#loves the feeling of just tearing someone apart

[seungisms]

perv!roommate!felix who absolutely loves living with you, he couldn’t ask for a better roommate. but sometimes you just make it so hard for him and his poor cock, especially when you’re prancing around in pretty little skirts and tiny tops that just seem to get smaller and smaller everyday

perv!roommate!felix who starts to think you almost do it on purpose, just to see him squirm and trip over his words when you catch him staring at your ass - blood rushing to his dick at the mere idea of you wanting his eyes on you

perv!roommate!felix who swears up and down he’s nothing but a gentleman, he just wants you to feel comfortable around him. but he often times finds himself laying alone in his room at night, briefs tangled around his ankles and dick so swollen and needy and begging for something other than his hand, imagining it was your cunt he was dribbling into instead of his hand - wanting nothing more than to bend you over and make you apologise on his cock for being such a goddamn tease. he’ll hardly be able to meet your eyes the next morning

perv!roommate!felix who has to excuse himself every morning when you walk around in your pathetic excuse of a towel, having the nerve to actually bend down right in front him, and he almost loses all self-control the second he steals a glance at your glistening pussy, looking so empty and sad without a cock spreading it open. and he can do nothing but get himself off yet again, too passive to actually call you out on your behaviour and he swears his dick is gonna fall off if he keeps relying on his hand, just praying he gets at least one taste of your sweet cunt in this lifetime

perv!roommate!felix who innocently offers to do your laundry for you every week, feeling his cock twitch in excitement when you happily hand your basket over, barely noticing your underwear drawer getting smaller and smaller as the weeks go by

perv!roommate!felix who feels so much shame when he sees the panties he’s collected peaking out from under his pillow, knowing he should just give them back to you already but they’re all so sticky and used with his cum - he couldn’t possibly stand the thought of you knowing how depraved he actually is

perv!roommate!felix who despite all his best efforts has an obsession with stealing your underwear and using them to get himself off, fisting them around his cock and imagining it was your pretty pussy he was fucking up into instead, or shoving them into his mouth to muffle the slutty groans he lets out while humping his pillow, a mess of drool and spit and cum staining the cute pink fabric

perv!roommate!felix who can’t stand the thought of your ever bringing someone home, so he’ll claim he’s just too uncomfortable with a stranger being in his apartment - but really he just hates the idea of someone else spreading you open on their cock, knowing he could fuck you so much better if you would just give him one chance

perv!roommate!felix who likes picking fights with you when you make a mess in the apartment, wanting nothing more than to fuck away the cute pout sitting on your lips when he scolds you

perv!roommate!felix who thinks you’re so pretty if it weren’t for your mouth, almost begging him to force his cock down your throat and shut you up once and for all

perv!roommate!felix who can’t find it in himself to be mad at you for long, especially not when he stumbles past your room later that night - he didn’t mean to look!! he swears!! but he’s never heard his name whined to prettily, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sloppy way you fuck your fingers into your pussy, itching to be filled with something bigger and heavier

perv!roommate!felix who hates himself for it but he just has to pull out his phone and snap a few photos in this state, all drooling and sweaty and fucked out for him

perv!roommate!felix who hardly ever invites the rest of the boys over, wanting to keep you all to himself - he especially hates watching you flirt with hyunjin all night, dying to fuck the bratty attitude out of you for even daring to think of anyone other than him

perv!roommate!felix who has to settle for fisting your used panties around his dick yet again, so desperately wishing it was your cute cunt he was rubbing against instead of the stupid frilly underwear you love so much

perv!roommate!felix who sometimes sneaks into your room when you’ve left for the day, curling into your sheets and using the lingering scent of your shampoo to coax himself to orgasm - eyes shifting away when you question him about the weird wet patch left behind on your sheets when you come home

perv!roommate!felix who finds himself ‘accidentally’  walking in on you in the shower more times than he can count, tumbling out half-assed apologies but he always seems to take a tad too long to actually leave

