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d1xonss · 13 hours ago

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Hi there! I was wondering if i could get some straight Daryl Dixon smut where fem!reader is asking him to choke her for the first time? If not it’s totally okay! love your writing! <3

Something New

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 2

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : ⚠️ Smut (18+)

✧ Word Count : 1.6k

AN ~ Oooh I don’t think I’ve ever done any kind of smut like this before, but I’m happy to try! And let’s preface this first before anything else; no I don’t think Daryl would realistically feel comfortable choking someone. He strikes me as the type of man that doesn’t want to harm you in any way during something so intimate, even if you asked for it. However, I think early seasons Daryl would definitely be a little rougher during sex which is why I planned for the season 2 era. But the moral of the story is this is just for fun, and I tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

Hope you enjoy! xoxox

It had been a rough couple of days. Between getting stranded on the highway, losing Sophia, and Carl getting shot, it was safe to say that the group had seen better days. The recent events had taken a toll on all of you, the stress beginning to build up to the point of no return. And it was no surprise to you seeing Daryl was the one who was taking it the hardest.

He was constantly tense and rigid, a permanent scowl on his face while nothing seemed to be going the way it was supposed to. Though luckily for him, you knew just the way to relieve some of that…tension.

Your gasps and moans could be heard by no one near as Daryl had taken it upon himself to move your shared tent far away from the others to get some distance. At first you were weary of the idea, but now you thought it just might’ve been the best one he’s ever had. Considering the filthy sounds he was pulling from you, it would be mortifying to face the others the following morning.

The small tent was pitch black, the only thing you were able to see were the soft outlines of the different shapes around you, along with feeling Daryl’s hot pants on the back of your neck as he continuously pounded into you. The sound of your wetness with every thrust filled the small space, almost suffocating as the sleeping bag beneath you was providing little to no comfort from the harsh ground beneath you. But with your legs tangled together and the feel of his dick hitting your hilt over and over again, the feel of tiny rocks below was far from your mind.

“Oh, fuck.” you whimpered, desperately grabbing and gripping at his arms that were wrapped around you as his pace was rough and determined. Your pussy was throbbing, the feel of his hips slapping against your ass was growing more urgent as you felt your wetness begin to run down your leg.

He grunted from behind you, feeling your walls clench around him, “That’s right, fuckin take it.” he growled into your ear, the next thing you felt were his teeth teasingly biting the shell.

You threw your head back in ecstasy, your toes curling all while trying to patch his pace with your own movements. But let’s face it, you were growing tired. And he had more stamina than the two of you combined. He could’ve kept this up all night if he wanted to just to torture you a bit more than he already was, having slowed down multiple times right when he felt you were about to come.

His large, rough hands then moved from your hips up to your breasts, giving them a generous squeeze before teasing your nipples just enough to get you to squirm even more. Gently pinching and pulling them to hear more of those delicious sounds. You cried out almost in agony with how much he was teasing you, the feeling both pleasurable and miserable. But Daryl couldn’t lie, he loved it. Hearing you like this, so aching and hungry for him drove him absolutely crazy.

Your bodies were sheen in a thin layer of sweat, the desire and lust growing even thicker with every plunge of his hips or bites at your skin. You wanted to feel him everywhere. Which is why your hand impulsively reached for his, tugging it toward your throat in a sex drunk kind of state. Though Daryl however quickly snapped out of it when his mind processed your actions, his movements stopping completely which only caused you to whine a bit in protest as you thought he only did it to tease you again. But what you couldn’t see was his expression was quite serious. Never in a million years had he even considered what you had silently asked him to do.

“What the hell are ya doin?” he asked, his tone rough with desire yet still somehow soft when it came to speaking to you.

His words brought you out of your daze, your eyes widening a little at what you had unconsciously done in a fit of impatience and longing. You had never outright admitted that you had a kind of kink, a fantasy perhaps of him wrapping his strong hands around your throat. But now that your secret was basically exposed, you felt extremely embarrassed, silently thankful that the tent was dark enough to where you couldn’t see his face. Although you could sense the tension resurfacing, the tension you so desperately tried to take away from him, was suddenly back within an instant.

“Sorry…” you huffed quietly as you tried to catch your breath, “Heat of the moment.”

Daryl was silent for what seemed like ages, leaving you thinking you had ruined the entire moment as you didn’t have a clue at what was going on in his head. But surprisingly enough, it wasn't what you had anticipated.

The idea of choking, spanking, or any kind of harmful thing really had never before crossed his mind despite how rough he could be at times. He never wished to intentionally hurt you, especially after the trust you had built up over the weeks of knowing one another. You were important to him, even though he had never been brave enough to admit that out loud, you were still quite literally the only person that mattered to him now. But seeing as clearly you weren’t opposed to the idea of exploring something new, he figured...maybe he could get behind it.

His face leaned down toward your ear again from behind, “You tell me if it’s too much…ya hear me?” he said almost sternly to show you how serious he was about this.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, opening your mouth to question him, but you didn’t get the chance before his hand came up to gently squeeze at your neck. Your eyes widened, a surprised whimper escaping your lungs while his hips slowly began to buck up into you again, picking up right where he had left off.

The tightness he held around your throat immediately sent you back to that blissful haze, feeling your limbs begin to tingle as he continued to send shockwaves of pleasure up your spine. You moaned loudly when he squeezed a bit tighter, testing the waters with how much you could take. But it didn’t hurt at all surprisingly, like he somehow knew exactly what he was doing though he had never tried this before in his life. It was almost concerningly perfect, and you were in heaven.

“God, you sound so pretty.” he breathed, his pace increasing as he began to manhandle you, “You really like this, don’t you?” he asked almost teasingly.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to hear the tone of his voice, only managing to focus on how good it felt as you nodded your head frantically. Silently begging him to let you finish this time.

He choked you a bit harder when you didn’t respond, “Come on girl…tell me how good it feels.” he groaned.

You panted heavily while simultaneously swallowing to try and lubricate your dry throat, “Feels good- feels so good.” you stuttered pathetically.

Daryl hummed in approval as he heard your response, leaning his head down to kiss and lick at the skin of your shoulder while his free hand moved down to rub circles on your clit. A sharp gasp was pulled from you as you arched your back into him, your vision growing almost spotty at the amount of sensations he was giving you. Your legs began to twitch and he could feel your walls clenching around him even more intensely as you neared your orgasm again. But instead of slowing down, he finally continued to draw it out.

Your moans and whines grew louder and louder as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, his hand over your throat only making your brain feel more fuzzy. You almost couldn’t control the sounds you were making anymore as you finally came, crying out his name in the state of bliss you had craved so much. It was like for a moment you saw stars, feeling as if your soul left your body for a moment as his fingers continued to work on your sensitive clit. The feeling of your tight walls consuming him left him not far behind as he quickly managed to pull out of you, before spilling himself onto your back with a low groan of pleasure.

It took minutes for the two of you to finally come down from your high, catching your ragged breaths while your bodies felt almost too limp to even attempt to move. But eventually, his hand retracted back from your neck as he slowly sat up a bit, leaving a tender kiss on the back of your head to express what he couldn’t with words.

“We…we need to do that again.” you breathed quietly, slumping onto your back from exhaustion.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your silent request, shaking his head though you couldn’t see, “Let’s wait a few hours at least…don’t wanna kill ya.” he said lightheartedly.

You huffed softly, “I think you already did. I feel like I can’t move my legs.”

His eyes glanced down, his hand coming up to run along your hip before traveling down your thigh, “How bout a massage then, hm?”

It’s funny, you thought. One minute he was saying the dirtiest things, fucking you until you forgot your own name. And then the next, he was sweetly suggesting a massage after his own doings. But then again, you would never complain. Perhaps after this, he would be more keen to trying new things…

~ Thanks for reading!

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sweetlady555 · 23 hours ago

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Unlocking the hidden power of Mars 12H:

Hi everyone! I apologize for not having been uploading as much but I’m back and writing about Mars 12H because it's so powerful and I rarely EVER see anyone talking about it. As I’ve decided to step fully into my power starting November 2024, I’ve recently realized something powerful about my energy that completely changed my perspective, I will be using Kim Kardashian as my example as she is a Mars 12H native :$

What Is Mars in the 12H? 🤔

Mars represents drive, action and motivation. The 12H is the house of the subconscious, hidden things, spirituality, behind the scenes, hidden strengths, the spiritual realm. When these two energies combine, they create an energy that works below the surface often in ways we aren't fully conscious of. ��️

One thing you should know is Mars 12H natives makes moves in silence they don't need outside noise or your projections! You'll see how it's done just watch, you don't know need to know how, why or when they're going to do it, but just know they've been multiple steps ahead of you. Its like this divine calling thats always in your ear telling you which move shall be next and its such a strong force that its like if you don’t take action itll make you feel so……… wrong its like a itch. Usually Mars 12H natives do take the action and it leads to blessings I like to call them. Mars 12H natives do not feel the need to force anything, when the thought and feeling comes you do that shit! Mars 12H natives are always mysteriously led to exactly where they need to be.. this is likely why they get their rep for being so mysterious & secretive! Its imporant as a Mars 12H native to listen to your gut and trust that everything will work out as planned, and this doesn’t go for just Mars 12H natives it goes for everyone!

Let's use Kim Kardashian as a famous example on how Mars 12H manifests for the natives, as a Mars in 12H native I feel like I can relate to her ambition and I can understand her doings.

Kim Kardashain always knew she was going to be a star, if you have seen her videos of her younger self she states, "and you're all going to remember me as this beautiful little girl" For both Kim and people with Mars 12th house, the confidence and determination to become a star or successful often comes from a deep subconscious belief in their destiny. Even if they don't know the "how" or the "when," they just FEEL compelled to take action towards their dreams, sometimes in ways that seem hidden or almost effortless to others. In Kim's case, she didn't just fall into success, she actively pursued it through her work, image crafting, and seizing opportunities. Even before she became widely known, she had an innate sense of how to position herself and build her brand. This is the Mars 12H signature, an internal drive that doesn't always need external validation or explanations to succeed. Many people accuse Kim of "destiny swapping" with Paris Hilton but let's be so fo real right now.. Destiny swapping doesn't exist, and I feel like people just can't believe Kim rose above Paris Hilton which seemed so effortlessly, but not enough people credit her for her hard work and perseverance. People have accused her for being a reptellian too 😭 ? because I guess its that hard to understand hard work, dedication and logic actually does pay off! Kim has a vision and she's still actively working hard for her vision behind the scenes, and if its one thing we all know its that Kim will chase her bag regardless!

My experience with Mars in the 12H :

Growing up, I always knew I was going to be something special, I knew I was gonna be influential (I have 10H placements so this might manifest differently) Last year, I had rose to fame very quickly online through my image and the amount of people who were confused af how I did it was flattering not gonna lie! I would hear people tell me things like “did you sell your soul?” or “whats the method?” or “you only got it because you had this and this” . I was always in my own bubble online posting what I feel destined to do no matter what my ego said. I thought with my soul a lot of times even if it was shocking, so honestly I could see how people would accuse me of “selling my soul” or having a certain method to my influential social media fame. There is a lot of pain & passion behind my doings and I logically plan everything out so it kind of flatters me honestly! To me this just shows how Mars 12H natives are skilled in making something out of themselves coming from being a underdog to becoming someone highly admired.

The Energy Of A 12H Mars Native :

Mars in the 12H natives can have this strong powerful magnetic effect on others without them even realizing it but others will feel this on a subconcious level. They truly have a lot of appeal! Its almost like this hidden power or secret magentism that draws people in which could attract a lot of admirers, monitoring spirits, actual spirits even! 😭 The truth is though, Mars 12H natives do really have this strong inner power within them, they tend to be very confident in themselves and this energy reflects on the outside even through the screen. They have this aura around them that can’t be ignored. Mars 12H natives will often be seen as untouchable or enigmatic, just like Kim she knew how to use this energy to use this subtle allure to captivate her audience.

People with Mars 12H have this sexual energy that is more felt, not seen! This can make their presence intoxicating as others may sense their sexual energy without knowing where it’s coming from. Its almost hypnotic! Its a deeply rooted emotional and spiritual sexual energy often rooted in the subconcious. With Kim, she knew how to use this energy in her brand being percieved as seductive, powerful and confident, but it wasnt just about her body — it was about the way she carried herself and commanded attention without saying much.

Despite being more subtle, Mars in the 12H gives the individual an almost unconcious control over their sexual energy. Theres an innate understanding of how to play on emotions and create attraction often with very little effort. This creates an energy that is simultaneously passive and powerful and you can’t deny or ignore it either. Almost like being in the background but still being the force everyone notices.

