unhelpful reminders.

He’d finally liked Clary before she lost her memories.  If Alec doesn’t have new good memories to back up the constant resurgence of the old, that might change.  Which feels harsh but Alec can’t help the deep annoyance, irritation and finally, just pure outrage on his own behalf when memories of those first two months resurface.

Now that Alec actually has a well working and well-run Institute, with competent people who listen to, respect and obey his commands, he gets even more furious.

So reminders of Clary, unhelpful.

Not that Alec will mention this to anyone but Magnus — who has similar feelings — because there’s no need to.  If someday Clary returns, Alec will figure out then however he feels then.  There’s no need to stir up emotions that don’t need to be touched and Alec would rather let them grieve in peace. 

But that doesn’t stop him from adding an extra team to patrol an overlapping area, just to ensure he’ll be able to go home at a decent time.

Alec is not letting the Curse of Clary continue.

Alec will not be kept from Magnus by other peoples folly.

Or from showing Magnus the lunar bleeding hearts that were finally blooming in the moonlight.

Magnus will love to immortalize the flowers, still glowing with the light of the moon. They’ll make nice jewelry or hair adornments or even for clothes, if he wants.  Alec doesn’t care what Magnus does with them, as long as Magnus is happy with them.  He could enjoy the sight of them just once, and that would be enough for Alec.

However Alec knows his husband and Magnus will love the flowers, which is why it’s becoming more and more important to ensure Alec makes it home without losing any of the glow from the buds.

Time ticks by and while Alec wouldn’t say he’s any more brusque that he usually is, he does notice when Mirai walks in. A smirk on her face and her brown eyes gleaming with secrets.

“What is it this time?” Alec lowers his voice to a decibel only a shadowhunter with runes or close to him can hear.

“You’re scaring them. They can’t tell if you want something to happen, or if your scowl is because something better not happen.”

“Why would I ever want something to happen?”

“You could be having a fight with Magnus.” Mirai says and the twinkle of secrets makes sense now. Mirai's been listening to the chatter of the hunters and deciphering it for Alec.

“Who is stupid enough to start that kind of gossip?” Alec regrets asking immediately and doesn’t bother trying to soften the grimace on his face. “Never mind. Just please tell me it’s not Simon at least.”  Alec really cannot deal with more idiotic rumors because of him.

“Thankfully not him. It was just chatter during sparing. That you were unusually grumpy today. Hunters throw out ideas to get their mind off things.”

Alec certainly isn’t going to smile without a reason and since Magnus isn’t here, there won’t be one. But he does try blanking out his face, which has Mirai sighing at him.

“Honestly, that sometimes is worse.”

Alec frowns at her, because he’s getting mixed messages and it’s easier.

Mirai laughs, because she’s not spineless and she actually knows how to read Alec enough that he can trust her to have his back. And actually listen to what he says, instead of interpreting it differently or outright ignoring it.

If she changes orders it’s because she’s gained information that Alec doesn’t have, not because she has an idea she’s not sure will even work.

“Something always happens when those three go out together. I don’t trust them to not ruin my night.”

"They're bad but they're doing better. They could just have bad luck, there's no proof they go looking for trouble." Mirai doesn't sound convinced and Alec wonders who she's trying to comfort.

Because he is not comforted.

“You have no idea what it was like.” Alec turns his head slightly and makes sure he’s keeping his voice low enough they can’t be overheard. “Magnus and I couldn’t even have a kiss without interruption. Our dates constantly had to be canceled, I almost got married to a woman because they interrupted every date Magnus tried to get me to go on. A few that I accepted and had to cancel or postpone! I won't blame them fore very stumble in our relationship but they caused most of them.”

Mirai laughs, quiet and low but Alec is serious.

“No, you see. If I had gone on a single date with him, I would never ever have let my parents push a marriage on me. One actual date with him, where we could converse and get to know each other without the pressures of everyone else's crisis being pushed on us. Burdens that were never ours to bear becoming problems we had to solve and unravel while we tried to get closer yet kept getting pulled apart. If I’d had even just a handful of real, meaningful moment with Magnus. Just us, without the world leaning over our shoulder and duty nipping at our heals, there never would have been a wedding for him to crash. And if we'd had a stronger start, been more secure in each other less rushed, we could have been stronger together.”

—

Mirai really hates when Alec says things like this.

It’s like he doesn’t even notice how he’s rewriting the reality of the world.

The reality is that very few people understand the poetry and revelation that is Alec’s love for Magnus.  They see the political choices, the smiles and the laughter, they don’t see the obsession. The adoration.  The devotion that would lead a shadowhunter to consider becoming a vampire and entering a hell dimension on purpose, planning to be there for eternity as an immortal.  Just for another being.

That kind of devotion is the thing of legend and Mirai truly believes that Alec Lightwood will not and cannot love another as he does Magnus Bane.

However that doesn’t mean he needs to turn everything Mirai already knows about him even further on it’s head.

Alec Lightwood is an enigma on paper.

He’s worse in person.

Truly, Mirai isn’t sure exactly how someone as logical and blunt as Alec fell for — and so instantly and irrevocably — Magnus Bane, but she’s not going to shame it.  That’s a sure way to die and Mirai both enjoys life and likes how she is living. Besides, there’s something both inspiring and terrifying about their relationship and also Magnus Bane helps her Commander be the best he can be. She has constant proof of that and so while she hadn’t actually believed it, she’s still relieved that Alec’s mood isn’t from an argument or a sour goodbye.

“I don’t mind taking over early.” She really doesn’t, is the thing.

Alec is inspiring to the entire Institute but he can also be overly intimidating. His reputation is only growing and even some of his original hunters — ones that Mirai knows at one point mocked or disrespected him — look at him with awe now. Alec barely notices, focusing more on results than gossip and thankfully he trusts that to Mirai.  Alec is very good at finding out things in the shadows.  He’s not always the best at putting them together.

So Mirai translates the gossip and reports back and Alec now locks the greenhouse when he’s in there half naked and covered in butterflies.  Nephilim like rare and powerful and enthralling things and Mirai needs every hunter they have.

—

Alec steps through the portal with careful steps and Magnus is there, face already lit by the moon and of course, his love had portaled him to their roof.  The perfect place for the flowers to absorb the moonlight and also a perfect place for Alec to place the vase of blooms down gently so he can take Magnus into his arms.

There are kisses, sweet and simple and blooming on his lips until he laughs and Magnus deepens the kiss.  It’s soothing and comforting and familiar in the way that a steady heartbeat soothes the soul.

Magnus kisses like he never means to stop and never needs to and Alec can’t help but match him, eager to be devoured and consume in turn and insistently getting his fingers under Magnus shirt so he can finally press his palms against warm skin.

“Missed you.” He whispers when Magnus pulls back to kiss his jaw and cheek and the corners of his eyes. “Thought of being here with you the whole night.”

“You’re hours earlier than you should be, Alexander. Not that I’m complaining, but you were only gone four hours.” Magnus laughs and Alec grins at the helpless adoration in Magnus voice. “I missed you as well, darling. As delighted as I am, I truly thought you’d be longer. Is everything alright?"

“Mirai covered for me. Apparently I was a little too obvious in my longing to get home.”

—

Alexander shrugs, innocent as can be and Magnus narrows his eyes.

“And what aren’t you saying.”

Alexander sighs and looks away with a frown.

“Alexander.” Magnus croons, “what aren’t you saying, sweetheart.”

That tone never fails to work and Alexander melts for it, as always.  Along with the way Magnus is cupping his jaw and letting Alexander nuzzling against his palm.

“Mirai informed me that gossip was we had an argument. Apparently I’m very angry looking when I’m worried I may not make it home to my husband in time. I just was worried that whatever caused Clary to constantly be or cause the interruption of our dates maybe infected Simon.”

Magnus laughs, because he can’t help it and also why should he? Alexander is as sweet as always and the thought of Alexander being angry at work because of their relationship is hilarious.  Alexander goes cold when he’s truly upset. He would shut off the pieces and parts of him that were overwhelmed and exist on what is left.

Which considering how much Alexander adores Magnus and how it’s with the entirety of his very being, means that one is left with a very cold, stoic Alexander.  More so than usual and personally, a sight Magnus hates to see and has vowed to never again.

Now that life has settled, they’ve been allowed to grow and flourish and Magnus doubts that they’ll ever have arguments against like they did in those first, fierce, fast months when they had to grab time before it was gone but the world tore at their relationship like it was a personal offense.

“And it’s what, bad for morale?” Magnus kisses Alexander again, because there’s no need to deny himself as many kisses as he’d like, whenever he’d like them.  Alexander loves nothing more than being met with kisses when he comes home and now is no different, with Alexander ignoring the question. His lips are against Magnus, his tongue worshiping and his teeth gentle but nipping sharply whenever Magnus pretends to pull away.

It’s several minutes before Magnus remembers he wants an answer, just as a reference for what will get Alexander home to him more often.

And Alexander scowls at him.

Magnus really cannot imagine how other people look at his adorable, menace of a husband and think he’s dangerous looking.