perv!roommate!felix who tries his best to act like he wasn’t dying to fuck you, but he could feel himself cave in with each passing day, especially with the fuck me eyes you follow him around with that he was so sure he was making up in his head - until finally he gives in and finds himself slipping into your bed one night when the swell of his dick is just too hard to ignore - pressing his hot cock against your clothed cunt and whimpering out when he feels your wetness build up against the fabric of your underwear, begging him to dip in just once and he just hopes and prays you won’t wake up to find him rutting against you like pervert

perv!roommate!felix who can only think with his dick and can’t help himself from desperately humping against you, the feeling of your warmth flooding his cock and his fingers are slipping down to nudge your panties to the side before he can even stop himself, swollen dick bumping against your pussy and he’s so far gone he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he wanted to

perv!roommate!felix who gets too carried away, he knows he should stop now before you wake up and find your sweet roommate playing with your pussy, but you're whimpering in your sleep and bucking down to meet his shallow thrusts, just an inch he tells himself and he’ll leave you alone

perv!roommate!felix who can’t stop at just an inch, he’s just too greedy - before he knows it he’s stuffed you full and you're all he can think, see or taste. and he doesn't know you've been awake this whole time, legs spread and waiting for him to make his move. and you're parting your lips to mock him for being so pathetic that he'd have to crawl into your bed at night but before you can he’s hammering into you like a man starved, embarrassed sobs of please, i’m so sorry, just need t’ cum falling from his lips as he chases his high - drunk on the feel of your plush walls swallowing him up

perv!roommate!felix who gets one taste of you and can’t seem to get enough

[kurooh]

★ QUIRK MISHAPS DURING SEX ! — BNHA

⊹₊˚. featuring various characters and their quirks acting up during sex.

☆ warnings: 18+ content, f! reader, crack & cringe

after a long day, izuku’s excited to come home and fall asleep in your arms. but when you surprise him with the barest amount of clothing on, it’s hard to remember anything about being tired. it’s hot and sweaty, desperate kisses exchanged as you push him through the hallway and into the bedroom. now, he gets too excited, and hoists you up with ease—he’s about to show off, toss you onto the bed and really make your pussy ache. it’s a hot moment until one for all sparks through his veins and you’re thrown gracelessly onto the bed, which slides back and smashes an imprint into the wall. lowkey gives you whiplash and izuku sobs when he sees you in a neck brace or when he’s in home depot picking out the paint to fix the wall.

we’ve known that katsuki sweats buckets. it doesn’t come as a surprise when he’s sweating like a pig in missionary, beads of salt falling from his jaw to your chest and making the room stink of BO. he’s clapping your asscheeks, you’re both forgetting about the sweat; you make the mistake of squirming away from the sensitivity and this is when things go downhill FAST. “fuck,” he bites his lip, frustrated as his clammy hand finds his cock and tries to re-insert it. kat is struggling, so you reach a hand down to help him out, and he groans when he gets the tip in, starts moving too impatiently. sparks fly from his hands, tiny little explosions sounding off against his cock and your inner thighs/asshole. after all the screaming wraps up, you sarcastically ask him if he needs to be cuffed to the bed while you ride him. he just gets more upset because he’s genuinely considering it after this event and sits in silence for the next half hour. (+bonus: he’s exploded his dick n balls while jerking off and only does it in the shower now)

out of everyone, shoto’s acts up the most. you could suck his soul out his dick, then stand up to see fire catching on the left side of his hair or arm. the worst of it happens the day you reunite after having been apart for two weeks, since he was away in another part of the country with another group of heroes. you were going at it pretty fucking hard, throwing it back on him while he thoughtlessly babbled out words of horny praise. you came explosively, and he did as well! a smaller version of his great glacial aegir split through the bedroom wall and half of his chest was on fire. accidentally burned some of your hair off :(

typically eijirou has excellent control over his quirk. typically. he’d gotten hit by a small-time quirk eraser and decided he could forget about it by burying himself seven inches deep inside you or eating your pussy like a decadent dessert. all was well, you were in the middle of switching positions and tugging his cock into your fist for a handjob. halfway through it, eijirou’s quirk returned, just as you were sliding your hand down. it hurt badly and he couldn’t stop apologizing furing the bandaging process although it wasn’t his fault. honestly he couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky you’d both been that his dick wasn’t anywhere else when it happened.