There is a lot of fantasy and imagination that takes place with Mars 12H natives and how theyre percieved, natives with this placement tend to make others fantasize about them not just by how they look but how they make people feel! Their energy creates a sense of longing, almost like a dream or a fantasy that others want to live in. Kim Kardashian has been able to tap into this fantasy energy by cultivating an image of perfect beauty and luxury, which keeps her in a fantasy world that fans want to be apart of. This fantasy element is key to her sexual appeal, as it makes her seem unreachable and unattainable.

Mars 12H natives, if they aren’t aware of their power makes them a target for insecure people and spirits in the physical and spiritual realm. People will often notice this energy before you even do and project the most they can and throw as much dirt as they can on you because they’re afraid of your power! Its highly advised you take the precautions and make sure you are being careful in who you’re telling your business to, what things you might be opening in the physical and spiritual realm, who you let into your space, who you’re doing business with all of it! Dont let them take advantage of you!

I also had read that Mars 12H often repress their emotions or their anger and although it is that in some cases, Mars 12H natives just tend to strategically move instead of acting out on anger or resentment in the moment to avoid unnecessary conflict and to stay in power and their own peace. Its a silent strength many Mars 12H natives have where you don’t have to scream or shout to prove yourself, you can strategically wait for the right moment, then act with precision. This ability to stay focused and composed on long term goals is what makes Mars 12H natives have this quiet power behind them. People might not realize that this anger comes from a calculated, startegic place, its not random but it could be percieved as out of nowhere. The 12H is often linked to subconcious energies, hidden feelings and things that are not visible to others, so when Mars 12H natives express their anger it can come off as intense, mysterious or even uncontrollable to those around you. People may not fully understand why you do the things you do or whats going on beneath the surface so this often leads to people labeling your anger more extreme.

The Spirtual Realm

Mars in the 12H natives are often deeply connected to the spiritual realm, but they experience it in a unique way. This placement can give them a natural sensitivity to invisible forces or energies like I mentioned earlier a divine force! Whether that may be intuition, sprits or subconcious currents that influence their actions. Mars in the 12H is often described as “Behind the scenes” or operating in the background, which makes these individuals especially attuned to the unseen world—the spiritual, emotional and psychological realm.

Mars, the planet of action, aggression and energy, in the 12h amplifies the natives ability to tap into intuitive and spiritual currents. This placement suggests that instead of being overly action-oriented in a physical way, Mars energy often works in more subtle and intuitive forms. For these individuals, the battle often happens internally-in the subconscious, in dreams, or in their connection to the spirit world.

Mars in the 12th house people often experience a sense of being guided by invisible forces, and they can be highly receptive to messages or signs from the spirit realm. This doesn't always mean they consciously hear or see spirits, but rather that they might feel guided by an internal voice or experience moments of divine timing that feel too precise to be mere coincidence. They may also experience heightened sensitivity to energy, such as a feeling of being watched, sudden shifts in mood or vivid dreams. Its not a common occurrence to hear ringing in your ears when you’re picking and feeling up on certain energies with these natives!

Since Mars 12H is a powerful subtle energy this makes spirits from the spiritual realm more attracted to them, Mars 12H natives are very assertive and felt by these spirits hence why certain spirits like to latch onto them. Its not common either to see spirits, see things move suddenly and even a spirit taking control over your body when you’re asleep. It sounds scary but don’t let this make you afraid, I once fell into this when I was around 8 or 9 when I was sleeping and a spirit had woken me up in the middle of the night and made me literally slam my face into my headboard that made the principal think I was getting hurt at home, i was always targeted by this spirit. I was the only one who could speak to it and make them do certain things like move toys and such. I didnt realize at the time I was connecting with aggresive spirits 😅 and not God. Its highly important for Mars 12H natives to strongly protect themselves when they are asleep because when you are asleep the veil between the spiritual realm and physical realm is very thin!

Mars 12H natives embody this spirtual warrior archetype, they can feel a calling to fight or stand up for spiritual causes or to protect others, but they do this in a way that is not outwardly visible to others. Mars 12H natives might actively avoid conflict when it comes to spiritual warfare or protecting their energy and their peace. They may also engage in energy work, spiritual practices, or rituals in private to protect themselves from unwanted spiritual influence. This is often done subtly or privately, as they don't always like to broadcast their spiritual strength. Their Mars energy in the 12th house can make them exceptionally good at clearing negative energy, transmuting it, and defending themselves from energetic or spiritual attacks, but they may prefer to do so behind the scenes, where others don't see it.

Mars in the 12th house natives may also experience periods of isolation or retreat, where they feel the need to withdraw from the physical world to connect with the unseen world. These moments of solitude allow them to recharge spiritually, process subconscious material, and connect with higher realms of consciousness. During these times, they may feel a deep connection with their higher self or with the spiritual beings guiding them.

When it comes to spiritual practices, these individuals are likely to have a natural talent for healing or working with energy, whether it's through prayer, meditation, crystals, or other metaphysical practices. Mars in the 12th house helps them channel life force energy in a quiet, powerful way, almost like a spiritual warrior operating in the background, quietly shifting energy around them.

Its important to watch out as a Mars 12H native what you are putting your energy into as these things will manifest almost immediately. When you decide to shift your attention to other IMPORTANT things you will often notice your energy was literally the foundation for whatever negative thing that was happening. So be Aware! You know how powerful your energy is.

This was a long post but as a Mars 12H native, I rarely see any accurate or in depth posts of Mars 12H individuals, I had to really dig into my experiences to understand this was Mars 12H influence all along.. In my opinion, Mars 12H natives deserve so much more respect for what they do because a lot of it goes unseen and for multiple reasons lol. I havent wrote in a while but I was getting a huge urge calling to post about this. If any mars 12h individuals relate to any of these experiences please let me know because I’d love to hear from you! and please be careful 💟 may god protect your divine energy, space and you ☮️

#astro community #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #astrology community #astrology observations #astro #mars 12h #mars12h #mars 12th house #mars in the 12th house #astro placements #12h placements

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419jhat · 3 days ago

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Russian Steve AU

Another plot bunny I've been unable to get out of my head...

What if Steve's parents were Russian spies and connected to the mall? What if Steve had powers? What if these were combined into two and turned into a Steddie thing?

I love the idea of Steve being like El but the Russian version, where his parents are spies and he's an experiment they willingly handed over to the government but still got to raise. They all go to the US to build the mall and Steve's trying desperately to be a normal American boy but Eddie Munson, King of Abnormality (which drives Steve absolutely crazy because who would want to stand out??) gets in the way and completely wrecks his whole situation.

TW: Dead Bodies

Steven Anthony Harrington died in 1979, sometime around midnight on the third of January. He had two parents, also lying dead in the master bedroom, a dog collapsed on the kitchen floor, and that was it. They were a reclusive bunch with an unlucky family tree filled with people that tended to die early anyway. So maybe it was fate. As the New Steve looked down at the still face of the boy he was going to replace, he thought that it's probably just the circle of life. People die, people live, and the world keeps spinning. It doesn’t have to mean much beyond that.

Old Steve felt cold. It wasn't the first time New Steve had touched or felt a dead person, but for some reason this one is different. This time, it’s his fault. He felt the body go cold and numb as it happened. He watched the emotions seep out of the body as the boy's dream ended without him waking up. His father made him watch, so he understood the sacrifice taken so he could do his job.

The weight of it makes it hard to breathe.

It was a bloodless death, caused by carbon monoxide poisoning. Painless and simple. While the house airs out, Old Steve, his dog, and his parents are quickly disposed of. There is no evidence left behind. On January fourth, sometime in the evening, the new Harrington family sat on a couch they didn’t buy, in a living room they didn’t choose, and drank a cup of hot tea, considering the moment of peace before the start of their journey.

They move without a word to the neighbors, who the Old Harringtons were never friends with anyway. Nobody knows, or cares where they are. There’s a money trail if someone bothers to look, but it doesn’t expose anything more than a house hunting vacation. Then, just before the start of the school year, they use Richard’s savings to buy a home in a sleepy little town called Hawkins, Indiana. And their new lives begin.

New Steve thought that the new home was too big. Every little noise echoed and bounced across the walls, making him jump and look around as if he’d find people hiding in them, watching their every move. When they’d arrived, he and his parents laid down on the soft, carpeted floor and stared at the pure white ceiling in silence, taking in the new world around them. They hadn’t said anything, but they didn’t need to. He knew things would be different from then on.

He spent that first week with his parents. Every morning like clockwork, they sat before the TV and repeated everything said out loud, practicing their accents and furthering their understanding of the strange phrases Americans liked to use, like, “take a rain check,” and “lipstick on a pig.” New Steve found he hated movies, where he couldn’t see people’s feelings like he could in person. They reminded him of Old Steve’s frozen body, huddled up in blankets as if he was just sleeping. Like soulless meat puppets waiting to be buried and never found again.

In the evenings, he and his mother worked through a cookbook she’d been gifted, perfecting American dishes like casseroles and meatloaf. On the second day, he helped her deliver a pie to their neighbor, and she introduced him as her shy little boy who never had much to say. It wasn’t true. He still had a hard time with the ‘th’ sound that so many English words used, so they’d decided that until he got it right, that’s who he’d be.

With his dad, during the day when nobody would question it, they cut open the wall in his office and installed a gun safe. Apparently, it was legal for normal people in America to own guns. Steve was too young to have an opinion on that, but his dad muttered in English about how it was the kind of irresponsible nonsense that made his job easier. So, maybe it was a good thing. Either way, they covered the safe with a wall once again, so they were truly out of sight.

When his parents weren’t home, New Steve quietly snuck out to dip his toes in the pool. He’d never seen a pool before. He didn’t even know how to swim. In the spot close to the deep end, where neighbors wouldn’t see him unless they stuck their heads over the fence to pry, New Steve would find the perfect stick- thin and light with no leaves, and drag it across the surface of the water, watching the ripples as they rolled across the heated surface. And that was how he found peace with his new house.

It took him a while to settle into the role of Steve, and even longer for him to climb the mantle of King Steve. But that was his job, so it’s what he did. King Steve was good at sports. Captain of the swim team, co-captain of the basketball team. Handsome, fond of parties, rich with mysterious parents who traveled often. Charming, just enough for people to wonder how he stayed out of trouble despite everything he got up to.

But secretly, Steve, just Steve, also known in his heart as Stepan, was terrified. He never let it show on his face, even more terrified that his parents would lose faith in his skills and dump him somewhere while they returned to Russia as heroes without him. He spent most of his time fueled with fear, balancing the careful images he’d built for himself as the perfect All-American Boy that his parents were relying on. Unfortunately for Steve, he hadn’t anticipated what would happen to his precious double image when he fell in love.

#steddie #steve x eddie #ao3 #stranger things #plot bunny

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literaryvein-reblogs · 11 hours ago

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writing a disorganized attachment style? Please, and thank you in advance.

Writing Notes: Disorganized Attachment Style

Disorganized Attachment

The most recently identified classification of attachment systems.

In the Strange Situation, a form of insecure attachment in which infants show no coherent or consistent behavior during separation from and reunion with their parents. Also called disoriented attachment.

General Attitude: “I am uncomfortable getting close to others and find it difficult to trust and depend on them. I worry I will be hurt if I get close to my partner.”

CAUSES

Associated with parenting that induces fear in the infant.

Arises from scenarios where a child’s attachment figure or parent is observably frightened or frightening when a child needs comforting or reassurance.

Involves frightening and violent behaviors from parents or caregivers and is, therefore, more common with families suffering from combined or distinct problems of child abuse, domestic violence, and family instability.

CONSEQUENCES

The severe long-term consequences for disorganized attachment systems include later dissociative disorders, anxiety disorders, and serious behavior problems.

Patterns of affective communication that result from frightened or frightening caregiver behavior (e.g., contradictory emotional cues, withdrawal) also correspond to infant disorganization.

PREVALENCE

Disorganization is more prevalent in samples with abuse or neglect and in samples with high levels of parental depression and unresolved loss.

Especially frequent among children who have been subjected to abuse or serious neglect.