Yes at times Alexander can exude a somewhat threatening aura but Magnus has always found it enticing and that it added to his allure. Beyond that, how can you look at Alexander’s down turned lips and sad eyes and think anything but darling!

It boggles the mind to a degree that Magnus is certain even Ragnor would agree with him.

AN:

the bribe was the sex. because alec insisted on either paying magnus extra for downgrading (checking a vampire for spells is below his paygrade but ofc he'd do it for alec even for free) and alec was like: no i need to pay extra and then had to convince magnus to let him pay at all and then alec is like, okay at least let me bribe you with sex

magnus... darling we could just have sex?? i'm happy to help you with any kind of problem. no need to bribe.

alec: ... please? so i feel less like i'm taking advantage of my amazingly generous and magical husband who has been taking advantage of way too often

magnus: oh so therapeutic roleplay?

alec: if that means you will agree then yes. we can call it that too

-

magnus laughing to himself in the middle of the night: we're married, we have sex all the time. how is this a bribe? you should have threatened to not have sex with me unless i did it.

alec who is a shadowhunter: it's the only thing i could think of that i knew you'd like and enjoy okay. besides people use sex for transactions all the time. it makes perfect sense. also i would never try that. you'd take it as a challenge and i'd break. we both know any threats i made like that wouldn't last past the moment they were spoken. i've never been able to resist you and marriage has made than less manageable, not more

-

a week later Alec bringing Magnus a really rare flower cutting for the roof.

Magnus: this would have made a good bribe

Alec, appalled: how dare you put monetary value on a priceless treasure that i just want you to have because i love you. who do you think i am?

magnus: but sex is fine? as a bribe

alec who is a shadowhunter: yes?

[hibernating-stag]

Got distracted looking at Chipp and Venoms win quotes about each other- no one look at me-

[shallowseeker]

I know why Cas says he cared about Sam because of Dean but I don’t get why he says it about Jack? I feel like his relationship with Jack was fairly separate from Dean

I personally don’t view Cas’s statement as that literal. To me, it means less that he cared about Jack because of Dean, and more that caring about one person gave him the courage to keep opening himself up.

Love, after all, spreads like a contagion. It grows, expanding outward like a stone dropped in water, rippling further and further. Dean wasn’t the start of Cas caring about things; Cas had his own convictions and compassion long before that.

But Dean was a turning point. He became family, a kind of structural support Cas could grow with (and change with, and mess up with, and come back to against all the odds). Through that foundation, it became possible for Cas to live and love more fully: Sam, Bobby, other angels, Claire, Mary, Jack, the AU hunters, Rowena, and humanity itself.

[smile-files]

guys. i need your opinion of this. because i'm genuinely so confused now

what time period is the professor layton series in?? the prequel trilogy and the main trilogy. when are they supposed to be taking place

i could've sworn one of the games (though i forget which) mentions that someone's been to the moon already which would put them at least in the late 60s into the 70s going by our world's timeline... but i don't know maybe space travel was discovered earlier in this universe???

[pickaropoprocks]

Day 42!! My take on a Mafukasa swap!AU!!

[greyedian]

lmao i'm always so bad at actually sticking with my tumblr breaks, but being on here less and not really engaging with fandom already helps a ton tbh. but yeah idk in case anyone's wondering: yeah i'm still here and yeah i'm still having a bit of a creative existential crisis what else is new 👍

[astralmarionette]

im currently writing an atsugawa (I hate the name shin soukoku or whatever I'm sorry but I'm actually not. also I cannot pronounce soukoku {this is the real reason I don't use soukoku}) and I don't even ship it lmaoo

[secondpersonpoetry]

HI! OH MY GOSH, YES, THAT’S THE ONE!!!!!!!! okay first of all that poem is beautiful and i’m incredibly glad i get to read it again in full so thank you for that and second of all WHEN I TELL YOU I SMILED SO BIG WHEN I SAW YOUR RESPONSE. ABSOLUTELY DELIGHTFUL ART 🫶🫶 oh man, all the details!! love the cursive corresponding with the italics, lil dude in a floatie, the different blues of the ocean, the HELLO! speech bubble, and i’m just imaging strained eyes and overheated bodies from being in the sun all day adjusting to the air conditioned indoors @ the café/restaurant panel because who hasn’t been there lol, LOVE how you drew all the clothing items throughout as well as the carousel, the aloe with the bright burns, the baby footprint, the sunset colors, the upside down writing on the horseshoe crab panel (was giddy when i had to turn my phone upside down then right side up again to read it lolol), the bomb pop, the whole wall of “probably”s………..everything just works so well together. giggling kicking my feet cannot express to you in words how much i love it all!! you captured the bright emotion of this poem very well, and i think just that summer feeling in general ☀️ making plans and soaking up the sun. and all on the whiteboard app????? dude!!! my goodness!!!! tysm for sharing 💗 hope you have a lovely one.

thanks you too <3

[madamechrissy]

Endless Summer

Pairings- Yandere! Caleb x F!reader

Summary- You are staying home from summer break before Senior year of college with your Gran, Josephine, when a huge surprise happens, after over a year of being unable to see Caleb, he comes back to stay. You're so happy, but there's just a couple problems - one, you want him in ways you shouldn't, and you're just starting to get over it with the distance. And two, Caleb is pretty fucking pissed that you have a date, isn't he enough for you!?

Warnings- eventual smut, light angst, taboo relationships, TW- stepcest, mutual pining, yandere Caleb, he's a virgin bc that's canon to me, him being utterly obsessed. This chap - Caleb masturbating, thinking of reader sexually, fingering, SO MUCH SEXUAL TENSION - like just fuck already? - jealousy, hurt feelings, Caleb being SO petty, obsessed reader, mentions of virginity and a lot of fantasies hehe, kinda a slow burn?- 6.5k wc this chap

Comments/Reblogs appreciated if you enjoyy - taglist open <3

<<<Part One - Part Three>>>

Part Two

It's late when you get back, about to storm actually, you hear the thunder in the distance, little fat droplets of rain starting to patter on the windshield as you and your date drive back to your place. He's got a hand on your thigh, smiling and talking, it feels...

Off.

The only person that's touched you aside from a few kisses that you've tried, was Celeb, and his touches were always reserved, the bathroom earlier was the first time you felt him lose that just a bit. The way his hand slipped down your spine, the way he touched your calf and thigh earlier, something had changed.

Was it you who changed, or him though? Did you finally just let the facade fall, the lies you tell yourself so you don't feel horrible for wanting the boy you grew up with? It's swirling in your mind as you try to listen to your date, he's so nice and fun, but you can't find it in you to enjoy it.

You can't be with Caleb - did he even want that, would he ever want that!? The thoughts won't stop even as you shove them back - what you hoped was a childhood crush, admiration of him, you're forced to realize it's never going away. A deep love that borders obsession for him, diaries loaded with things you've always wanted to stay, buried forever.

"You're here, right?" He says, looking at the map on his phone, you smile then, nodding as he unbuckles your seatbelt. "I had a lot of fun tonight."

"I did too!" You take the hand on your thigh, holding it, curious then. Was it the complete lack of trying that caused you not to want anyone else? Were you so closed off you were blinded, closed off for him...

Caleb.

Before you really dive further, he's leaning down, the windshield wipers gently flicking the rain off in streaks as the storm starts to rumble. You remember being so afraid of storms when you were little, always running to Caleb's bed. He had a fort specifically built that the two of you would cuddle in, as he read you stories till you could sleep.

Even now, it's him all in your brain - made worse by his presence, with him being gone a year you could almost try to ignore it, explain it away. But he's full force back, you can smell his scent lingering from his touch on your fucking clothes. Shoving it all back, you lean forward as he cups your face, eyes fluttering shut.

What would it be like to kiss Caleb?

That thought shouldn't be what's in your brain, but it's glaring you right in the face, while the boy's lips press against yours. They're smooth and sweet, his hand entangling in your hair gently, a little sigh that falls into your own mouth. You kiss him back, focusing on the feeling, it feels nice, it feels lovely.

You wonder if this was it, what you needed to forget the person you shouldn't want, when his tongue slips in your mouth, and the kiss gets more heated. He touches your thigh again with his other hand, slipping up slowly, tongue swirling inside your mouth as you pull back for a breath.

"You look so pretty tonight," he says. You blush a bit in the darkness of his car, hearing the rain pick up. You look back to see the curtain of Caleb's room open, when you catch sight it flutters shut.

There's no way he could see like that in the dark, you're paranoid.

"Thank you, I enjoyed it too." You say, biting your lip when he starts kissing across your neck, you exhale at the sensations, his hand dangerously close to toying with the waistband of your panties, when he sucks on your neck. "Ah!"

"Sorry, too much?" He pulls back then, and you look down nervously, touching the spot he'd just gently sucked on.

"I'm sorry just... not experienced."

"Oh, shit I..." He trails off, backing away, and you shake your head, taking his hand again.

"No, it's okay, I also hate storms a bit. So I'm afraid my mind is a little everywhere." Not on the six foot three man towering in his fucking room, the one that had you soaking wet straightening your hair. No way, right?

"You also had that burn," He touches it and frowns. "I got a little carried away."