Interpersonal Markers of a Disorganized Attachment Style

Proximity/distance: Fear proximity but feel lost without it

Trust/expectations of others: Strong distrust of others, fear of boundaries being breached or violated

Attitude to seeking and receiving help: Afraid of getting involved, but feel helpless

Expression and regulation of emotions: Absent or chaotic expressions of emotions, difficulties in regulating emotions

Self-image/self-esteem: Low self-esteem, incoherent self-image

Openness and self-disclosure: Are reticent about sharing thoughts and feelings, but involuntary ‘breakthroughs’ may occur

Dependence/independence: Strong conflict between the desire for independence and feelings of dependence

Conflict management: Conflicts may lead to breakdowns and inappropriate behaviour

Empathy: Own fear/helplessness hinders empathy and solicitude with others

Narrative Markers of a Disorganized Attachment Style

Coherence and credibility: Trauma-related material is unintegrated in the narrative and destabilizes it

Balance in descriptions: Incoherent, contradictory or suddenly changing descriptions of self and others

Dramatization/downplaying: Sudden shifts between dramatization and downplaying

Description of emotions: Absence of integrated descriptions of emotions, anxiety may ‘leak’ unintentionally

Abstraction/specificity: Both abstraction and episodic fragments are present, but are poorly integrated

Consideration of interlocutor/listener: Can be in ‘own world’ without a sense of the interlocutor, may at times frighten the listener

Verbosity: Can shift between reticence and verbosity

Narrative "orderliness": Abrupt shifts in the narrative in connection with trauma-related material

Mentalization: Magical reasoning and absence of mentalization in connection with trauma-related material

A theoretical and empirical distinction is made between organized attachment patterns (secure, avoidant, and ambivalent) and disorganized attachment patterns.

Later research has shown that children with disorganized attachment patterns often find their caregivers frightening, either because their behaviour towards the child is hostile or inappropriate, or because the caregivers themselves were traumatized and therefore become overwhelmed and incapable of supporting the child when needed (Lyons-Ruth and Jacobvitz, 2008).

This creates an unsolvable dilemma for the child:

The child’s attachment system urges the child to seek comfort from caregivers when scared.

However, if the caregiver is simultaneously the source of fear, the child experiences irreconcilable impulses to simultaneously approach and withdraw from the caregiver.

Like the ‘organized’ insecure attachment patterns, disorganized attachment is NOT in itself a sign of mental illness in a child.

However, out of the four attachment patterns, it is the pattern most systematically connected to mental problems in the long term (Dozier et al., 2008 , Greenberg, 1999).

Disorganized Attachment: As Adults

As adults, these individuals have difficulty with:

trust,

lack empathy towards others, and

are worried about their partner’s commitment.

These individuals engage in a push/pull dynamic, sometimes wanting intimacy and other times not wanting intimacy.

These individuals struggle to understand their emotions and downplay the importance of relationships.

Disorganized Attachment: In a Relationship

Experience conflicting desires for intimacy and fear of rejection or betrayal (Fearful-Avoidant).

Extremely inconsistent behavior and difficulty trusting others.

You might even go back and forth from seeking closeness with your partner to withdrawing in order to protect yourself from potential harm.

This may stem from childhood experiences of trauma, neglect or abuse.

Struggling to trust others and often feeling overwhelmed by emotional needs are indicators of a disorganized attachment style.

Other signs include:

Fear of rejection

Inability to regulate emotions

Contradictory behaviors

High levels of anxiety

Difficulty trusting others

Signs of both avoidant and anxious attachment styles

Understanding the different attachment styles can help empower people when it comes to recognizing relational patterns. Knowing your own attachment style will help you to cultivate healthier connections that you deserve! By practicing self-awareness and empathy, you can navigate attachment needs and communicate effectively with all relationships in life.

REMEMBER: Attachment styles learned through childhood CAN change.

When we enter relationships, each partner brings their own unresolved needs or fears. Partners often have different attachment styles, which guides their beliefs and behaviors within the relationship.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: On Attachment ⚜ Avoidant ⚜ Anxious ⚜ Secure

Hope this helps with your writing! Please use these notes as just quick references. More research may be needed to write your story.

#attachment #psychology #writing reference #writeblr #writing notes #studyblr #literature #writers on tumblr #dark academia #spilled ink #writing prompt #light academia #fiction #creative writing #writing resources

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armandaughter · 2 days ago

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Interview With the Vampire + Perfumes

i posted about wanting to make this and people were also curious, so here it is :) i absolutely have no qualifications to be making this. i just love perfumes and iwtv and wanted to combine em!! lmk ur thoughts <3 fyi this gets pretty long-winded and analysis heavy at times

louis de pointe du lac (new orleans/paris eras)

very slow world in my mind. i think he'd gravitate to the warm spice of it and the hints of whiskey. this also smells a bit like incense, which i think is fitting for him. louis' religious upbringing will always inform how i approach him. but this scent also reminds me of the clubs in new orleans, cigars and rich drinks, and that transfers over to him exploring new sides of himself in paris with photography and engaging with art and cafe scenes. i question the inclusion of the balsamic top note, it's actually much more tea-aligned! this is also quite masculine to me, which makes sense as, particularly in nola, he had to be a little overly masculine-- older brother, man of the house after the death of his father, business owner, and a black business owner in an extremely racist setting. i like this for him, i'd even go as far as to say maybe it's not quite masculine enough.

runner-ups: full incense by montale, nothing but sea and sky by une nuit nomade (this one is very bergamont heavy, which i also think he'd like) foreshadow by curatrix (this one is in my rotation rn and i am almost out because i use it SO much. musk, tobacco, incense, cypress)

louis de pointe du lac (dubai)

this one isn't similar to the above at all, but i think it sort of stays in line with what we know of louis in dubai. it's a very fresh scent, with residual fruity and cedar/fig accords snuck in there that are more noticeable with longer wear. this feels performative like most of dubai, put-together and appealing to the senses but deceptive at the end of the day. i think it's still something louis genuinely likes, but i see him, when he's happy, wearing something a bit more explicitly sweet-spicy, less wood-spicy. this is an amalgamation of the above scent and other sweeter, floral accords he'd drift to, but not quite leaning into it the way i suspect he'd be were he actually healed, had he actually confronted his past in full and emerged content with his circumstances.

runner-ups: of true minds by liis (this is inspired by shakespeare's sonnet 116, also smells like sooo complex. floral spicy with a bit of suede) angel dust by fugazzi (cashmere, pepper, bergamont)

lestat de lioncourt

i actually took so long to decide for lestat. after consulting @operahouses (thank you for enduring my lengthy perfume character analysis) i'm happy w this. it's very very floral, mostly rose, with jasmine and iris too. there's also the underlying patchouli and according to what i read, a sort of rosewater wine-y feel about it. walks the line of intense and mysterious with an elegant softness that feels very true to lestat coming off of paris and finding his footing (and the love of his life) in new orleans.

runner-ups: l'olympia music hall by histoires de parfums (floral, also the name is very lestat in the vampire lestat to me) baccarat rouge 540 by maison francis kurkdjian

rockstar lestat

this is zoologist, which literally makes perfumes off of animal scents. i think that is so fucking cool. anyway-- this is a very bold scent that takes the sweetness of the initial perfume i shared and expands upon it with some really interesting notes. there's passionfruit, leather, teakwood, and incense. (INCENSE, which i think he'd intentionally wear for the nostalgia it could potentially evoke in louis!!) but, overall, a very impressive and borderline questionable miasma of smells. because of this, it's startlingly unique. verrrry memorable, which is kind of the desired experience of a rockstar trying to get his ex-husband back.

runner-ups: triumph of bacchus by argos (this one has such an insanely diverse array of accords i feel only he could pull off) do not disturb by vilhelm parfumerie (this leans into femininity a bunch, which i am down for with lestat. also has some questionable accords but again i think this era welcomes that)

armand

so i'm not even going to pretend i'm not projecting with my first choice for him because i am-- press gurwitz 0.3 is soooo criminally underrated. it's got the knockout combo of the cinnamon and vanilla but when the smoky spice of it hits... it HITS! it also isn't overly sweet at all. the vanilla subdues the sweet notes and leaves sort of a smoky yet clean spiciness over time. i think also the idea of him wearing a gourmand scent has a lot of interesting character connotations in it-- wanting to be desired, wanting to be almost edible, to attract that sort of temptation. if not a gourmand, i can see him preferring fresh, clean, sharp scents-- hence the choices for him as rashid.

runner-ups: milk by commodity (amber, firewood, tonka bean; ultimately the marshmallow accord felt a bittttt out of line for him but this scent is GOOD. a pinch sharp but in a way that's striking rather than obtrusive) female christ by 19-69 (eucalyptus, woody, with cashmere and cinnamon at the base notes, emerging the longer the scent is worn)

armand as rashid

this one has a lot going on but i NEED you to stay with me and hear me out. first of all-- there's notes of pineapple here, which i feel are soooo good given the 'honey and pineapple' exchange. there's also a lot of sweetness here and while the 'honey' part isn't explicit, i feel like it's still reminiscent of it. also, who's to say rashidmand doesn't wear honey body oil with this? wouldn't put that past him. otherwise, this is also pretty floral, fresh, and long-lasting. my one flaw is it is intense, especially for his playing as rashid. my defense here is this: he's already gone with the slutty shirts and the speaking out of turn, so a memorable scent doesn't seem suddenly too far, at least not to me. also, the bottom notes like the vanilla stabilize the intensity. for the first hour or two after application, i'm sure this lingers in a room (which is what he'd want) but as it fades, you'd have to be in closer proximity to notice it.

runner-ups: honey & crocus by jo malone london (this is the honeyed scent that could replace the pineapple one, with traces of saffron and lavender included too which go nicely) fleur de délice by reminiscence (VERY herbal and fresh)

daniel molloy (1973)

ok i am pretty sure i'm not the first to say this but he's SO jazz club. to me. this on top of probably perpetually smelling like cigarettes. and i've heard it's more masculine-leaning, with the rum, spice, and tobacco staying on the longest. i think in devil's minion canon armand would also be all over this like a bloodhound. not much else to say aside from boozy and kinda sexy. the kind of thing you'd wear to go out and score drugs or a fatal vampire encounter.

runner-ups: none! i stand by this one. possibly book by commodity, which uses cedar and sandalwood to come shockingly close to putting your nose in a book. also accomplishes a sort of smokiness.

daniel molloy

this is kind of like if jazz club matured a bit. from what i read (i haven't smelled this one) it's very leathery and dry with a slight sweetness at the end. it has some pine and dates in the list of accords, which works for me too. it is also a bit sensual and i think daniel would wear this in dubai to see louis for the first time since '73. not too intense, which i think he'd prefer. @operahouses suggested a new car smell and i STRONGLY agree.

runner-ups: ombré leather (2018) by tom ford (this went too herbal for me to attribute to him, but i still think leather is good for him)

claudia in new orleans

getting into headcanon territory. this scent is sweet, light, and rosy. i'm imagining this is a gift from lestat before things soured. also something to wear before she branched out and developed her own preferences. i personally think this one is a bit strong and just a tad like a bath, but then again it's very clean and satisfying when the initial scent sits for a little. the sugarcane there brings it together too. this would also contribute to the infantilization both louis and lestat force upon her, the shared--whether explicit or implicit- idea that she's theirs, only the 'girl' part of daughter and too young and naive to be the 'woman.' i feel like she'd grow to hate this smell eventually the same way she grew to resent what lestat and new orleans meant for her.

runner-ups: rose of no man's land by byredo (i didn't think the spices fit, but could be that's a stepping stone for her)

claudia (paris)

i haven't tried this scent but i do love curatrix. so i think in a similar way to daniel's progression this is an older, sultry, woody-sweet rendition of what a younger claudia would enjoy. knowing curatrix, it's probably a bit intense, but for a woman duelling with the reality she will not ever be properly seen as a woman, i think it's very fitting! the cloves and tobacco lend age to it while the honey and vanilla sweeten it up a bit, dries down into a suggestion of ginger. i think the name would attract her as well. claudia owns being a vampire-- she loves it, wants so badly to be loved by the coven for loving vampirism, so the idea of fatale is definitely something she would gravitate to in my mind.

runner-ups: hypnotic poison by dior (similar wood themes with a bit of floral and fruitiness mixed in, but mostly, the bottle is cute) carmilla by immortal perfumes (the name, naturally-- also has a blood accord!! was my first choice until i remembered fatale exists)

madeline

gets a classic. i wore this for years before i started to present less feminine. it's clean, floral, sweet, a bit powdery, and stays on forever. not too overwhelming but def alluring. one of thee ultimate femme lesbian choices to me!

runner-ups: immortelle by chloé (still white floral with some tonka snuck in. i like the name for her a lot!)

santiago

i really have nothing to say other than this scent doesn't get very good reviews and it kind of pisses me off and that's perfect for him. def wears way too much of this and it pisses off everyone in the coven. the HEIGHT of gay man who is about to infuriate you.

okay i had a lot of fun doing this. so if anybody else matched my freak ab this i would LOVE to do more.

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warmblanketwhump · 2 days ago

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Idea for you. Let’s say we have 5 characters living in one household. They’re all very close. A brings an illness into the house. B catches it while taking care of them. Then C joins the party. Then finally D catches it as well, leaving E to take care of all of them. They start to feel ill, but power through. By the time the others have recovered, E’s fever is bad, and now they have to take care of the caretaker.

this flu season, everyone got sick.

First to fall was A, who came home from work with a pale face and a raspy voice and went straight to bed. When E went up to see them, they found them huddled in bed, blearily staring at the wall.

“I don’t feel good,” they whimper.

Next, C’s nagging cough deepened. It had started a tickle in their throat, but soon moved all the way down into their chest. C was the active type—always going for runs and spending time outdoors—so E knew they were in trouble when a short walk from room to room left C breathless, and soon, they were bedridden as well.

Then, B started complaining about feeling chilled.

“Aren’t you guys freezing?” They sat at the dinner table with D and E, a blanket clutched round their shoulders as they stare blankly at the meal they’ve barely touched.

“No?”

B runs their hands up and down their arms, then hugs themselves tightly with a shudder. “I just can’t get warm.”

D and E exchange a look before D rests a hand on B’s shoulder. “I’ll get the thermometer.”

In the span of 36 hours, three of them had become bedridden.

At first, it’s a bit of a joke between them all, D and E commiserating as they move between rooms with cough syrup, tissues, blankets, and tea.

“We should open up our own hospital,” E cracks as they

But that all changes four days in when E comes downstairs to see D at the kitchen table, ashen-faced and clutching a mug of tea in their hands.

“D, you look awful.”

D hugs the mug closer to their chest and shudders, coughing weakly. “I’ll manage. It’s just the sniffles.”

Before D can move away, E’s got a palm to their too-warm forehead and a sinking feeling in their chest. “Off to bed with you, D. You’re the next victim.”

D groans, slumping over with their head on the kitchen table. “E, I can’t just leave you.”

“Yes, you can and you will. You’re feverish and pale as death.”

D pulls the blanket tighter, a sheepish look on their face. “I thought…I thought it wouldn’t get me too.”

“No one thinks it will. Bed. Now.”

So that’s how D winds up the fourth victim of the flu, and despite their protests, they were arguably the worst hit. What they tried to pass off as a quick rest turned into a six-hour nap. they woke that evening with a 104 fever, having sweat through their clothes and bedsheets.

“It’s going to be a long night,” E whispers under their breath.

——————-

Two days later, E’s standing in the kitchen, fighting to keep their eyes open as the coffee brews, when they feel it.

A chill, prickling between their shoulder blades before it washes over their whole body.

No. I’m just overworked and sleep deprived.

Generously, E had slept for a combined 3 or 4 hours over the past two nights. It was partially their own fault. They’d been sleeping on the hallway floor so they could be equally close to everyone, which meant they heard every whimper, every cough, every quiet plea for help.

C had been up all night with a body-wracking cough, and B’s fever had spiked twice, which meant two changes into dry pajamas. A seemed to be through the worst of it, but they were still so weak they had to be helped to the bathroom. D woke at 2 in the morning, wracked with chills so violent that E gave into their pleas and helped them take a bath to warm up. After being dried off, they spent the rest of the night clutching a hot water bottle.

After that ordeal, E hadn’t even gone to bed—they’d just collapsed on D’s carpet, tugged the nearest blanket around themselves, and passed out.

Until they were woken by C’s coughing a couple hours later, and it all began again.

I'll just finish these dishes and then go sit by the fire. It's probably just this cold snap getting to me.

But as they wash dish after dish, E finds that each one becomes harder and harder to lift. Even the effort of standing makes their knees shake, and goosebumps prickle on E’s arms for no reason at all.

No. No. I can’t get sick.

By midmorning, it’s clear that something is very wrong. E’s chilled to the bone, despite being layered in thermals, a thick sweater and multiple pairs of socks. They resist the urge to wrap up in their bathrobe—the others will know something is wrong if they have that many visible layers on.

So they take A a glass of water, trying to hide how badly their hands are shaking when they hand it off. A must be thirsty enough they don’t notice as they gulp the glass down, but they frown once they’ve finished.

“E, you’re pretty peaked.”

“Hmm?” E snaps to attention, their focus drifting.

“You just look sorta washed out. Have you been sleeping?”

“I’ve been fine. As much sleep as I can with four patients to take care of,” E snaps. They instantly regret their tone as A flinches, then raises their eyebrows. “Sorry. It’s just…it’s been a lot.”

A props themselves up, wrapping their discarded robe around their shoulders. “E, I promise I’m feeling better. I can sit with D for a while—“

“No way. You couldn’t even walk yesterday.”

“And that was yesterday,” A says, patiently. “Give me an hour. If I don’t feel up to it, I’ll tell you.”

“Fine,” E says, too tired to fight with a suddenly chipper A. “But if you even seem slightly faint, it’s back to bed.”

——————

C is the next patient to raise alarms. Though their hacking cough has rendered them voiceless, they seem to be on the mend—vigorously pointing on things and writing messages on their notepad.

E, you look sick. C stabs the pointed message with their finger for emphasis.

E stifles a groan. “You’re one to talk. Drink your cough medicine.”

C accepts the shot of dark red syrup, but their eyes don’t leave B as they take it.

E meets A in the hallway, and before they can ask, A rattles off a report on B. “Fever’s still holding steady at 101.4. They’re miserable, but they’re not going to die. Gave them a cold washcloth, aspirin, and an extra blanket.”

“That’s….good work, A.”

A rolls their eye. “You’re not the only one who can play nurse.”

D is the final stop—they’re still in the roughest shape, feverish and mumbling incoherently, but A manages to soothe them with a cool hand to the forehead and some soft words. E adds another blanket to D’s bed and forces some more medicine into them, and D’s asleep in three minutes.

All patients accounted for, they leave D to rest. E’s about to tell—no, demand—that A goes back to bed, when a sudden dizzy feeling washes over them, and they grab the doorframe.

“E? You alright?”

“I…..I…” Suddenly, E can’t even form words, they just know they’re freezing, and they’re torn between keeping hold of the wall and wrapping their arms around themselves, get warm get warm get warm, and when they choose neither, their knees buckle and they crumple to the floor.

——————

The first thing E realizes, as A and C help them to sit on their bed, is that their sheets are crisp and clean. When was the last time they’d slept a full night in their bed?

“A, go….go to bed,” E rasps weakly through chattering teeth, huddling on the edge of the bed as A helps them into pajamas. “I’ll manage.”

“E, you can’t even keep your head up. Just let us help you change.”

E shudders weakly as their bare, feverish skin hits the chilly air, and A eases them under the covers, rubbing their back. “There you go. Nice and warm.” E leans into the touch, groaning softly, and they feel a thermometer poke under their tongue.

“103.6.”

E groans, pulling the blankets tighter. “I…I can’t be sick.”

“Hush.” A covers them with another blanket. “You took care of us, now let us take care of you.”

E is too feverish and cold and achy to protest, so they let them.

#dug this out of the drafts!!!#i am never writing five unnamed characters again lol #this was so hard to write haha #cold whump #sickfic #sickfic prompt #flu #fever whump

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shorthaltsjester · 2 days ago

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re: many thoughts i’ve seen regarding the way the cast are playing m9 feeling ooc that have ranged anywhere from being just commentary to very strange critiques about like. homophobia and. emphatically just. idk man . get a grip or smth. vox machina is pretty much just as ‘caricature’-y as the nein are (a phrase which here simply refers to. we are getting snapshots of these characters provided by a cast keenly aware of the limited timeline they’re on), the only difference being we saw vox machina with down time and we didn’t see the same with mighty nein (on their own) all of the mighty nein’s one-on-one moments were mediated by the cast also having to go ‘would my other character — who is in the main party for this campaign — have something to say in this moment of the story that takes precedent over whatever conversation this character would have’. and further, whimsy and verging on over-confidence have Always been the nein’s approach. but like, especially re: yasha and fjord (and beau a bit) who i’ve seen get the most reaction it’s like. literally rewatch the campaign and detach yourself from the fanon-rotted version of the characters that has been left to evolve in your brain.

like. sorry beau Did dislike yasha at the start — she thought she was hot, but she was also deeply walled off and unwilling to fully take yasha as a genuine person for a while. beauyasha has always been horny. like we’re talking the ceiling mirror fucking, fish market, hot tub stare off couple right? that’s who we’re upset about being too sexual? where am i (and if it’s because ashley and marisha forgot whether their characters were married, all the best to you, your thoughts are simply irrelevant). and fjord is the exact same as always — which is a combination of confidence and awkward at all times, especially when it comes to romance. which has in the past consistently led to jester and him having quieter conversations where he gets to be more vulnerable, including one we had the last time we saw mn in ep 111 where jester point blank brought up that he seemed like maybe he regretted proposing and he shed the bravado demeanour (as he always has) and explained that he doesn’t regret anything.

like. i’m not saying it’s wrong to take issue with the characters choices or perspectives, go for it, but realize that it is the characters and the choices they’re making and not just the cast Forgetting who their characters are. also i am truly sorry for those of you who can’t tell the difference between an out of character but still in character voice joke and an in character delivery . i imagine that makes it very hard to track character development but unfortunately that does not mean the cast have forgotten the hearts of their characters it just means you probably shouldn’t be (and thankfully you are not) the chief determination of whether they have or not.

#cr fandom #cr spoilers #critical role #i’m literally vibing having a great time #and then i’m forced to see people claim lesbophobia or fjord wanting out of his relationship #and i’m reminded why i did not engage with the cr fandom while mn ran #cr3

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m4rv3l-girl · 3 days ago

Text

The Encounter

Bucky x Y/N

Set during civil war, Bucky goes to a bar in Romania…perhaps his love for plums might find him a lady….

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected P in v sex. Fingering. Daddy kink. Plums. 😉

The bar wasn’t anything special, tucked away in the less-trafficked alleys of Bucharest, a place where anonymity was as much a selling point as the cheap drinks.

The neon lights inside hummed faintly, illuminating the faded wooden bar and mismatched stools. The air carried the faint tang of spilled beer and cigarette smoke—a combination that could almost be called charming if you squinted hard enough.

Bucky liked this place. It was quiet, overlooked, and far removed from the chaos he’d left behind in Washington, D.C. He kept his cap low as he slipped onto a stool in the corner, his metal arm hidden beneath the sleeve of his jacket. Nobody here paid him much attention, and that was exactly the way he wanted it.

That was, until she walked in.

She didn’t so much enter as command the room, boots clicking against the sticky floor as she made her way to the bar. Her grungy yet effortlessly cool aesthetic set her apart: ripped jeans, a vintage band tee, and a leather jacket that had clearly seen better days. Her hair fell in soft waves, and when she slid onto the stool a few spaces down from him, her lips curled into a smirk as she flagged down the bartender.

“Plum martini, please” she said, her voice low and honeyed with an edge of sarcasm. “And make it strong.”

Bucky froze mid-sip of his beer.

Plums.

The request yanked him from his own thoughts, stirring something almost primal in him. He hadn’t tasted a plum in decades, but the memory of their sweetness, their simplicity, still lingered. He glanced her way, his curiosity piqued.

The bartender nodded, and within minutes, a martini glass was set before her. She wrapped her fingers around the stem, her rings clinking softly against the glass.

“Not the usual choice,” he found himself saying before he could stop himself.

She turned her head, her brows arching in surprise. Her gaze landed on him—blue eyes meeting hers—and her smirk widened.

“And beer is?” she shot back, taking a deliberate sip of her drink.

Bucky chuckled, a sound he hadn’t made in longer than he cared to admit. “Fair point, doll.”

Her smirk faltered, just for a second, before she set her glass down. “Doll, huh? Bold of you to assume I’d let you get away with that.”

“It suits you,” he said simply, shrugging one shoulder.

She studied him for a moment, her head tilting slightly as if trying to puzzle him out. There was something about him—his quiet demeanor, the way his shoulders hunched just enough to seem unapproachable, but not enough to feel entirely cold. The dark baseball cap didn’t do much to hide his sharp jawline or those piercing eyes that looked like they’d seen too much.

“Well,” she said finally, lifting her glass toward him. “If I’m ‘doll,’ what does that make you?”

He leaned back slightly, his lips twitching in a barely-there smile. “Depends. What do I look like?”

Her eyes flickered over him, sharp and assessing. “Like trouble,” she said, her tone playful but her gaze unwavering.

“Not wrong,” he muttered, taking another sip of his beer.

“What’s your name?” she asked, leaning her elbow on the bar as she turned to face him fully.

He hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He hadn’t used his name in a long time—hadn’t really needed to. But something about her made him want to offer something, even if it was just a piece of himself.

“James,” he said after a beat.

Her lips curled again. “James, huh? Classic. I like it. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, testing the sound. It rolled off his tongue easily, naturally. He liked it, too.

She smiled and took another sip of her martini, and for a moment, the two of them sat in comfortable silence, the noise of the bar fading into the background.

“What brings you here, James?” she asked eventually, her tone casual but curious.