"You're perfectly fine, I do think I should head in while we get a break from the rain though." He nods and leans forward, kissing your cheek now.

"Can we do this again?" You nod shyly, he grins so big, he's an adorable boy surely, you wish you could feel something, anything, but the need to touch yourself and think of Caleb again.

You hate yourself for it.

"I'd love to. Good night!" You rush once you're running out of his car, the rain starting to fall again heavy as if on cue, you wave when you get to the porch and shake your hair out, fumbling with your bag to get to your keys.

It's pretty late after the movie and dinner, you quietly enter the home, the floorboards creaking just a bit as you walk inside, soppy heels coming off as you shut the door. You take them and set them by the entrance, shivering a bit as the cool air of the house hits your skin over the thin, soaking wet clothes, you feel goosebumps creep up as you set down your clutch.

You quietly walk up the stairs, so familiar, how many times had you and Caleb chased each other up and down these? You smile softly at the memories while your hand glides along the railing, cool under your palm, heading over towards your bedroom then, when you realize Caleb’s door is open. You bite your lower lip, wondering when it became so awkward.

It’s as if you can’t keep yourself under control suddenly, just his scent has you throbbing with need, you hover just by his door, sure he’s asleep, when you peer in the darkness just a bit. You’re dripping softly against the old wooden floorboards, still hopelessly drenched as you peer at his perfectly made bed, frowning a bit.

"Pips, you're gonna catch a cold like this," Caleb's words shock you, jolting in as he sits in the chair by the window seat, reading a book casually in the dark like that’s normal in any way. "You're all wet."

"I... um... yeah. I am." You barely manage to take a breath as he studies you in the doorway, lightning illuminating the room through the window as it flashes, enhancing his silhouette as his eyes dart down your body.

"I'll get ya a towel, dry your hair," he sets down the book, walking towards you, looking at how the thin, drenched material clings to your curves, swallowing a suddenly dry throat at the sight. "And some dry clothes."

"I can myself, Caleb, I'm a grown up you know." His lips turn down in a frown, his eyes unreadable in the night.

"You really don't need me anymore, huh?"

"Caleb no," you touch his arm with your cool fingers, but he takes your hand, laughing softly without humor. "I just meant I can grab a towel and dry my hair. I had to get used to..."

"I get it. I haven't been around, and you grew up." He pats your head, still damp, with a sad little smile that breaks your heart. You don't wanna be so dependent on him, but part of your heart craves him.

"Caleb..." He kisses your forehead with a soft brush of his lips, sighing, wishing he could drag you in his room, feeling your chilled skin under his fingertips.

"Have fun?" You manage a nod. A lie. "Good I'm... glad you're home safe. Then I’ll leave you to get dried up, you’re dripping all over, silly.”

He gently pushes you a bit when you pause, biting your lip and looking at him under your lashes, dripping mascara down your cheeks. “Maybe you could dry my hair for me?”

“You’re spoiled, see,” he laughs softly, shaking his head. “Go get in some dry clothes and I’ll come bring a towel for your hair.”

You smile and run off, he watches your bare feet leaving a little bit of a trail as you run to your room, he first grabs a towel for the floor because you’ve clearly been raised in a barn and want to piss Gran off. After chuckling and shaking his head, he grabs a fluffy towel from the bathroom, walking towards your room that’s across from his, taking a breath.

He raps softly, hearing you beckon him in, and when he walks in your room, you’re wearing one of his old shirts, he pauses at the sight of your nipples pressed against it, as you smile at him. “Ya stealin’ my shirts still?”

“They’re so comfy! I may have a collection at my dorm.” He rolls his eyes, smirking as he shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone, as he walks towards you now, seeing the lighting illuminate your silhouette under the shirt that swallows you, thin and white.

“I see that’s where all my things went, and here I thought you gave ‘em away,” he teases, smiling in that heartbreaking way only he can. You shake your head, and he brushes your damp hair, sighing. “Turn around.”

The soft order brings filthy things to your mind, ones you can’t help but think of, turn around, bend over, arch-

Stop that!

You do as he asks, he sits on the edge of your bed then, so tall that’s how he can dry your hair without hurting his back bending down. You stumble just a bit as you shift your weight on one foot, ending up sitting right on one of his knees, giggling and looking at him in the dark of the night then, the fluffy towel in his hands.

“Sorry, can I just sit here?”

“Sure, pips.” He manages to speak softly, you tilt your head so he can dry your hair thoroughly, while he feels your heat on his thigh, trying his best to control his breathing.

He’s been in battle, he’s been in jets, grueling training, he’s been through every stress test there is, but nothing affects him like being so close to you. Inhaling the scent of your skin, the perfume still lingering despite the rain, mixing in a heady scent with your shampoo. It was as if the rain just enhanced it, the beauty of your skin, the sweetness of your scent, his desire making him ache so badly it hurts.

He pauses as he brushes aside somewhat dried hair now, frowning as he sees the burn on your neck, touching it and making you gasp. “Does it hurt?”

“No, Caleb, it's fine. Promise,” he brushes his fingers across it, then moves the wide neck of his shirt lower, long fingers gripping it harshly as he sees it, letting the damp towel fall to the floor. “Caleb?”

“What’s this?” His words are dark, husky and dangerous, as his violet eyes meet yours before darting back to your neck.

“What, the burn?”

“No, this…” His thumb brushes over it, a clear hickey on your neck, and his other arm wraps around you so tightly you almost can’t breathe, pressed against his big, hard body so close. “What’s this mark on your skin?”

“It’s… um… Caleb, you’re hurting me,” he lets you go, realizing what he’s doing and you exhale in relief, but he’s still got your neck exposed, his eyes boring a fucking hole into your skin. “You know what it is.”

“Do I?” He brushes his thumb across it again, right over a vein in your skin, your pulse racing under his touch, and he feels your cunt heating up more, the jealousy raging through his fucking veins. “Was he fit to touch you?”

Your brows draw together as you gaze at his dark violet storms he calls eyes. “Was he… huh?”

“Is anyone good enough?”

“Caleb, that's insane,” you go to stand now, right between his legs when you turn, fixing the shirt a bit, and his hands fall, resting on his thighs in fists. “Good enough, what do you mean?”

“Was he good enough to get to touch you?” You shake your head again, he cups your face then, bringing your attention to him. “Is anyone?”

“You’re protective, it’s sweet but…”

He laughs, without humor now. “Protective. Yeah, guess I am.” He tugs at your collar again, swallowing nervously when you whine out softly, the sound almost doing him in.

“I stopped him when he did, it felt a little too fast,” he shouldn’t feel such relief at your words, but that’s exactly what they give him. “I barely know anything, I’m not very um… experienced. Is this too much?”

“We tell each other everything,” his words are soft and wistful, giving you those sweet eyes of his, contradictions of the dark gaze moments ago. “Don’t we? Haven’t we always?”

“I do know when you got your first kiss,” you admit with a teasing smile, as if the thought of him kissing someone doesn’t fill you with envy, eyeing those soft lips of his, so plush you want to touch them, feel them everywhere. “But that’s because I walked by and saw it, hounded you for details.”

“And I know your first kiss,” he is still cupping your face, with his huge hand, the other still tracing your neck as he looks back at that mark. “Only because I caught you and beat him up.”

“You did! That was embarrassing!” You shove playfully at him, he chuckles a little softer now, letting his hands fall, your own rest on his chest, feeling the hard, strong muscles under his shirt. “Caleb…”

“Hmm?”

“How’d you know you wanted to, the first time?” Your words make his stomach clench, his heart pound under your palm. “It’s too much isn’t it? Even we aren’t that close…”

“No, it’s not that,” he looks away, sighing and laughing a bit. God, if you knew he’s a virgin, has hardly done anything? Hasn’t even watched porn because it feels like he’s fucking cheating on you - and it’s not as if anyone could make him hard, when you exist. “Not that at all.”

“I know you’ve probably done a lot more than me, you’re all worldly you know, and the girls fawn over you,” your teasing words make him blush even in the dark, as he clears his throat, hands still in fists, the veins popping out of the backs of them. “I guess I want things to be just right, and they never have been.”

“Things should be perfect the first time, you deserve that. You deserve everything you know.”

“Caleb you go on too much sometimes, I’m just a girl.”

“Just a girl, huh…” you nod as he stands then, towering over you, making your head tilt back to look up at him, far, far too close, your hand now touching his hard abdomen instead. “What do you want to know?”

“What do guys like? I don’t wanna mess it all up.”

“You thinkin’ about it?” He tries to keep his voice calm, not show the edge to his words.

“Not now, but one day I’m sure. I can’t be a virgin forever,” the words fall out, and you look down shyly. “You’re the closest person to me, I guess you get to know.”

“Why be embarrassed about it? Means you’re picky, that’s a good thing.” He smiles at you, like his heart isn’t breaking right now, and you smile back, nodding a bit.

“I think I’m too picky, you left a hell of an impression. How does anyone live up to Caleb?”

He rolls his eyes and laughs, as you do, hugging him tightly then, his arms wrap gently around you. “I can’t tell you what other men like, aside from stories from the boys.”