“Needed a drink,” he replied, deflecting. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, like she could tell he was holding back, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded toward his nearly empty beer. “Well, clearly, you need another. You stick to beer, or are you brave enough to try something new?”

He raised a brow, intrigued by the challenge in her voice. “What do you have in mind, Kitten?”

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and he swore he saw her cheeks flush slightly at the nickname. “You’re really doubling down on the pet names, huh?”

“They fit,” he said simply, his tone low and steady.

“Sure they do.” She waved the bartender over and ordered two shots of plum brandy. “You like plums, James?”

His eyes flicked to her, sharp and almost suspicious. “What makes you ask?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know. You just give me... vintage vibes. And plums feel vintage, don’t they? Old-fashioned. Classic.”

The corner of his mouth twitched again, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen so far. “Yeah. I like plums.”

She grinned, triumphant, and slid one of the shots toward him. “Then this one’s on me.”

He studied her for a moment, the shot glass sitting untouched between them. She was bold, confident, and had an edge to her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But there was something else—something beneath the surface that reminded him of home, of the way things used to be.

With a slight nod, he picked up the glass. “To... plums,” he said, his voice tinged with dry amusement.

She clinked her glass against his. “To plums.”

They drank, and the burn of the brandy was immediate, warming him from the inside out. It wasn’t just the alcohol, though. It was her—the way she laughed softly as she set her glass down, the way her eyes sparkled in the dim light.

“So, Y/N,” he said, leaning closer, his tone teasing but her gaze steady. “What’s your deal? You just passing through, or are you sticking around for a while?”

“Depends,” she said, mirroring her earlier words. “What’s here to stick around for?”

He smirked, his gloved fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

She raised an eyebrow at his response, smirking as she leaned forward. “Oh, I see how it is. The mysterious type. Let me guess, James—you’re one of those guys who likes to stay quiet, brood in the corner, and make everyone wonder what’s going on in your head.”

Bucky tilted his head, her words hitting closer to home than she likely intended. “You saying that like it’s a bad thing?” he asked, his tone light but with a teasing edge.

“It’s not,” she admitted, swirling the remnants of her drink in her glass. “It’s intriguing. Gets people to ask questions. But it’s also a little predictable, don’t you think? Quiet guy, dark past, hiding out in a bar? Feels like I’ve read that novel before.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and almost sheepish. “Maybe. But not every story’s the same, Kitten.”

She leaned back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other as she considered him. “Alright, then. Prove it. Tell me something that makes your story different.”

Bucky paused, caught off guard by the challenge. He wasn’t used to opening up, especially not to strangers. But there was something about her—something in the way she met his gaze without flinching, as if she wasn’t afraid of what she might find there.

“I don’t talk much about myself,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “Not to most people.”

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s... complicated.”

She rolled her eyes, though there was no real malice in it. “Everything’s complicated. You’ll have to do better than that.”

Bucky studied her for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Let’s just say I’ve made some mistakes,” he said eventually. “Big ones.”

Her expression softened slightly, though she didn’t let up. “Who hasn’t? The question is, are you trying to fix them?”

He blinked, her words striking a chord he hadn’t expected. It was such a simple question, but it carried a weight he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving his. “Honest. I like that.”

He frowned slightly, confused by her response. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said with a small shrug. “Most people try to hide the messy parts of themselves. Pretend they’ve got it all figured out. It’s refreshing to hear someone admit they don’t have all the answers.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, his fingers idly tracing the edge of his empty beer bottle.

“Alright, James,” she said after a moment, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Your turn. Ask me something.”

He raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by her sudden shift in focus. “What makes you think I’ve got questions?”

“Because everyone does,” she said simply. “And I’m an open book. Mostly.”

He considered her for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. “Why the plum martini?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t strike me as the fruity drink type,” he said, his tone even but his eyes sharp. “Figured you’d go for whiskey or something stronger.”

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough. But the plum martini’s got a little history for me. My grandma used to have this plum tree in her backyard, and every summer, we’d make jam together. She’d let me sneak a few plums while we worked, even though she pretended to scold me for it. Drinking this kind of reminds me of her.”

Bucky’s expression softened, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sounds like she was a good woman.”

“She was,” Y/N said with a small nod. “Tough as nails, but with a soft spot for me. Guess I get my attitude from her.”

“I can see that,” he said, his tone teasing.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or an insult, James?”

“A compliment,” he assured her, the smile on his face growing just a fraction.

“Good,” she said, leaning forward and resting her chin in her hand. “Because I was about to ask if you wanted to step outside and say that again.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You’d win, Kitten. No question.”

“Damn right, I would,” she said with a wink.

The playful banter continued, the walls Bucky had built around himself slowly starting to crumble. She was disarming in a way he hadn’t expected—sharp and witty, but also warm and understanding.

As the minutes stretched into hours, they moved from teasing quips to deeper conversations. She told him about her job at a local record store, how she spent her days surrounded by vinyl and vintage posters. He listened intently, asking questions and even surprising her with his knowledge of jazz and swing music from the ’40s.

“You really are an old soul, huh?” she teased, nudging his arm lightly.

“Something like that,” he said, his tone laced with something she couldn’t quite place—nostalgia, maybe, or regret.

She didn’t push, sensing that there were things he wasn’t ready to share. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, a small smile playing on her lips. “Well, I think it’s charming.”

“Charming?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “You don’t see that kind of old-school vibe much these days. It’s refreshing.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the way his gaze softened told her he appreciated the sentiment.

Eventually, the bartender called last call, and the reality of the night coming to an end settled over them.

“Guess it’s time to head out,” she said, standing and grabbing her jacket.

Bucky stood as well, his movements slow and deliberate. “You walking home?”

“Unless you’re offering to walk me,” she said, her tone teasing but hopeful.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Come on, Doll. Let’s get you home.”

Bucky shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked beside her, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The streets were quiet, the hum of distant traffic the only sound besides their footsteps on the pavement. Y/N glanced up at him occasionally, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"You didn’t have to walk me home, you know," she said, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, keeping his eyes ahead. "Didn’t feel right letting you walk alone. City can get rough at night."

She smirked, tilting her head toward him. "Are you saying you’re my knight in shining armor, James?"

"Not exactly," he said with a faint chuckle, "but I’ll take the compliment."

The banter came easy now, the tension from earlier melting away with every step. When they reached her apartment building, she paused at the stoop, turning to face him.

"This is me," she said, gesturing to the old brick building behind her.

He nodded, rocking back on his heels. "Looks like a nice place."

"It’s got charm," she said with a grin. "Wanna come in for a drink? Least I can do for my, uh, unofficial bodyguard."

Bucky hesitated, the offer catching him off guard. But there was no hesitation in her gaze, only warmth and genuine curiosity.

"Sure," he said finally.

Her apartment was small but cozy, with mismatched furniture and walls lined with shelves full of books and records. A soft lamp in the corner bathed the room in a warm golden glow, and the faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air.

"Make yourself at home," she said, tossing her keys onto a side table and slipping off her jacket. She disappeared into the kitchen, calling out, "What’s your poison? I’ve got beer, wine, whiskey...water, if you’re feeling particularly adventurous."

Bucky chuckled, sitting on the edge of the couch. "Whiskey’s good."

A moment later, she returned with two glasses, handing one to him before plopping down on the couch beside him. She tucked her legs under her, her knee brushing against his as she turned to face him.

"Cheers," she said, raising her glass.

He clinked his glass against hers, the sound soft and almost intimate in the quiet room.

They sipped in silence for a moment before she leaned back against the cushions, studying him.

"So, James," she began, a playful lilt in her voice. "What’s your story? And don’t give me that ‘it’s complicated’ nonsense again."

He smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "It really is complicated."

"Try me," she said, her gaze steady and unflinching.

He exhaled, his fingers tapping against the glass. He wasn’t sure why he felt the urge to share, but something about her made him feel...safe.

"I’ve been through some things," he said carefully. "Seen and done things I’m not proud of. Spent a long time trying to figure out who I am, where I fit in the world."

Her expression softened, but she didn’t interrupt. She just waited, giving him the space to continue.

"It’s like...coming back to a world that’s moved on without you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "And you’re not sure if you even belong in it anymore."

She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving his. "That sounds...lonely."

"It is," he admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "You’re not alone now," she said gently. "You’ve got people who care about you, right? Friends? Family?"

He hesitated, the weight of her question settling over him. "Some," he said eventually. "But it’s not always easy to let them in."

"Why not?" she asked, her tone curious rather than judgmental.

He looked down at his glass, his thumb tracing the rim. "Because once people see the real you—the parts you try to hide—they might not stick around."

She frowned, her grip on his arm tightening slightly. "That’s bullshit, James. The people who matter won’t run. And anyone who does? They’re not worth your time."

Her words were blunt, but they carried a conviction that he couldn’t ignore.

"You really believe that?" he asked, looking up at her.

"I do," she said firmly. "Life’s too short to waste on people who don’t see your worth."

He studied her for a long moment, the warmth in her eyes stirring something deep inside him.

"Thanks," he said softly.

She smiled, her thumb brushing against his arm before she pulled her hand away. "Anytime."

They fell into an easy conversation after that, the topics shifting from heavy to light. She told him about her favorite records and her dream of opening her own little shop one day. He shared bits and pieces about his love for old books and the time he spent tinkering with motorcycles.

The hours slipped by, the world outside fading away as they sat there, two strangers slowly becoming something more.

Eventually, her head tipped back against the couch, her eyes growing heavy. She stifled a yawn, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"Guess I kept you longer than I planned," she said with a sheepish smile.

"I don’t mind," he said, his voice low and steady.

She looked at him for a moment, her smile softening. "Well, if you ever feel like talking again, you know where to find me."

Bucky nodded, his lips curving into a small smile. "I’ll keep that in mind, Kitten."

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Good. Now, let me grab you a blanket for the couch. It’s too late for you to be wandering the streets."

Y/N stood up and stretched, the hem of her shirt rising slightly as she reached her arms overhead. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the motion before he quickly looked away, focusing instead on his half-empty glass of whiskey.

"You don’t have to do that," he said, standing and setting his glass down on the coffee table. "I can head out—it’s no problem."

She turned, hands on her hips, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "What kind of host would I be if I let you walk home at this hour? Besides, You weren’t kidding about the city being rough at night. And I doubt you want to deal with random drunks yelling at you from across the street."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You think I can’t handle myself?"

"Oh, I’m sure you can," she said with a chuckle, walking past him to grab a blanket from a basket near the armchair. "But why bother when you can have a perfectly good couch right here?"

Bucky hesitated, the warmth of her offer sinking in. It had been a long time since someone had cared about his well-being like this.

"Alright," he said finally, his voice soft. "If you’re sure."

"I’m sure," she said, tossing the blanket onto the couch. "Pillow’s over there if you need it."

As she stepped closer, her expression softened, the teasing replaced by something quieter, more sincere. "You’ve had enough lonely nights, haven’t you?"

Her words hit him like a gentle blow, not painful but heavy with understanding. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Well, not tonight," she said firmly, her hand brushing his arm as she stepped back. "Now, do you want another drink, or are you good?"

"I’m good," he said, his voice a little rough.

"Alright, then." She gave him one last smile before heading toward her bedroom. "Goodnight, Bucky." -

"Y/N."

It wasn’t loud—barely above a murmur—but there was a weight to it that made her pause. She glanced back over her shoulder, finding him still standing near the couch, one hand brushing through his hair like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

"Yeah?" she prompted, tilting her head slightly, her expression curious.

His lips parted, then closed, like the words were stuck somewhere deep. For a second, she thought he might brush it off entirely. But then his blue eyes found hers, and there was something unguarded in his gaze, something raw.

"I..." he started, his voice quiet. "I don’t want to be alone tonight."

Her chest tightened at the vulnerability laced in his tone. It wasn’t desperation—Bucky Barnes didn’t seem like the kind of man who begged for anything. It was more like an admission, one that cost him something to say out loud.

"Okay," she said simply, her voice soft but steady.

She turned fully toward him, walking back into the living room. Her bare feet padded lightly on the floor as she stopped just a few feet from him, close enough to see the flicker of relief in his expression.

"I’ll stay for a while," she added after a beat. "Come sit with me?"

For a moment, he just looked at her, like he was trying to figure out if she really meant it. Then, with a small nod, he moved toward the couch.

She settled into the cushions, patting the spot beside her. He hesitated only briefly before sitting down, the proximity bringing a faint warmth to the air between them.

"Do you do this for all the random guys you meet in bars?" he asked, the faintest hint of a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

"Only the ones who don’t bolt when I ask for their names," she shot back, her tone light but her eyes steady on him.

A low chuckle escaped him, and she felt the tension in the room ease slightly.

"Guess I made the cut, then," he said, leaning back slightly, his metal arm resting along the back of the couch.

"Guess so," she replied, leaning back as well, her legs tucked under her.

For a moment, they sat in silence. It wasn’t awkward, though. If anything, it felt... comfortable. Like they didn’t need to fill the space with words.

"Thanks," he said suddenly, his voice soft.

"For what?" she asked, glancing at him.

"For... this," he said, gesturing vaguely to the room. "For not asking too many questions. For not running the other way when you saw—" He stopped himself, his jaw tightening for just a second.

"Hey," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You don’t owe me an explanation. Whatever it is, whoever you are—it doesn’t scare me, okay?"

His eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment, she thought he might say something else. But then he just nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a quiet smile.

She reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing lightly against his metal hand where it rested on the back of the couch.

"It’s not the first time I’ve met someone carrying a heavy load," she said softly. "And it probably won’t be the last. But you don’t have to carry it alone tonight."

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly at her words. He looked down at her hand, the way it lingered against his, warm and steady.

"Why are you so nice to me?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving.

"Maybe I just have a soft spot for mysterious guys with good taste in whiskey," she teased lightly, though her tone held an undercurrent of sincerity.

His lips twitched into a real smile this time, one that reached his eyes. "Lucky me, then."

They sat there for a while longer, the only sound the steady tick of the antique clock on the mantle.

She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, and Bucky wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against his was a stark contrast to the cold metal of his prosthetic, a reminder of the vast differences between them. Yet, in that moment, all he could feel was the connection that had grown stronger with each shared secret, each stolen glance.

The couch was not built for two, but somehow, they made it work. Her legs curled underneath her, and she fit perfectly into the space beside him. He could feel her breathing, slow and steady, as she dozed off, the events of the evening catching up to her.

Bucky watched her, his heart beating a rhythm that was both familiar and new at the same time.

He knew he should be on guard, his instincts honed for danger, but all he wanted was to hold her, to keep her safe, to let the peace of this moment seep into the cracks of his damaged soul.

With a gentle sigh, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a brief second.

The room grew quiet, the air thick with the unspoken tension that had been building between them all evening. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, and she searched his gaze for any hint of what was to come. The moonlight spilled through the window, casting a silver glow across her features, making her look ethereal, like a creature not of this world.

Bucky’s thumb traced the line of her jaw, the pad of his finger brushing over her cheekbone before his hand found its way into the softness of her hair.

He felt the warmth of her breath against his neck as she exhaled a contented sigh.

Slowly, as if afraid she might break, he leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving hers. The space between them narrowed, the anticipation building like the crescendo of a symphony. Their lips met, tentative at first, as if testing the waters of a newfound intimacy. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as the walls they’d built around themselves crumbled to dust. It was a kiss filled with the promise of something more, a silent declaration of the feelings they’d both been too afraid to voice.

Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers playing with the ends of his hair as she pulled him closer. His hand found the small of her back, the touch sending shivers down her spine. The kiss grew hotter, more insistent, as the passion between them ignited like a wildfire. They broke apart for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their eyes searching the other’s for any sign of doubt or regret. Finding none, Bucky leaned back in, capturing her mouth once more in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

Their bodies aligned, and she could feel the steady thump of his heart against her chest.

——-smut——-smut———smut——-smut——-smut——-smut——-

It was a comforting rhythm, a reminder that he was real, that this moment was not just a figment of her imagination. His hands moved to the zipper of her jacket, pulling it down with a whisper of sound. She shrugged it off, her eyes never leaving his as she revealed the soft fabric of her blouse beneath. The air grew charged as he placed his hand on her bare skin, the warmth of his touch sending waves of desire through her.

Their kisses grew more frantic as they moved closer, the fabric of their clothes seeming to melt away as their hands explored each other. The couch creaked under their weight as they shifted, the springs protesting against the passion that had taken them over. They were a tangle of limbs and emotions, a dance of need and want that neither could resist.

Bucky’s hand found the zipper of her skirt, his movements deliberate and sure. She lifted her hips, allowing him to slide it down her legs. The cool air kissed her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pulled her closer, his hand moving to the hem of her shirt, lifting it to expose her stomach. His thumb traced the delicate line of her belly button, sending a thrill through her.

He paused, his hand hovering just above the fabric, waiting for her permission. She nodded, her breath hitching in her throat. He pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in just her bra. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but she trusted him, knew that he would never hurt her. He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as he placed a gentle kiss just above the lace.

Their hearts pounded in sync as they continued to explore, each touch a new discovery, each kiss a silent confession of their feelings.

The night was theirs, a stolen moment in time where they could be free of their pasts and the weight of their futures. For now, there was only the here and now, and the unspoken promise of what was to come.

The couch was not a bed, but it was where they found themselves, tangled in the fabric of their desires. He took his time, his hands worshiping her body as if it were the first time he’d ever felt skin so soft, so alive. She responded with equal fervor, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer.

Their movements grew more urgent, the tension coiling tight within them, demanding release. With a groan, Bucky lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms tight around his neck. He carried her down the hallway, her heart racing as she felt the cold floorboards under her bare feet. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle, casting flickering shadows across the walls. He laid her down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers.

Their kisses grew deeper as Bucky unhooked her bra, his gaze dropping to the swell of her breasts.

He kissed the delicate skin, tracing the lines of her collarbone with his tongue before taking a nipple into his mouth. She arched her back, a gasp escaping her as he teased her with his teeth. His hands roamed her body, memorizing every curve, every inch of her softness. The sensation was overwhelming, a symphony of pleasure that resonated through her very core.

Her own hands were not idle, her fingertips exploring the planes of his chest, the ripples of his abs, and the firm muscle beneath. She felt the metal of his prosthetic against her skin and paused for a moment, her eyes searching his for explanation, soon after she realized she didn’t care right now. He took her hand, kissing her palm, before placing it back, his gaze never leaving hers. He was hers, all of him, the good and the broken.

With trembling fingers, she unbuckled his belt, the clank of the metal echoing through the room. He helped her, his eyes filled with a fierce longing that matched her own. They shed their remaining clothes, the fabric pooling around them on the floor. His skin was hot against hers, the scars a map of battles fought and lives saved. She kissed each one, her lips a silent promise to cherish every part of him.

Their bodies aligned once more, and she could feel his arousal, hard and insistent, against her thigh. He hovered above her, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. She offered none, her eyes filled with a fierce love that was as unyielding as he was. With a whispered, “Darling,” he circled his thumb over her clit.

Her hips bucked at the contact, her body begging for more. He complied, his touch growing firmer, more insistent. She was so wet, so ready, and he reveled in the sweet sounds of pleasure she made, the way her breath hitched and her body quivered under his touch. He slid two fingers inside her, the warmth of her welcoming him home. She was tight, a perfect fit for him, and he knew he was lost, irrevocably, to the feel of her, the taste of her, the way she made him feel alive again.

Her hands roamed his body, tracing the scars that crisscrossed his chest and abdomen. They were a testament to his past, but she didn’t see them as marks of weakness; she saw them as badges of honor, proof of his strength and resilience. Her fingertips danced over the smooth metal of his arm, and she marveled at the way it felt under her touch. He was a man of contrasts, of steel and velvet, and she wanted all of him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Kitten,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and ragged. “I want to taste every inch of you, make you scream my name until you lose your voice.”

Her cheeks flushed at his dirty talk, but it only served to stoke the fire burning within her. He knew exactly what to say to make her blush, to make her feel wanted. His words painted a picture of carnality that had her heart racing and her body aching for more. She felt his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she knew she wanted the same.

“Bucky, please,” she whimpered, her voice thick with need.

With a smirk that was both predatory and tender, he whispered, “You’re dripping for me, doll. Does the thought of my cock filling you up turn you on?” His words were like a dark promise, a seductive taunt that had her biting her bottom lip. She nodded, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she felt a gush between her legs.

“Good girl,” he praised, his thumb flicking over her clit in response to her desperate plea. His cock was heavy and thick, a testament to his desire for her. He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a deep, passionate kiss that made her toes curl. He could feel her hips rocking against his hand, her body begging for release.

As their kisses grew more fevered, Bucky slid his fingers from her pussy, bringing them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, tasting her sweetness, watching the way her eyes widened at the erotic act. A soft moan escaped her lips, and he knew she was on the edge. He lowered his head, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and down to her chest. He took one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, while his hand continued to work her clit. The sight of her, writhing beneath him, was almost too much to bear.

With a groan, he positioned himself between her legs, his cock poised at her entrance. He paused, his gaze locking onto hers. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gruff with need. She nodded, her eyes dark with desire.

Slowly, he pushed into her, inch by inch, watching her face for any sign of pain. She was tight, a taut heat, like a fist gripping him, but she was slick and welcoming, her body yielding to his. He felt her walls stretch around him, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. He’d been with other women before, but none had ever felt like this, like he was coming home after a long and brutal war.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, darling,” he muttered, his jaw clenched with the effort to go slow. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in short gasps as she felt herself stretch to accommodate him. She nodded, her nails digging into his back. “Good, good girl, let me in,” he encouraged, his voice a low growl of pleasure.

The moment he was fully seated within her, he stilled, savoring the feeling of being connected to her in this most intimate way. He knew he could lose himself in her, drown in the warmth of her body, the sweetness of her kisses, and he never wanted it to end. He watched her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth parted in a silent plea for more. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin as he began to move.

Her legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper, her hips rising to meet every thrust. The bed protested, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady rhythm that matched the beat of their hearts. Bucky’s hand moved from her hair to her throat, his thumb tracing the pulse that hammered there. He could feel her tension building, her body coiling tight as a spring.

“Look at me, Kitten,” he ordered, his voice a rough whisper. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his. He could see the passion, the love, the trust in their depths, and it was more beautiful than any starlit sky he’d ever seen. The intensity of their connection was almost too much to bear as he began to move in earnest, his strokes deep and powerful. “Such a good girl for me, so good..”

Her eyes never left his as she whispered “Daddy…”, her voice a soft prayer that seemed to echo through the room. Her legs tightened around him, urging him closer, deeper, as if she could somehow pull him into her very soul. The feeling of her surrounding him was more intoxicating than any serum, more potent than any battle high.

He groaned at the sound of that word on her lips, his hips driving into her with renewed vigor. It was a name he’d never been called, but it fit him like a glove, a role he’d never known he’d crave. She was his kitten, his doll, his darling, and he was her protector, her daddy.

Their rhythm grew more erratic, their kisses messy and desperate as they chased their release. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, her body tightening like a vice. He knew she was close, could hear the whimpers that fell from her lips as he picked up his pace. His own orgasm was building, a pressure that grew with every thrust.

“Come for me, doll,” he whispered, his voice a mix of grit and desire.

“I want to feel you come around my cock. Let me feel it.”

Her eyes widened, and she threw her head back, her back arching as the orgasm crashed over her like a wave. She screamed out his name, her body shaking with the force of it. He watched her, his own pleasure building, his strokes becoming more erratic as he felt her walls convulsing around him.

The sight of her, writhing in ecstasy, was almost too much to handle.

Bucky’s grip tightened on her hips, his thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. He could feel his own orgasm approaching, the pressure in his balls becoming unbearable. He kissed her again, his tongue delving deep as he felt her muscles tighten around him. His hand moved from her throat to her cheek, holding her face as if he was afraid she’d slip away.

With a final, desperate groan, he pulled out, the head of his cock glistening with her release.

He hovered over her, his eyes never leaving hers as he painted her pussy with streams of cum.

The sight of him, lost in his own release, was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen. She felt a tingle race through her, a sense of belonging and satisfaction that she hadn’t known was possible.

They lay there for a moment, their breaths mingling, their bodies slick with sweat. He leaned down, kissing her softly, the taste of herself on his lips. It was an intimate moment, one that she knew she’d never forget. He rolled off her, pulling her close, their limbs still entwined. The bed was a mess of rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, a testament to the passion they’d just shared.

Her cheeks burned with the memory of her slip, the word “Daddy” still hanging in the air between them. She felt vulnerable, exposed, but also a thrill that she’d never experienced before. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Daddy, huh? That was unexpected, Kitten,” he said, his voice filled with affectionate amusement.

He kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I like it,” he admitted, his thumb caressing her cheek. “You make me feel like I can be more than just the Winter Soldier. Like maybe, just maybe, I can be something to someone outside of battle too.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the warmth of his affection wrapping around her like a blanket. She didn’t know how to respond, so instead, she curled closer to him, her head nestling into the crook of his neck. His arms tightened around her, his chest rising and falling with deep, contented breaths.

“I’m sorry, James,” she whispered after a moment, her voice small and uncertain. She hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even realized it until the words had left her lips. The term had just slipped out, a product of the intense intimacy of the moment, a word that had once brought her comfort in a different context.