“What do they like?”

“Hmm, some like to… be pleased, some like to please, the stories vary, and I think a lot of them are lyin’. I doubt they’re going that many rounds.” You laugh again, as he brushes his hand up and down your back, feeling your soft breasts against him.

“What do you prefer?” Your words make his heart pound, as he imagines exactly everything he’s always wanted to do with you, you lean back and bite your lower lip, eyes lowering. “Sorry, too personal?”

“What do I prefer,” he sighs now, as he only knows what he wants to do with you. You look up curiously, ever trusting, when his hand slips up to brush a bit of your hair off your brow, caressing your jaw line and watching your lips part. “To have whoever I’m with cumming so hard she can’t think.”

You gasp at that, at how he looks at you then, leaning low and tilting your chin up, and your hair falls against your back, your arms still around his waist. “Oh?”

You can barely manage to speak, and he nods just a little bit. “Till she’s a mess for me, beggin’ me to stop, but even then I can’t, not until I’ve lapped up every bit of the mess she’s making.” You barely bite back a moan, filthy images like that fucking dream filling your mind, when his lips are a breath away.

“You don’t want um… her to please you?” You barely manage a fucking sentence, dying to kiss him, knowing how fucking wrong it is.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

You’re furious anyone got this side of him, stupid and jealous over picturing him pleasing anyone, ever, hands gripping his shirt tightly, the material wrinkling in your tight hold as he brushes a thumb across your chin. “I don’t need it, the pleasure I get is from making her cum till she faints, watching her face as her eyes roll back, that alone would have me more than pleased.”

Your little whine you let out is too much, Caleb can hardly breathe when he hears it, when he rests his forehead, bent down, holding you in his embrace. “Whoever got that from Caleb, they’re very lucky.”

“Are they, pips?” You nod, swallowing when you hear a clap of thunder, loud now, burying your face against his chest, hiding your overheated face. “You still scared of storms, thought you were grown up now?”

“Oh… you love to pick on me,” you pull back, disentangling yourself, your entire body on fire as you take his hand, plastering on a bright smile. “Go to bed, we have a pool party tomorrow.”

“A what now?” He frowns and you giggle.

“Yes, a bunch of all our friends are throwing one, you’re coming. Let the girls fawn over you.”

“Uh huh, you can’t even swim.”

“I’ll stay in the shallow end! Plus, you’ll be there to save me.” You smile sweetly, and he sighs.

“I’ll always be there.” His words mean too much, when he kisses your head gently, inhaling your scent. “Get some sleep then.”

“Good night Caleb. Love you.” His heart aches, wishing it fucking meant more than that, than a best friend, whatever the fuck you two were.

The way he means it is not the same. “Love you, Pips, sweet dreams.”

He walks out and gently shuts your door, you let out a ragged breath, hand over your racing heart, as he leans his head against your door, palm over it, struggling to compose himself.

He can’t stop himself from jerking his cock as soon as he gets in his room, he barely makes it inside, releasing his thick, veiny length that smacks his belly button, smearing precum on his shirt as it slaps, leaking from his pretty pink tip. He exhales in relief, before crying out, his long lashes fluttering shut, seeing you behind his eyes.

He can't stop himself from picturing doing exactly what he told you - having you cum till you pass out. Fuck he’d keep licking you after, have you cum in your sleep - drink the juices he tasted on his tongue earlier, as you tugged his head even closer. God would you use him like he wishes you would?

God, if you’d suffocate him with those? He’s picturing them on either side of his head, would you ride his face? He spits down on his cock as he leans back against the door, groaning softly at the thoughts, his eyes shutting as he strokes himself, maybe he would while you suffocated him with your cunt, drown him in all that fucking wetness just pouring.

Caleb murmurs your name as he strokes his cock, from the base to the tip, whining out from the images racing through his mind of you - you and only you - how could there be anything else? The only girl he can ever picture sinking his long, thick cock deep inside, watching the bulge of your tummy as he fills you, so big in comparison.

He’s closer, closer to cumming, the release just on the brink as he pinches his tip and gasps out, remembering your scent, your heat on him - he shouldn’t be doing this when you’re in the room across from him. He should feel bad, but he can’t, not when he’s about to cum, picturing filling up your cunt, so much your tummy would just bloat with all the loads he’d put in you.

Caleb should feel bad for wanting you, for cumming now, white hot ropes filling all over his hand, making it a sticky mess as his head rests against the door of his room, knowing you’re over there is pure fucking torture. Knowing he can never say it, all he fucking feels, it’s a cruel joke, to wonder what you’re doing over there, to wonder how you look when you cum, how you’d look taking him.

He hastily cleans up, hands shaking as he does. Later, he's swiping a hand across his face as he lays in his bed, grimacing at his thoughts, not realizing you’re circling your clit with your little fingers in the room across from him, picturing him on top of you. If he knew that, he wouldn’t be able to handle it, as you scream into your palm under your blankets, picturing the boy you grew up with cumming inside you.

*****

Seeing you in a fucking bikini is fresh torture.

His cock was rubbed raw by thoughts of you, now you bounce out in a too small bikini, smiling a bit nervously. “I had to dig up a high school one, ugh! I think it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

No, it barely covers your pretty breasts, that are bouncing as you shift just so, every movement making him more tempted to fucking grab you. A mix of wanting to keep you hidden, no one should see your body but him, and another part of him wants to rip it off you, bend you over that kitchen table you’re leaning against, fuck into you until you forget about anything.

Anything, anyone, just you and him - why can’t you have your own little fucking world away, far away. He has enough money, he could make it happen. You don't know about his promotion yet, where it will lead him, how badly he wants you to come live with him, be taken care of. Never work a day in your pretty little life, maybe just have his babies.

Fuck.

You're talking but he isn't focused, instead picturing breeding you, god how sexy you'd be round with him. You'd stay with him forever, be a part of him forever, he'd never have to let you go, ever again.

“Caleb, do you?” He looks at you quietly, you feel his gaze dart to your breasts for a moment before they slide right back up to your eyes.

“Do I what, I'm sorry, I'm still kinda tired,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “What did you say honey?”

“Daydreaming, huh?” You tease, playfully pressing on his shoulder. He smiles, a little turn of lips slightly chapped from the weather, holding your hand then. “I said do you think I should go buy another?”

“You look fine, it's not… it's a little small but…”

“The freshman fifteen strikes!” He shakes his head at you and rolls his eyes.

“No, you're a woman now, you were just a kid when you wore that.” The way he says it makes you heat up- 

Does he see you as a woman now - and not the little girl he is so set on protecting, keeping just that, little forever?

“Are you going with her, Caleb?” Gran asks, walking in and gesturing. “You're not in swim trunks!”

“I didn't bring any, and my old ones I can't find anywhere.”

“Then let's both get bathing suits, this isn't working is it Gran.”

She laughs. “I mean, it's a little outdated I guess. While you two are out will you get a few things for me?”

“Of course, Gran.” She's giving you two a list, you slip on some jean shorts and Caleb offers you one of his button downs to cover up a bit, as your nipples threaten to just spill. “I'll drive!”

“Absolutely not.” You glare at him, earning his chuckle. God you're adorable when you do that, how your nose scrunched up. “I'll have a heart attack driving with you.”

“I'm not even that bad at it. I'll have you know I'm licensed now.” You tilt your chin up, but he takes out his own keys, jingling them high. “Hey!”

“Nuh uh, I drive. That's terrifying you're on the road.”

“Oh whatever!” You stick your tongue out, and soon the two of you are driving down the busy streets, he stops over at the mall the two of you grew up spending time in. “I wonder if it's changed?”

“Everything changes, pips,” you frown a bit at that, in his ominous, soft tone. “C’mon, let's get to picking something out.”

Caleb picks out a pair of purple and orange trunks in about two seconds, but suddenly everything you try on just doesn't look good enough. You're analyzing every part of yourself to death - what type of woman does Caleb like? Did he have a type? Were you close to it, or the opposite?

What did it matter?

“We're gonna be late for your own party if you don't at least choose something,” he says outside the dressing room, rapping at the door. You sigh now, opening it, as he takes in the simple black bikini, momentarily stunned.

“I can't figure this buckle out. But this is the only one I think looks okay.” He frowns then, stepping inside the dressing room, right behind you, looking at the delicate curve of your spine, finding the silver buckle in the back of the top.

“You look amazing, you always do in anything,” you look down nervously, feeling goosebumps raise where his fingers slide up, fixing the straps gently. “Hey. Look at me.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror, a boy you've always been so comfortable with, now you can't help but wonder what he thinks of your body. In ways you shouldn't think. It should be easy, the closest person to you in here, but his gaze in the mirror is too much, his big hands slipping down your bare arms.

“You're worried about how you look? That's not like you,” he murmurs, stepping closer and holding that eye contact in your reflection. You feel your body heat up at his nearness, breasts rising and falling. “That boyfriend's gonna be there? Is that your worry?”

You swallow, nodding, a lie.

You always lie to avoid the truth, it's Caleb's eyes and attention you crave. You always have.

“He'd only be so lucky to even see you,” he leans his chin down, two hands slipping across your waist, you bite back a moan. “You're beautiful.”

“Caleb,” you turn your head, breaths coming quicker, eyes locking as he delicately holds your chin. “Do you say that because you love me so much?”

“You think it's to be nice?” He laughs, that short sound with no humor, exhaling and tugging you closer.

“You're always too nice to me, you always have been.” He shakes his head, noses brushing just barely, the quiet dressing room so small then it feels like it's closing in on you.

It's just you and Caleb.

“I mean every word I say to you, you're beautiful in anything. Don't worry about what he thinks or anyone else, know what I think.” You turn to him then, making him tense as you press him against the wall, and his hands come to grip your waist, hugging him tightly. “You worry too much.”

“You always make me feel beautiful,” he runs his hands through your hair, ache deep in his body. He knows one more moment and he's going to lose control.

He can't ever.

“Let's buy this one,” he says softly, you nod, smiling up at him so pretty then. “Good, I'll buy it for you.”

He takes off the tag, and before you can protest he's out of the room. Leaving you trembling, wetness slipping out though you're trying to hold it back. You touch the cool glass of the mirror, leaning forward and seeing the faint mark of last night, next to Caleb's burn.

You wish he marked you everywhere.

*****

Watching you giggle and laugh with your friends brought Caleb back, they all came and asked him a million questions, they all have crushes on him, but they’re sweet to you. They’re so happy to catch up, as are some of Caleb’s old friends from high school and college, it feels nearly perfect, aside from the fact that he can’t do what he wants.

Hold your hand in public, kiss you in front of them all.

Seeing couples all around, seeing that boy from last night who Caleb would love to launch in the fucking pool and kill for leaving a mark on you, it all sinks in, as it does for you when you see so many gathered around him. Girls listen to his every word, as he blushes a bit under the attention, brushing back his dark brown locks, wet from the pool.

He catches your gaze across the other side of the long, rectangular pool, seeing you sitting next to the boy, your legs in the water. He sees his hand on your thigh and thinks of cutting it the fuck off, as you look at a girl touching his bare shoulder, whispering something in his ear, making you want to yank her off him.

But neither of you can, and shouldn’t want it, any of it.

In the pool later, you’re on Caleb’s back like a little monkey, he can’t stop laughing at the memories, when he walks you to the deep end. You cling tighter to his neck, thighs pressing on either side, and he feels it, that heat again, since he’s been back every time you’re near him he does. He knows what it means, but he’s terrified to act on his instincts.

Instincts to fill your pussy up with his fingers, the ones that press into your thighs, your lips are so close to his neck as you giggle. “I’m scared, it’s too deep!”

“Nah, I’ve got you pipsqueak, relax.” He says softly, you tense even more, earning another laugh of his, as you hear your friends talking.

He loves her like a little sister.

He’s so sweet to her!

They’re so close, he’s such a good stepbrother.

Even after all these years!

You both tense as you hear it, the words stabbing both of your hearts, while you suffer in silence.

“A little sister,” you repeat softly, he turns his head, but you hide your face now. “Is that how you see me, Caleb?”

“I… you… we…” he trails off then, breaths coming too quick, fumbling what he wants to say, unsure if he ever should let that secret go. “How do you want me to see you?”

“I just want to be seen by you,” your words break him, as you tug off, clearing your throat. “I want to go home.”

“Yeah, okay.”

You step up those pool stairs, giving him a perfect view of your ass, the curves of your body, he sees other eyes on you, especially that boy, who walks up to you now. His fists clench at his sides as you smile and speak for a bit, toweling off, and when he has the audacity to kiss your cheek Caleb almost does commit murder.

He’s furious when the two of you get back in the car, silently fuming and raging, you’re all wrapped up in a towel as he is, both dripping along the leather seats of Caleb’s car, while his hands grip the wheel tightly, and his jaw his set. You see a vein bulging from it, as you look at him, while he starts the car, a gentle hum, you go to put on your favorite song, but he pauses it.

“What’s up, Caleb? Didn’t have fun?” You ask softly, and he scoffs, glaring at you now, the cool air from the vents making your nipples perk up in the slick black material of your top, drawing him in with every breath.

“Fun, no. I didn’t have fun.”

“Not even with everyone all over you?”

“What!?” He glares, the sweet Caleb you know is gone in this moment, he’s just a gorgeous fucking man, a furious man, leaning over you so big and broad, one huge hand cupping your face, your breath catches as he leans low. “Ya mad they did?”

“No!” He scowls now, ever closer, as your hand slips up his perfect, chiseled torso, still gleaming from the pool, eyeing his chest to avoid his knowing gaze.

“Did you like getting attention from him?” He touches that mark again, you bite your lower lip, nodding.

Another lie.

“So much that you’re burning here?” He cups you right over your bikini then, you gasp at it, eyes fluttering shut at how good it feels, his thumb pressing the slick heat over your clit. “Always so hot, is it him? Thinking of him?”

“How do you… notice it’s… hot?” you manage a little glare, and his own deepens, as you taste his minty breath, his other hand entangled in the wet locks of your hair.

“How can I not notice how hot it always is? How wet it’s been,” you whine out as he slips his fingers into your waist band, tummy tensing with need, your hand entangling in his hair now, earning his soft moan. “It’s soaking wet, isn’t it? Do you need me to help you?”

You nod weakly, and he moans louder, right in a car in front of a fucking party, anyone could see his hand between your legs, how close you two were to kissing. “I need you, Caleb.”

“Are you wet for him, pips?” He whispers, your thighs tremble as he finally touches your cunt for the first time, fingers finding your hot, pouring wetness, your head falls back and he eyes that mark. “Answer me, now.”

“Can’t,” your whisper is met with the squishing of your wet, soppy cunt as Caleb quickly finds your clit, he’s never even touched a pussy but the moment he brushes it and feels it twitching under his rough fingertip, he presses more. He kisses the burn he left, causing a sweet pain, as he rolls his finger. “Caleb, please,”

“Please what? Can’t tell me why you’re like this? Is it his kisses here?” He goes to that spot now, biting it hard, making you cry out at the pain. “If I marked you, it wouldn’t be a little pathetic one like this, no I’d leave so many bruises that would last for days, weeks.”

“Caleb! Ah!” He’s going in quicker circles, biting your skin and sucking, so hard you’re crying at how good it feels, your cunt is gushing, throbbing around nothing, aching to be filled. “Please…”

“Mmm,” he moans so sexy in your ear, dying to fuck this perfect pussy, so wet he never could have imagined, watching the purple and red form from his suction, looking at his teeth marks. “Answer me, what’s it from? Your slutty little pussy all soaking wet, huh?”

“I… you… Caleb…” the way he’s acting, talking, the insane look in his eyes, it’s so much you can’t speak - terrified to say the words.

You want him, only him, ever him.

He drags himself away, right before you cum, you’re shaking then, when he tugs your bikini bottoms, eyeing your beautiful cunt to commit it to memory, your beautiful face, lips parted, eyes dilated. You end him just fucking existing, all the need about to explode, when he knows he can’t.

What would gran say, what would people say, if he fucks the girl everyone thinks he sees as a fucking ‘little sister’ and not the woman he wants to marry, to breed, to keep pregnant and locked in his house. He drags his fingers to his lips, sucking you off them in one move, as you watch, shaking in his hold, and he slips the rest of your sweetness along your own lips.

“Can’t answer, then I can’t help you.” You gasp as he pulls back, like it’s fucking no big deal he just touched your clit, like his lips aren’t glistening with you. “Seatbelt up, Pips, gotta be safe.”

Safe, safe!?

The drive home is quiet, it’s too fucking quiet, the tension so palpable you can hardly breathe until you step outside. You rush in the house, making some lame excuse that you’ve had too much sun, internally losing it inside. What was that, what was it, him touching you there!? Him sucking you off him? Knowing you’ve been wet for him, leaving you throbbing.

You’re furious as you lay there later in tears, ignoring the soft knocks from him on your door, ignoring the texts he keeps sending to your phone. You’re confused, hurt and aching, throwing the blankets over your face, as he desires nothing more than to tell you how much he loves you. How he’s sorry that he acted that way, but how could he not be furious, jealous?

If you were wet it needed to be from him.

He had the chance, he finally felt you, tasted you, almost kissed you, only to let the jealousy ruin it - but there is no other way for Caleb. He needs you to be his, and only his, it’s why he’s ran off every boyfriend you’ve ever fucking had, it’s why he almost killed that boy today for coming near you, it’s why you now have a bruise forming on your neck.

It’s uncontrollable, his need, endless.

How does Caleb live in a world where you’re not his?

If they don't fuck imma crash out aha they're killing me

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[art-crumbs-main]

There's something I need this fandom to understand about Martin Kartin Blackwood.

IS he an expert manipulator? Yes. Does he have some serious skills in using people pleasing and framing and psychology to his advantage? ABSOLUTELY. He is gaslight, gatekeep, girlbossing his way through the first 3 seasons and we LOVE him for it.