He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a soft smile that made her heart flutter, he said, “Don’t be sorry, doll. It’s just us here. No judgment. If it’s what you need, I’ll be your daddy.” He said lightheartedly, His thumb traced lazy circles on her cheek, the tender gesture at odds with the possessive growl in his voice.

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was a comfort she hadn’t realized she craved, and the way he said it, so raw and unfiltered, made her feel cherished. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Thanks.” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

——————————————————————————————————

Hey, guys. Hope you liked this, needed to write some Civil war Bucky!!! 😩

Requests Open!

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky smut #Civil war bucky

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littleslaywrites · 1 day ago

Text

pas de deux- adagio | spencer reid x bau!reader

pt 2 of pas de deux - based on request by @kakamixoxo

summary: you substitute for your friend who is a ballet teacher, and spencer helps you work out your lesson plans. set like 3 months after part one.

word count: 1.3k

cw: f!reader, literally just straight fluff, brief mention of past injury

Spencer was never graceful. You’d seen him trip over enough curbs to know. Luckily for him, you thought his awareness was endearing, like a six foot tall baby deer.

You were the opposite, poised from your years of ballet training. You were finally off of your crutches and back in the studio. When you first started your internship at Quantico, you took classes at a local studio. The teacher who was in charge of your class became one of your first friends in Virginia, and you had stayed close ever since.

When she called you asking to fill in for her while she took a week long vacation, you jumped at the opportunity. You thought it’d be the perfect way to get back into dance after your recovery.

One night after work, you went to the studio to work on what you planned on teaching. Spencer insisted on going with you, claiming he was worried you’d hurt yourself again. Truthfully, he just wanted to watch you dance.

Spencer was your biggest fan. You try not to think about the money he’d spent on tickets to your shows, gifts themed for each one, and date nights afterwards. So, naturally, if he had the chance to see you alone, in your natural habitat of the ballet studio, he was going to take the opportunity.

Arriving at the studio, you changed into a leotard and sweatpants while Spencer sat on the wood floor of the studio. He felt awkward surrounded by the walls lined with barres and mirrors, your world feeling foreign to him.

You step into the room, joining him on the floor to stretch.

“You know, it’d help to have a student to practice my lesson plans on,” you say, stretching to the side as you touch your nose to your knee.

“Would it?” Spencer replies.

“I’d get stretching if I were you,” you say. He tries to follow your lead, but his inflexibility hinders him. You giggle at him, trying to figure out how to help him follow along.

Eventually, you give up, standing to lead him to the barre.

“Since the class is for early elementary schoolers, everything is for beginners, which means you’ll be perfect for testing it out,” you say as you take hold of the barre, facing him.

He mirrors your action, saying “I’m glad to know I have the same skill set as a five-year-old.”

You giggle at him, and turn out your feet into first position. “Can you do that for me?” you ask, watching his feet.

He clumsily shuffles his feet along the floor, gripping onto the barre.

“Not like that Spencer, turn out from your hips.”

He nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t understand from the way he scoots around. “Like this?”

“Not exactly... here, let me—“ you adjust him yourself, grabbing just above his knee to try to pry him into first position.

He gets it down after about a minute of fumbling, finally in a successful first position, despite his arms still swinging without grace. “Is this right?” he asks, proud of himself.

“Sure,” you say, letting himself bask in his small victory. “So first we’ll do the plié combination.”

“That means ‘fold’ in French,” he replies.

“Right,” you dismiss him, trying to move onto the next set of instructions. Before you can, he bends at the waist, assuming the step based on the translation.

“Oh, Spencer, that’s not—“ you pull him up by the back of his shirt. You giggle at him, causing him to follow suit. “Your genius doesn’t exactly extend to ballet, honey.”

He pulls you in for a quick kiss. You let him, but before he can prolong it, you step back. “You know, you’re not as helpful as I expected you to be.”

He juts out his lip in an exaggerated pout. “I’m trying my best,” he sighs, looking up at you with the puppy dog eyes he knows you can’t resist.

You sigh, matching his pretend exasperation. “It’s just a bend at the knees, like this,” you say while modeling the move. His eyes are trained on you, trying to take in every movement you make. He tries to match you, but his height makes everything he does look rather gangly.

You try to fake that you’re impressed, but he sees right through you. “Maybe it’s because I’m still in my work clothes,” he gives you a goofy smile.

You smile back. “That has to be it,” you reply, giving up on the idea of trying to teach him.

“When do we get to the part where I lift you up?” he asks, moving close to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Usually you have to master the basics first,” you raise your eyebrows at him, “but we can give it a try.” He releases you to swiftly grab you just above your knees, carrying you to the center of the floor.

“Spencer, I don’t think this is an official move,” you giggle, feet wiggling in the air.

“Then I invented it, so they can name it after me.”

“The Reid Potato Sack lift?” you tease him as he sets you on the floor, hands sliding down your back as you roll off his shoulders and put your feet on the ground. He keeps hold of you, swaying as his arms cage you close to his chest.

“What am I supposed to teach these kids tomorrow?” you say when he leans down and captures your lips in a light kiss.

“Are you saying I’m a distraction?” He pinches your side.

You squeal, responding with a simple “yes”.

He smiles, backing up while taking one of your hands. He brings it above your head to prompt you to turn. You twirl under him, looking at his smile when you make your way around to face him again.

“Teach me a lift,” he says, eyes telling you it’s a genuine request.

“Okay,” you start, moving so you’re both facing the mirror. “Here’s an easy one. I’m going to lift my leg in an arabesque and you'll lift me like that.”

He nods, hanging on to every word you say. You move one of his hands under your ribs as you raise your leg. You move his other to the top of the thigh that’s raised in the arabesque.

“You’ll just bend your knees and lift,” you say. He does as you say, lifting you until you’re above his head. You raise your arms, scrutinizing your technique in the mirror.

Spencer is also watching you in the mirror, but not to judge your extensions or turnout. Instead, he was admiring you. He could feel the love you had for ballet in your focus. He loved to see you in your element. Of course, he saw the way you excelled as a profiler from the time you started your internship, but the passion you had for your art was what he truly admired about you.

In that moment, he thought he could watch you forever, but you interrupted his thoughts saying, “you ought to put me down now, Spencer.”

Reluctantly, he eased you to the ground, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you both faced the mirror.

“I think we might have actually found a ballet step you’re good at,” you say, smiling at the way he leans down and rests his head on your shoulder.

“All I did was stand there,” he replies, smiling at your reflection in the mirror.

“Exactly,” you say, blushing under his stare.

His hands move down to your waist, and he pulls you to face him. “I’ll stand and do nothing forever,” he says as he rests his forehead against yours, “if I can watch you dance."

You smile as he kisses your forehead and pulls back to look at you. Reluctantly, you pull away, grabbing your phone out of your bag to figure out the music you were going to use in class.

Plugging it into the speakers, you glance into the mirror to see Spencer still staring at you with a lovesick smile on his face.

“Stop staring,” you say smiling. “It’s distracting me.”

“Only when you stop distracting me by being so cute.”

You roll your eyes at the cheesy comment, heart secretly jumping at the obvious love he had for you.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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focusonkayjay · 1 day ago

Text

between the ride and the roses (3)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: argument, jungkook is mean, OC is mean. both have high egos.

A/N: part 3 is here <3 i'm having sm fun writing this. also, i got this anonymous ask which stated i was using chat-gpt for my stories. i didn't like the tone of their message so i blocked them. however, i just want to say i have not used chat-gpt for my stories. i take time out of my day to type this story because i really want to put content out there that people might enjoy reading. i want to make stories that i have always wanted to read, but never found. truthfully, i did use chat gpt for the names of a few flowers, plants and bouquet combinations though, because i'm not a professional florist and i have no idea about flowers. i hope that's understandable. anyways, thank u for reading. let me know your thoughts :)

part 3: blooming grudges

The sun is setting, painting the street in hues of orange and pink, but the peace you’re so badly yearning for is shattered by the rumble of motorcycles and boisterous laughter right outside your shop. It’s been a week since Jungkook’s shop had started running and it has surprisingly quickly become a hotspot for bikers to gather in the evenings. The constant noise and chaos spill over into your once-quiet corner of the neighborhood.

You have no idea what they do and what the point of all these gatherings are, but you dread it every single time you hear a bunch of men lounging outside your shop.

As the evening progresses, you’re in the middle of arranging a bouquet when the sharp crash of breaking pottery jolts you out of your work. Heart pounding, you glance outside and see one of Jungkook’s biker friends near the sidewalk through your window. Still confused, you stand up and storm out to see what the hell had happened.

Anger surges through your veins as you spot the man casually standing there as if he didn’t just knock over one of your handmade ceramic pots off the display stand that was right outside your shop. “What the hell is wrong with you??!!?!” you snap, glaring at the man and then at the jagged pieces of your pot just lying there, near his feet.

The biker barely spares you a glance, shrugging nonchalantly. “Relax. It’s just a pot.” he says.

“Just a pot?” you repeat, your voice rising. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort went into that? Or do you only care about things you can rev or ride?” you feel your heart thumping as your anger skyrockets.

Before the man can respond, Jungkook suddenly steps out of the crowd near his shop. His leather jacket gleams in the fading light, and his dark eyes flicker to the broken pot before landing on you. “What’s going on?” he questions, his voice low and calm, but there’s an edge of warning to it.

You point at the shards of pottery. “What’s going on? One of your friends just broke my pot and doesn’t even have the decency to apologize!” Jungkook looks at his friend, who just shrugs, then back at you. “It was an accident.” he dismisses, his tone clipped. “I’ll pay for it.” he continues and you watch his friend just leave the scene, completely unbothered.

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pay for it? Do you think that solves everything? This isn’t just about the pot, Jungkook. Every night, this street turns into a circus because of your shop. My customers can’t park anymore, and now your friends are trashing my things.” you begin, moving your hands as you speak, unable to remain calm anymore.

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer. “Look, I’m sorry about the pot, but don’t act like I’m the reason your shop isn’t doing well. Maybe it’s not the noise. Maybe people just don’t care about overpriced flowers.”

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expect. “Wow,” you say, your voice trembling with anger. “You really think you’re better than everyone, don’t you? Just because you’ve got your flashy bikes and your little gang of followers?” you ignore the way your heart twitches at how he had just disrespected you and your business.

His expression hardens. “Better than everyone? No. But at least I’m not the one blaming other people for my problems. You’re so focused on what’s wrong with my shop, but maybe the issue isn’t me. Maybe it’s you.”

Your fists clench at your sides. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been here for years, building this business from the ground up. And you waltz in, turning this neighborhood into a mess, and act like you’re doing everyone a favor?” you see red as you fight with him, unable to contain the flow of words that are spilling out of your mouth.

Jungkook’s voice sharpens and he doesn’t hold back. “You think I don’t work hard? That I haven’t sacrificed everything to make this shop work? You don’t know anything about me. But sure, keep throwing stones from your little glass house.” he counters harshly.

“Oh so you can say anything about my business, but i can’t? You can talk about me like you know me, but i can’t?” There’s venom in your voice as you argue and Jungkook clenches his jaw, trying to calm himself down.

The tension between the two of you is suffocating and each word cuts like a blade. As an awkward silence fills the air, you shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.” you breathily say. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” you add.

“And you...” he fires back, “care so much about your damn shop that you can’t see past your own damn ego.” You look at him with your lips parted, unable to come up with a comeback. You feel your eyes sting and nothing makes sense anymore. You hate it here. You hate him.

Before you can respond, one of the bikers calls out to Jungkook, and he turns away, his shoulders tense. He doesn’t bother looking back at you and just leaves.

Fuming, you crouch down to pick up the broken shards of your pot. Your hands tremble as you scoop up the jagged pieces, and a sharp piece slices right through your finger. You hiss, dropping the shard as blood wells up from the cut. Your eyes tear up as you watch your finger bleed. You were so done with this man and his stupid shop.

Ignoring the sting, you finish cleaning up and head back inside, pressing a tissue to your finger. You flip the sign on your door, deciding to call it a day since you weren’t really in the mood to face any new customers. You retreat to your counter, where you slump into your chair, frustrated, exhausted and seething.

Inside Throttle and Torque, the atmosphere is much quieter, now that the bikers have left. Jungkook leans against the counter, his expression stormy as he thinks of the interaction he had with you 4 hours ago. Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok sit nearby, watching him with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.

“You look like you’re about to punch something.” Jimin says, breaking the silence. Jungkook scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s that flower shop owner again. She’s impossible.”