On the other hand, though, I feel like we don't acknowledge enough as a fandom how isolating people pleasing can be in itself. I ranted about this in the tags of another Martin post, but basically, the person you create to be palatable to as many people as possible becomes a wall. A barrier between you and the outside world. Yes, everyone likes you, but that comes at the cost of no one knowing you in your entirety because you don't let them see the parts of you that are harder to swallow.

Martin effectively trapped himself in his own web of lies, suspended 30 feet away from his own life. He's dissociated from it all from the beginning, which is what made him the candidate Peter chose in the first place. He was always slated for The Lonely as much as he was The Web.

That leads me into my next point, which is that MARTIN PRE-LONELY WAS NOT ENTIRELY DISINGENUOUS. I see so many people implying that Martin straight-up wasn't anything like he said he was in the beginning. Common fandom reading comprehension L. He really does like people, and he really does want to be nice. It just also happens that you don't end up people pleasing to those lengths without it having developed as a defense mechanism!

Take the wall I introduced earlier. You surround yourself in this persona and swallow your teeth to protect yourself from other people. Realistically, it probably started with his mother, who is implied in Canon to not have been kind to him. There's a 3rd partner to Fight or Flight that doesn't get discussed very often, and it is "Fawn." This is the people-pleasing response that we see him exhibit. Ultimately, what he fears is rejection, and therefore, he fears being alone. He's nice and kind and polite and swallows his teeth in order to keep people around.

Post-Lonely Martin is the other extreme. He has no energy to please anyone anymore, and it doesn't serve him. He is tired and angry and constantly stressed. He doesn't bother hiding his teeth anymore, and he's prone to lashing out. Post-Lonely Martin is when he's surpassed his limit. Post-Lonely Martin is burnout.

As someone who relates to Martin Blackwood very much, I can tell you that the quiet moments where he's not deeply distressed either way is where we see the real Martin. He still loves and cares in private, and we see that over and over. The love is real. He just doesn't believe he deserves it in return, so he tries very hard to be someone who does. To "make up" for it.

Thank you and goodnight.

[dollishmehrayan]

WEIRD THINGS BATBOYS DO WHEN THEY LIKE YOU ── .✦

a/n: this is a request + ask so tysm to whoever sent that but it’s (here) but anyways I’m so excited for my birthday on december 7th this year and it’s just so beautiful to see me grow up honestly and find myself. (Tags: batboys x crush!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Excessive Flexing (Literally): Dick will "accidentally" do pull-ups in front of you. He’s already shirtless and grinning, saying, “Oh, didn’t see you there. Wanna join?”

Compliment Overload: “Is that a new hairstyle? New shoes? You look incredible. Oh, wait, you always look incredible.” He will literally point out your eyelashes looking perfect “wow so nice, your lashes are so long and beautiful.”

The Over-Helper: He suddenly insists on helping you with everything—carrying bags, opening jars, lifting heavy stuff—and does it with the biggest, dorkiest smile. “It’s no big deal, bab- I mean—uh… friend.”

Trips Over Air: He’s graceful in battle, but near you? He’s knocking over coffee cups and walking into doorframes. "I swear, I’m usually coordinated, maybe I’m falling for you?😉”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Overly Cool Persona: He tries to play it cool, acting like he doesn’t care. But then he’ll text you at 3 a.m. with, “U up? I found a meme that reminded me of you.”

Teases You Constantly: Jason’s version of flirting is lightly roasting you. “Did you really think that outfit would work today?” But if anyone else says something, he’s ready to fight.

Surprise Gifts: He’ll give you something like your favorite snack but pretend it’s no big deal. “I just had extra,” he’ll mumble, even though he went to three stores to find it.

Blushes Like Crazy: He’s all tough-guy until you compliment him, and then it’s over. He gets red and stammers, “Shut up,” while smiling like an idiot.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Awkward Genius Mode: He’s smart with everything… except his crush. Suddenly, forming coherent sentences is a challenge. “I-I mean, uh… yeah, computers.”

Googles 'How to Flirt': You’ll catch him peeking at his phone mid-conversation because he’s literally reading “Flirting 101” or reading Reddit threads on flirting gone wrong.

Coffee Delivery: He’ll bring you coffee with your exact order memorized and pretend it’s casual. “Oh, you like this too? Weird coincidence.” It’s not. He asked around for hours.

Accidentally Compliments You: He’ll blurt out, “You smell nice.” Pause. “I mean, not that I’m sniffing you or anything!” Cue him turning bright red and hiding behind his laptop.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Pretends He Doesn’t Care: He’ll act indifferent but secretly monitors everything you do. “I don’t care what you do,” he says while glaring at someone standing too close to you.

Suddenly Overly Polite: Damian, the king of sass, becomes weirdly respectful. “Would you like me to carry that for you? No? Okay. Are you sure?”

Gives You Fancy Gifts: He gifts you rare, expensive things like hand-picked flowers from the Wayne estate garden. “It’s not a big deal. Just take it.”

Random Acts of Bravery: He’ll jump in front of a moving bicycle or push you out of the way of a puddle, then act like it was nothing. “It was instinct. Don’t be dramatic.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Becomes an Awkward flirt: He’s smooth in public but completely loses it around his crush. “Do you need anything? No? Water? A chair?” He’s offering things you don’t need.

Over-Explains Everything: Bruce will start talking about something mundane and give a full TED Talk. “Well, you see, the Batmobile’s engine is unique because…” You just wanted to know if it had cup holders.

Subtle Touches: He’ll brush your hand “accidentally” or adjust your coat collar, lingering just a second too long. But if you call him out, he’ll stammer, “I thought you were cold.”

Silent Protector: He’ll stand silently in the background, watching like a brooding guardian angel. If anyone flirts with you, his jaw clenches like it’s personal.

Bonus: Dumb Things They ALL Do ── .✦

Group Text Fiascos: They’ll text each other for advice, and it always goes wrong.

Jason: “Should I call her pretty or hot?”

Tim: “Say she’s breathtaking. It’s classier.”

Dick: “Just tell her you love her.”

Damian: “You’re all fools.”

Bruce (accidentally replying to all): “…Delete this.”

Staring Too Long: Every single one of them will stare at you for too long, only to awkwardly look away when you notice. They’ll try to play it off, but you know they were looking.

Clumsy Idiots: They’ll all try to do something impressive—lift something heavy, show off their fighting skills—and it’ll backfire hilariously. But the effort is adorable.

[nekonaps0]

WHAT ABT UNEXPECTED KISS BUT THE OTHER WAY?? Again, with second year boys, who, after some time of having a crush on reader, finally can't take it anymore and go for a kiss? Maybe with more focus on what exactly the reader did, what was the factor that made them go "Yep, that's it. You're getting smooched. 🧍" Hehe. That would be pretty cool I think

[ Also maybe I could be a 🌀anon, if you name your anons that is? :3 ]

Sudden kiss

✦gn!reader

✦characters: second years

Riddle Rosehearts

You had a habit of bringing him treats from Heartslabyul’s kitchen, a small “thank you for tutoring you in history”. But today, you brought strawberries. Not just any strawberries, ones you'd carefully dipped in chocolate and packaged in a little box with a handwritten tag that said:

“For the best tutor in all of NRC! Don’t forget to treat yourself!”

He’d gone stiff reading it, his cheeks flushing an alarming shade of red. You didn't think much of it, you always gave people sweet things. You were just nice like that.

But Riddle… Riddle was suffering.

He wasn’t just fond of you. He liked you painfully, and had been suppressing it for months, convinced he couldn’t allow himself to act on it, not with the way his heart skipped every time you smiled at him.

But when you reached forward, gently brushed some chocolate off the corner of his mouth, and giggled… that was it.

“Honestly, Riddle. You’re always so neat. What happened?”

He grabbed your wrist, suddenly firm, and his voice trembled as he said

“Y/N. May I…kiss you?”

You didn’t have time to answer. His lips were already on yours, brief, nervous, but utterly sincere.

Afterward, he looked horrified with himself. “I-I’m sorry! I shouldn’t—“

But you kissed him again. “Don’t be sorry! Specially not when you making me this happy!” you smiled into the kiss.

Ruggie Bucchi

You were laughing, hard.

Ruggie had just tripped over a mop bucket in the hallway during a cleaning shift, water everywhere, and instead of judging him like anyone else might… you were doubled over, trying not to choke on your laughter.

“Ruggie—! Are you okay? Oh my Seven, that was amazing!”

He groaned, dripping and scowling as he pulled himself up.

“Geez, glad I could entertain ya…”

But when he glanced at you again, you were kneeling in front of him with a towel, gently dabbing at his soaked shirt and hair, still chuckling softly under your breath.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you fall on your face.”

And that… that did it.

It was the look on your face. Like you genuinely cared. Like you didn’t see him as some scrappy scavenger or petty thief, but someone worth doting on. Someone worth laughing with.

His chest tightened.

He looked at you. Smiling. Close. So warm. “Y’know,” he said, voice low and almost sheepish, “you shouldn’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

“What if I do?”

“Then I’m sorry in advance.”

And he leaned in.

Quick. A little messy. His hands still damp. But when his lips touched yours, all that nervous energy melted into the kiss.

You pulled back, wide eyed. “...That was long overdue,” you whispered.

He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah? Good. ‘Cause I’m not sorry after all.” He chuckled.

Azul Ashengrotto

You didn’t even mean to do it.

Azul had been working late at the Lounge, poring over paperwork at the bar with three untouched cups of coffee. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes darker than usual. You swung by to bring him a snack and check in on him, as you often did. But instead of just handing him the food and leaving…

You leaned in from behind, reached over his shoulders, and carefully placed a sandwich beside his hand.

“You’ve been working too hard again, Azul,” you murmured, your voice warm and low by his ear. “Take care of yourself, will you? I don’t want to worry.”

He froze. The pen in his hand stalled mid stroke. His breath caught in his throat.

Because you said it so casually, like you always did, like it was nothing, and yet it was everything to him. You saw him. Cared about him. Not because of a contract. Not because of his business.

Just because he was Azul.

You stepped away without realizing you’d just detonated something in his heart. He stood slowly, walked around the counter, and called your name softly. You turned.

“Azul?”

“Why… do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and cupped your cheek with one gloved hand.

“Make it so difficult to not fall in love with you.”

And before you could reply, he pulled you into a kiss, slow, deliberate, and deeply emotional. There was no calculation in it, no fine print. Just Azul, laying down all his walls in a single, silent moment.

When he pulled away, he was flushed and breathless. “I… hope that wasn’t too forward.”

You laughed softly, brushing your thumb over his jaw. “No. But I might ask for another one.”

His smile cracked wide open, the real kind, unguarded and all his.

Floyd Leech

You were always a bit bold around Floyd, most people weren’t. But you? You teased him, poked at him, and called him your favorite “chaotic eel boy” like it was a nickname reserved just for him.

And for some reason, he never got bored of you.

He was sprawled out on a bench after skipping class when you came over and tossed a juice box at him.

“You didn’t eat lunch, did you?”

“Aww, look at you~ So thoughtful, Shrimpy~” he drawled, biting into the straw with a smirk. “Wanna feed it to me with a spoon next?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “If you’re good. But you’ve gotta earn that kind of attention.”

That got him.

His mismatched eyes widened just slightly before narrowing with interest. He sat up slowly, watching you with a wolfish grin.

“Earn it, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” you said, tossing your bag down beside him. “Special treatment’s only for boys who behave.”

“Heh...”

He suddenly leaned forward, crowding your space with the lazy grace of a predator who’d finally found a reason to pounce.

“Say that again, Shrimpy. Say I gotta earn your affection.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn't back away. Instead, you leaned into his space.

“You heard me, didn’t you?”

And that was it.

His hand shot up to cup the back of your neck as he crashed his mouth to yours, quick, rough, and hungry. You barely had time to react before he pulled away with a sharp breath, his lips curled into a grin that was both feral and flushed.

“Guess I’ll just have to steal it then.”

You blinked, stunned, then laughed breathlessly.“I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me, Shrimpy~”

Jade Leech

You always had this… uncanny way of teasing Jade. You knew exactly how to toe the line with him, subtle, clever remarks, quiet smiles, and compliments laced with playful sarcasm. Most people stayed far away from provoking Jade. But not you.

You thrived on walking the edge of that knife.

Today, you’d stopped by Mostro Lounge with some paperwork he needed. He thanked you politely, as always. But when he reached to take the file from your hand, you held onto it, leaned in, and said with that infuriatingly sweet tone:

“What would you do without me, Jade?”

His smile didn’t waver. But his grip on the folder tightened slightly. “A curious question. Shall I list the many tragic possibilities?”

“Or,” you said, smirking, “you could just admit I’m your favorite person and be done with it.”

That was it.

He tilted his head, gaze narrowing, hungry, calculating, amused. You were close. Too close. And you knew what you were doing.

“You always play with fire, don’t you?” he said, his voice low and velvety. “And yet, you seem surprised when it burns.”

“Maybe I like the heat.”

“Mm. Then allow me to indulge you.”

Before you could fire back with another quip, Jade stepped forward and caught your chin between his fingers. His lips brushed yours, soft, precise. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened it slightly, pressing his hand against your lower back.

When he pulled back, his voice was still smooth, but a little breathless. “That’s one favor I won’t charge you for.”

You blinked, dazed. “...Did you just kiss me because I said I was your favorite?”

“No,” he said, smiling with dangerous affection. “I kissed you because it’s been agonizing to wait this long.”

Kalim Al-Asim

With Kalim, things were always cheerful, always loud, always fun. You’d spent the afternoon helping him set up decorations for yet another Scarabia party, floating lanterns, rainbow colored glass beads strung from the ceiling.

He twirled under them with his arms out like a kid, glowing with joy.

“Isn’t it amazing? Look how it sparkles, Y/N!”

You laughed, helping him hang the last of the ribbons. “It’s beautiful, Kalim. But don’t you think you went a little overboard?”

“No way!” He turned toward you, beaming. “The world needs more color! More smiles! More light! Just like you!”

You blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah! You make every room feel sunny!”

Your heart stuttered. Kalim always said sweet things, but for some reason, that one hit different. You turned to tie a bow around one of the columns, trying to hide your flustered expression. But he followed you, bouncing beside you like a golden retriever in human form.

Then, when you looked up to tell him something, he just froze.

You were backlit by golden lantern light, ribbon clutched in one hand, grinning at him with sparkles in your eyes. And it just hit him.

You’re the brightest thing in the room.

His voice dropped. “Can I try something?”

“Uh... sure?”

He leaned in, almost shy for once, and gently, almost reverently kissed you. It was soft and warm, like a sunbeam.

When he pulled back, he was glowing. “Sorry! I just… I really like you, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore!”

You stared at him, stunned. Then you smiled, reached out, and tugged him back in by the front of his shirt.

“Then don’t hold back.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil had been holding back for months.

He knew it wasn’t wise to indulge in a crush. He wasn’t like Kalim… free to chase affection openly. He had responsibilities, expectations, a reputation to maintain. So instead, he watched you from afar, silently helping you behind the scenes, always masking his affection behind tired sighs and veiled comments.

But today... something broke.

You were in the kitchen helping him prep Scarabia’s dinner… poorly. You tried to flip a pan full of veggies and nearly launched it across the counter. Jamil caught the handle behind you in record time, steadying both it and you with his arms wrapped around your sides.

“Careful,” he muttered near your ear, voice low.

“Oops! thanks, Jamil. You’re my hero,” you teased, looking up at him with an impish smile. “What would I do without you?”

And that was the moment.

That look. That tone. That stupid sparkle in your eyes like you had no idea how much of a mess you were making him. Like you hadn’t just taken a sledgehammer to his emotional defenses.

He stepped back quickly, covering his mouth with his hand.

You blinked. “Jamil?”

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered.

“Do what?”

“...This.” He closed the space between you again, swiftly, purposefully and kissed you. His hands were careful, his body tense like he couldn’t believe he’d finally snapped. And when he pulled back, his eyes searched your face desperately for rejection.

But all he got was a stunned, breathless smile.

“...Wow,” you whispered.

“Sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “I couldn’t—”

“Do it again.”

He froze.

You leaned up and kissed him this time, hands cupping his jaw like you’d been the one waiting all along.

“Next time,” you said against his lips, “warn me first. I almost dropped the pan again.”

Jamil huffed a breath of laughter, half embarrassed, half relieved.

“You’re a menace.”

Silver

Silver had always admired you from a quiet distance. You were energy where he was calm. Vibrance where he was still. But there was something about your presence, gentle, patient, a little chaotic, but always kind, that stirred something warm and persistent inside him.

Even when he drifted off mid-sentence, you never teased him for it. You just let him rest his head on your shoulder or let him doze peacefully on your lap. You treated his silence not as boredom but as being, and he found himself constantly drawn to that quiet understanding.

And then, today, something shifted.

You were walking together after feeding the animals in the forest. You’d just told him a story, some funny little memory from your childhood and ended it with a laugh, eyes bright and cheeks pink from the chill.

He was barely listening to the words anymore. He was watching your face.

Then you looked up at him, smile softening.

“You always take such good care of everyone, Silver. You deserve someone to take care of you too, y’know?”

The words hit him harder than you probably meant them to.

You always looking out for him. You always seeing him, even when he was quiet, even when he was tired. And now you were standing there.

“That’s... a very kind thing to say,” he murmured.

“It’s not kindness. It’s the truth.”

He turned toward you fully. He reached out as if on instinct, brushing a stray leaf from your hair and then lingered. His fingers hesitated just by your jaw.

“You make me feel awake.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Every time I look at you,” he whispered, “I forget I’m supposed to be tired.”

And then, slowly, cautiously, deliberately, he leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t impulsive, it was something he’d been carrying in his heart for far too long. And he kissed you like someone memorizing a dream they didn’t want to wake from. You melted into him with a stunned little gasp, your hands gripping his shirt.

When he pulled away, your eyes were wide but shining.

“Silver…”

“I’m sorry if that was—”

“Do it again,” you breathed, smiling now. “And don’t apologize.”