“Y/N?” Hoseok grins. “What did she do this time?” he questions. Jungkook glares at him. “One of the guys broke her pot, and she went off like it was the end of the world. Then she starts blaming me for everything—says I’m ruining the whole street. Like it’s my fault her shop isn’t getting customers.” he speaks, his tone filled with annoyance.

“Isn’t it, though?” Jimin teases, earning a sharp look from Jungkook. Yoongi, raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s more to it than just a pot.” he states.

“She doesn’t get it hyung...” Jungkook says, his voice growing louder. “She acts like she’s the only one who works hard, like I haven’t busted my ass to get this place running. And then she has the nerve to call me selfish? Like she knows anything about me.”

“Sounds like she hit a nerve.” Hoseok snorts, a smirk on his face. “Shut up,” Jungkook mutters, but the irritation in his voice betrays him. “She thinks she’s so perfect, but all she does is complain. It’s like she’s looking for reasons to hate me.” he rolls his eyes.

“Maybe she is.” Yoongi says, his tone thoughtful. “Or maybe you’ve already given her enough reasons to hate you.” he continues. The room falls silent, and Jungkook scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Whatever. She’s not worth it.” he dismisses, not wanting to think of you or the raging encounter he just had with you.

the next day; The morning sun spills through the large windows of your flower shop as you rearrange a fresh batch of chrysanthemums. Despite the beautiful blooms around you, there’s a heaviness in your heart. Last night’s argument with Jungkook replays in your mind, his sharp words still stinging.

The little bell above the door jingles, pulling you out from your trance. You turn to see a man walking in—a face you recognize from the group that always lingers outside Jungkook’s shop and sometimes with him as well. “Hi.” he says, his voice calm but kind. “Y/N, right?”

You blink in surprise. “Yeah… and you’re one of Jungkook’s friends, i suppose.” you say, moving away from the flowers as dry your hands on your apron. You notice how his eyes fall on the bandage wrapped around your finger, so you quickly hide it by crossing your arms over your chest. He pretends like he’s seen nothing and nods, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’m Yoongi. I came here because I wanted to talk to you, if you don’t mind.” he says, his voice tender.

Your instinct is to put up a wall, but something about his tone disarms you. “If this is about last night—”

“It is.” Yoongi interrupts gently. “But not in the way you think.” He steps closer, his gaze steady but non-threatening. “I’m here to apologize. On behalf of Jungkook. And… the idiot who broke your pot.”

You blink again, caught off guard. “You’re apologizing? Why?” you gulp, something about this, not sitting right with you. “Because he won’t.” Yoongi says with a faint smile, though his tone carries a hint of seriousness. “Jungkook’s stubborn. He knows he messed up, but he’s too proud to admit it outright. And, well, someone has to try to make things right.” he admits, blinking his eyes.

Yoongi observes your expression, noticing how you still look quite unconvinced. His face softens as he continues. “Jungkook’s not a bad guy, Y/N. He just… rough around the edges. Give him time. He doesn’t always know how to handle things. He gets defensive when he feels cornered.”

“Cornered?” you echo, frowning. “I wasn’t cornering him. I just wanted some peace.” you defend yourself. “I know.” Yoongi agrees. “And I think, deep down, he knows it too. But he’s been under a lot of pressure with the shop, and sometimes he lashes out without meaning to. Not that it excuses anything.” he adds quickly. “You didn’t deserve what he said. Or how he treated you. ”

His honesty surprises you, and for the first time, you feel a part of the weight lift off from your chest. “Why are you telling me this?” you suddenly ask, eyeing him even though, deep down you’re trying your best to believe everything this man says.

“Because I think you’re both better than this petty back-and-forth... interactions.” Yoongi says simply, shrugging. “And maybe, if you understand where he’s coming from, it’ll help. Or not. I don’t know. I just thought you deserved an actual apology, even if it’s not from him directly.” he finishes, flashing you a small, kind smile.

For a moment, you’re silent, processing his words. Then, to your own surprise, you smile faintly. “You’re a good friend, Yoongi.” you softly say, earning a chuckle from him as he scratches the back of his neck. “Someone’s gotta keep him in check.” he grins.

After a moment, he steps back towards the door, pausing before leaving. “Take care, Y/N. And if he steps out of line again, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him.” he nods at you and you laugh lightly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “I’ll keep that in mind.” you say, waving at him.

Jungkook sits on the edge of the counter, a wrench in hand, intently focused as he works while Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi lounge around. The conversation flows between them, lighthearted at first, until Yoongi brings up his visit to your shop.

“So....” Yoongi begins casually, “I stopped by Y/N’s shop today.” he says. Jungkook freezes for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “What for?” he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“To apologize.” Yoongi replies, leaning back in his chair. “On your behalf. Figured someone had to.” he adds. Jimin snickers, while Hoseok whistles low. “Apologizing for Jungkook? That’s new.” he laughs as Jimin gives him a high five.

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, but his attention stays on Yoongi. “What’d she say?” he questions and Yoongi shrugs. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear your name, but we talked. She’s not as tough as she seems, you know. She’s just… tired. Your shop and the noise—it’s really messing with her.” he explains calmly.

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his jaw tightening. “And she’s hurt, by the way.” Yoongi adds, his tone sharper. “I noticed her hand. I guess she cut her finger while picking up the broken pieces of the pot your friend broke yesterday.” he explains.

The guilt that had been simmering in Jungkook since last night, suddenly boils over. “Why didn’t she say anything?” he snaps, more to himself than to his friends. “Maybe because you were too busy arguing with her to notice,” Yoongi retorts, his voice calm but firm. “She’s not your enemy, Jungkook. Stop treating her like one.” he says gently, hoping the younger one understands.

The room goes quiet, the weight of Yoongi’s words settling over them. Jimin and Hoseok exchange a glance, sensing the tension. Jungkook exhales heavily, tossing the wrench aside. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” he admits quietly. “I just—” He stops, frustration lacing his voice.

“You don’t know how to back down,” Jimin finishes for him, a teasing edge to his tone. Jungkook glares at him but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans back against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “What else did she say to you?” he questions Yoongi. He smirks slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

Jungkook’s glare intensifies, and Yoongi chuckles. “Relax. She was civil. We just talked about you a little and that’s all. She thinks I’m the ‘good friend,’ by the way.” he smiles to himself.

The comment makes Jungkook’s stomach churn with something he doesn’t want to name—guilt, jealousy, maybe both. He stays quiet as the others laugh, his thoughts swirling.

He’s messed up, and he knows it. And now, the thought of you opening up to someone else, even Yoongi, twists something deep inside him. For the first time, he wonders if the damage he’s caused can ever be repaired.

It’s just another day—or at least you hope it will be. After the pot-breaking incident a week ago, things between you and Jungkook have only grown tenser. Though Yoongi apologized to you on behalf of his actions, you were still very annoyed by the way things still hadn’t changed.

His friends still gather outside his shop in the evenings, their bikes parked so close to your store it’s nearly impossible for customers to walk in without squeezing past them. You’ve been trying to keep your head down, avoiding any unnecessary interaction with Jungkook.

However, despite the ongoing tension you can’t help but notice how hardworking Jungkook is. For a brief moment, you feel a twinge of guilt as you think about the bad blood between you guys. Maybe you need to start putting your differences aside and try to get along with him.

You shake your head, telling yourself not to think about that. You leave that thought for another day, when you’re less busy and have more time to waste.

A new shipment of flowers and pots arrives after about an hour. You’re juggling the chaos of directing the delivery workers when disaster strikes. One of the crates slips from a worker’s hands, scattering flowers and dirt all across the curb—and, unfortunately, onto one of the shiny motorcycles parked outside Jungkook’s shop.

You barely have time to assess the mess before Jungkook storms out. His face is a mask of irritation, and his voice cuts like a blade. “What the hell is this?” he immediately snaps, gesturing at the scattered soil and dirt-streaked bike.

You sigh, already bracing yourself. “It was an accident. We’ll clean it up right away.” you calmly say, knowing damn well this wasn’t something you were about to get to away with. “An accident?” he repeats, his tone laced with disbelief. “You really need to start taking responsibility, Y/N. You can’t just keep saying it’s an accident every time you screw something up.” he angrily says.

Your frustration bubbles over. “Excuse me? This is the first time I’ve caused any inconvenience to you. Meanwhile, your friends park their bikes outside my shop every evening, blocking the entrance, and I don’t say a thing!” you argue.

“Oh, here we go...” Jungkook retorts, his voice rising. “You’re always whining about the bikes. Maybe if you managed your deliveries better, this wouldn’t have happened.” he scoffs loudly.

“Don’t turn this on me!!” you snap, stepping closer. “You act like this street belongs to you and your gang of bikers. Maybe if you had a little consideration for others, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation!” you stomp your feet at the last word, wanting this interaction to just end. But were you going to be the first one to stop? no.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might say something even harsher. But he just shakes his head, his expression dark. “You know what? Forget it. Clean up your mess and stay out of my way.” He coldly says as he turns around and walks back into his shop, leaving you standing there with your hands clenched into fists.

After the chaos of the day, you’re sitting in your shop long after closing time, staring blankly at the broken pieces of another pot that lays lifeless on a piece of paper on your counter —a casualty of the earlier mishap. You close your eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

Yoongi’s voice echoes in your mind from the other day, when he’d come into your shop to apologize on Jungkook’s behalf after the first pot-breaking incident. “Jungkook’s not a bad guy.” Yoongi had said, his voice calm and reassuring. “He’s just… rough around the edges. Give him time.”

You had wanted to believe him. For a moment, you even thought there might be a chance for you and Jungkook to coexist peacefully. But now? Now you feel stupid for ever entertaining the idea. Jungkook has made it perfectly clear that he has no intention of meeting you halfway.

You sigh, rubbing your face. You didn’t like how this whole thing had been affecting you. It was draining and just sooooo not worth it.

Forcing yourself to get up, you clean up one last time and then proceed to lock up the shop, so that you can finally head home. As you begin your walk home, you notice how the streets are quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic is the only sound accompanying your footsteps.

Your thoughts are heavy, clouded by everything that’s happened. The arguments, the pot-breaking, the way Jungkook’s words today had stung more than you wanted to admit. You wonder if you’re overthinking things, but the lump in your throat says otherwise.

You hug your jacket tighter against the cool night air, eyes focused on the pavement in front of you as you walk briskly towards your house.

Jungkook stands outside his shop, ready to lock up he watches you walk down the stairs at your entrance and cross the road, not noticing his presence at all. His chest feels tight, an unfamiliar mix of guilt and something he can’t quite name. He doesn’t like how things escalated today. He doesn’t like the way your voice cracked when you argued with him.

As much as he hates to admit it, he knows he’s been unfair. It wasn’t just about the dirt on the bike or the delivery mishap—it was the way you stood up to him, pointing out how inconsiderate he and his friends had been. You weren’t wrong.

He steps away from his shop, just to get a clearer view of your walking form. He watches intently, observing the way your shoulders are hunched slightly as if the weight of the world rests on them. The sight stirs something protective in him. It’s late, the streets are too quiet, and he knows better than anyone the kind of dangers that can lurk around in the dark.

For a split second, he considers calling out to you so that he can offer you a ride home. But then his pride kicks in, the argument from earlier replaying in his head. His ego won’t let him take that step—not yet.

Instead, Jungkook makes a quick decision. He leaves his bike parked outside his shop, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and starts following you from a distance. You walk briskly, your mind elsewhere, completely unaware of the quiet footsteps trailing behind you. Jungkook keeps his distance, making sure to stay out of your line of sight.

His gaze scans the dimly lit street, the quiet unnerving even to him. He can’t help but feel protective as he watches your small frame move through the shadowy paths. Every now and then, he glances around, hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He follows you for several blocks, his pace matching yours but always a few steps behind. When you pause to adjust the strap of your bag or check the time on your phone, he stops, leaning casually against a lamppost or pretending to examine something in a shop window.

You finally reach your building, pausing to fumble with your keys at the front door. Jungkook stays back, watching as you disappear inside. Only when he hears the click of the door locking do his shoulders relax slightly. He lets out a long breath, rubbing his nape as he turns to head back towards his shop.

As he walks back, his mind is restless. He thinks he’s ridiculous for following you all the way home just to make sure you reach safely. “Why do you care so much?” he mutters to himself, kicking a loose pebble on the sidewalk. But he already knows the answer, even if he’s not ready to admit it.

When he finally reaches his shop, his bike still waiting where he left it, Jungkook glances once more in the direction of your shop. A strange mixture of guilt and something warmer lingers in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do about it, so he just sighs, climbs onto his bike, and decides to head home.

While he rides back home that night, a quiet resolve settles in his chest—a growing realization that maybe, just maybe, he owes you more than just a silent apology.

<- part 2 // part 4->

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #bts fic #enemies to lovers #jungkook fanfiction

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