This time, you kissed him. And Silver, warm, devoted, and finally unafraid kissed you back like you were the only dream he ever wanted to wake up from.

..............................................................................................................................

You lost your wholesome name privileges 💜

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru gojo is cocky, top of the class, and one passive-aggressive emoji away from tears.

a/n: nerdjo is so easily rage baited it’s actually embarrassing. one compliment from you and he’s rewriting his entire thesis out of spite. i love bullying him gently.

satoru is going to break his keyboard.

his fingers twitch above the keys—hesitating, retreating, returning again—hovering like they might snap the poor letters clean off. the skin on his knuckles is taut, his jaw clenched so hard it ticks like a time bomb, and his mouth is parted just barely, like he’s one saccharine comment away from spontaneously combusting.

strands of white hair keep falling over his forehead—static-charged from his hoodie—and he shoves them back, again and again, increasingly violent about it, like maybe the hair is conspiring with you. his glasses have slipped halfway down his nose. the gleam of his lenses barely masks the pure, incandescent rage in his eyes.

those eyes, now glassy with disbelief, are locked on the latest reply from you—the class discussion board’s reigning empress of emotional terrorism. his academic rival. personal poltergeist. a sugar-coated demon in pastel lip gloss.

oh satoru, i think it’s so admirable how you stuck by that article! not many people would be brave enough to defend a source that’s been debunked four times. it’s honestly kind of inspiring. keep doing you!

his vision goes white.

that is not a compliment. it is a tactical airstrike in a pink envelope. he knows it. you know it. and worst of all, you signed off with a heart emoji. a heart. he can see your face in his head—tilted just slightly, like you’re too sweet to possibly mean harm, but your eyes glint like you’re holding a scalpel behind your back.

his reply has already died and resurrected five times. the first version read like a cease-and-desist letter. the second had footnotes so aggressive it required double-spaced disclaimers. the third almost made it to the post button, until he remembered your last reply that ended with, “hope this clears it up, prof said some people struggle with statistical nuance.”

you are not just baiting him. you’ve turned it into an art form. a spiritual practice. and your weapon of choice is niceness so passive-aggressive it should be federally regulated.

back in first year econ, you sat beside him, humming under your breath and tapping your pen against the desk in tempo with his unraveling sanity. you kicked his bag under the table. you leaned close just to whisper, “your equation’s wrong, but don’t worry, i won’t tell anyone! not everyone’s meant for regression models.”

you once highlighted his errors in the shared google doc—in pink. pastel pink. with cheerful comments like “uh oh!” and “almost got it!” he swears he could hear the sparkle emoji implied in your tone. the worst part? your spelling was immaculate.

he still thinks about it in the shower.

now?

now he’s two seconds away from flinging his laptop across the room. the lab’s overhead lights buzz like mosquitoes. someone’s typing across from him, calm and steady, and it only amplifies the sound of his own frenzied assault on the keyboard.

his typing is violent. the spacebar clacks like gunfire. he’s halfway through a paragraph when he snarls—actually snarls—and deletes the whole thing. he writes another. more venomous. more precise. then pauses, eyes narrowing.

because you’ve edited your post.

p.s. just reread your old comment and i think i finally get your logic now! i must’ve been too slow before. thanks for your patience <3

he makes a sound. an animal sound. it’s somewhere between a wheeze and a gasp. his knee bounces under the table, leg jittery with restrained rage.

“i hate her,” he breathes.

from across the lab, shoko doesn’t even glance up. “you said that yesterday.”

“i mean it today.”

she lifts her eyes only slightly to peer over her laptop, one brow arched in apathy. “you said that yesterday too.”

“no, no, no—you don’t understand, shoko.” he shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the frames skewed slightly to the left from stress. “she thanked me.”

“chilling.”

“she made it sound real. like she appreciated it. like she didn’t just nuke my thesis and then bake me a fucking muffin.”

“did she add sprinkles?”

“a smiley face.”

he slumps forward, head in his hands, glasses slipping again. his breath fogs the screen. it’s like you’re there—he swears he smells that damn peach shampoo you use. he hears the echo of your voice cooing, “aww, did i mess up your graph again?” like a knife wrapped in a silk ribbon.

he’s haunted. infuriated. he’d rather be insulted outright, mocked, cursed at, anything but this sweet, syrupy condescension that drips like poison into his every academic wound.

then his inbox pings.

a private message.

hey, sorry again for misunderstanding your point in the thread! i know you work really hard on these. if you ever want to explain it to me one-on-one, i’d love that. i learn best from people who are smarter than me :)

his soul ascends. his body remains.

he stares at the message, slack-jawed. horror prickles under his skin like cold water. one hand twitches toward the power button, but he hesitates. you know what you’re doing.

and he hates that it’s working.

“what did she say now?” shoko asks, sipping lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug labeled ‘property of shoko: touch and perish.’

he doesn’t look up. “she wants me to teach her.”

“sounds like flirting.”

“it’s not flirting.”

“she called you smart.”

he pauses. then squints at the screen like it just insulted his bloodline. “she called me smart the way you praise a goldfish for finding the glass.”

he types:

sure. let me know when.

deletes it.

types:

that’s… fine. i guess.

deletes that too.

his fingers hover over the keys.

he types, each letter hammered with the weight of pride swallowed whole:

if you need clarification, i can walk you through it. though i'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.

hits send.

wants to die.

he sags back, hoodie bunching around his shoulders. his sleeves fall over his knuckles. his knee taps against the metal chair leg in a relentless rhythm. he stares at the blinking cursor like it’s counting down to his doom. the little grey dots appear. you’re typing. again. you’re going to be worse. he knows this. the anticipation is psychological warfare.

he watches anyway.

this is war.

[cherriicou]

thinking ab fratboy! joshua who literally chokes on his drink when you asked him politely to take your v-card.

‘come on,' your hands grip harder on his hair, lips swollen and cheeks flushed from the rough kisses. he cups your face with one hand, thumb brushing against your bottom lip with a smirk, 'baby, you're not ready,' his sweet voice only haunts you more, thighs squeezing against his. you're straddling his lap so cutely, skirt riding up your ass while one of his hands holds onto your waist for you not to move.

you whine and throw your head back playfully, 'am too,' your little pout makes him smile in awe. you were such a pretty girl. one he'd always notice in his classes, but felt you were too good for him. yet, here you were perched so nicely on his lap, begging him to fuck you.

'just the tip,' he groans into your mouth, your soft pleas making it so much harder to deny your wants. 'you and me both know that won't last,' you smile against his lips as you grind harder on him. both his hands land on your waist as he lays you down on your back. he makes sure a soft pillow is there for your head then places small kisses all the way down to your cunt :3

he takes off his stained pants from both your wetness and his, fully showing you his hard length. a breathy gasp leaves your lips, eyes shaking when you see him get closer to you while spreading his pre-cum all over his cock. 'ready?' he asks softly, locking eyes with you to make sure you were okay. you nod, eyes moving from him to his cock that's rubbing against your folds. both of you moan as he enters just the tip inside.

'fuck,' the small stretch was killing you, 'so perfect,' you moan at his praise. with one hand grabbing onto the sheet, 'do it,' you plead. he smiles calmly, hands placed back on your hips, staring straight at your face as it slowly starts to scrunch cutely. he was fucking big, too big. he's stretching you out completely now, 'shua!,' you yell, hand grabbing onto his forearm.

'want me to st-.' you shake your head immediately, no. 'more, please,' and that is all it takes for him to lose all the self-control he had. he continues to slowly push his length into your pussy, 'fucking taking me so well,' oh, you were definitely his now. he wasn't ever going to let anyone take his precious girl away from him. those thoughts only growing while you scream his name out loud. you are just a mess beneath him, begging for him to go harder on your already sensitive cunt :<

he gets closer to your face, pounding ruthlessly now like a madman. his sweat starts dripping on your neck as he groans near your ear while pushing himself deeper into your cervix, and you're loving this. it's so perfect how his gentle aura is now gone and he's whispering the dirtiest things in your ear; calling you his, saying how tight your cunt is, how he's going to use you all the time now, how your body was made to be fucked by him. it's all driving your body crazy.

'cumming, shua,' you grab onto his shoulder, biting into his soft skin. you can't see him but he's enjoying the fuck out of this, he loves how needy you're body is to him now, so all he does to respond is latch his mouth on your nipple, still riling himself into you. and you feel yourself come undone, your pussy clenching hard on his cock and it feels so good. 'aw my baby finished,' he coos into your neck, letting you and your body calm down from its first release.

you breathe in and out, your cunt is so sensitive as he stays still in you until you feel his hands snake around your torso, 'joshua!,' you're now laying on your stomach then pulled closer to where your back is arched and your ass is perfectly aligned for his cock to slip into your pussy, 'but i'm not done with you.'

author's note; hey guys! quick little imagine bc im studying for finals and older bf!svt is gonna be on a very short hold :< i do read all of your requests and trust me i will be doing all members hehe... thank you for all the recent support, it encourages me a lot! p.s. this is not proofread, so excuse any mistakes :0

also been thinking about dino and shua a lot lately.... wtf is going on with them, they've been giving me strokes.