did someone say human vibrator? denki’s the best man for the job! he’s got you spread out on the bed and shaking, his dutiful fingers pressed into your clit while he shallowly fucks in and out of you. it’s a kink he’s come to love, because he can feel the gentle shocks right in the tip of his cock. your mouth hangs open lamely, too blissed out to say anything other than his name in a cute, whiny tone. it seems very safe until his brain briefly short circuits when your cunt squeezes down particularly hard around him; a startling zap of electricity shoots through the both of you and you fly apart like repelling magnets. he’s on the floor grabbing his electrocuted dick with tears in his eyes while you hiss in pain on the bed, rolling around like you’re on fire.

i’m crying hanta has a mild bondage kink. his quirk hasn’t ever presented itself as a problem, besides the rare elbow to the nose while changing positions, but his idea of safety is proved wrong on your anniversary. he’d been buttering you up the whole day, growing more lovesick with each gift or compliment given to you. later that night, you were elaborately tied/taped to a chair, engaging in a little roleplay with him. sexy stockholm syndrome quickly turned into taken 2008 when even HE couldn’t get you out of the fucking bondage. the tape was too sticky and too adhesive to get off of the floor, let alone your skin. so, hanta came up with the best solution he could. he used some scissors to cut the tape away from the chair and floor, picked it up (with you taped into it, naked), and hauled you into the backseat of the car. you were promptly taken to the ER, where the medical staff and waiting patients gawked at the scene in front of them: a sloppily dressed pro hero holding a chair with his naked girlfriend elaborately taped to it. he shed a few humiliated tears in the corner while the doctors painlessly got the tape off your skin.

tamaki’s just a wild card. random shit happens during sex, like him accidentally moaning your nickname for HIM, or slapping his own ass. it’s easy for him to get flustered, for wires in his brain to cross incorrectly. he literally had sukiyaki with his friends for lunch at a new place near his agency, and then you were riding him to oblivion on his desk when you stopped by after hours to distract him from a stack of paperwork. everything was more than fine, euphoric to be exact, and you just turned back to look at your bouncing ass, ignoring the sudden flush on his face. you were instead met with the sight of his newly sprouted cow leg hanging over the edge of the desk.

keigo’s wings are highly sensitive, since every single feather is telepathically connected to his brain. brushing your hand through the red plumes or tugging harshly at them can either yield the sexiest noises, or the most embarrassing. keigo’s quick to shuffle away when he feels your fingers getting close to the base of his wings, but one day, he’s not fast enough. you’re pinned under him, one hand tugging through his curls while the other sifts through downy feathers at his back. it happens too quickly for him to register it—an innocent tug to his scalp, then another at the base of his wings at the same time. it’s like squeezing a rubber chicken. keigo squawks like a bird, loud and shrill and startling you into a fit of laughter. he literally rolls off of you and wraps his wings around himself, feeling his dick become flaccid and soft. physically cannot become aroused if you mention it at all, and the memory hits him whenever he looks at or hears a bird.

[quarterlifekitty]

Thinking about Simon’s girl who sniffed his neglected, insecure, traumatized ass out like a bloodhound and dug in

You remind him a lot of price. Always trying to take in strays, always stubbornly trying to succeed in the jobs where others failed. It just took one look at his apartment when he opened the door— you’d brought a misdelivered package to him— and you locked in.

Suddenly all your meals somehow had doubled portions. Must’ve misread the recipe. You’re accidentally buying little things, not realizing you already had one squirreled away. Any god— once he steps foot in your apartment?

Call that man Sam Puckett the way he’s always at your place and almost forgetting he has his own place he could go to. He can’t help it— you have a full couch with lots of pillows and a knit blanket. The place always smells of something— fresh baking, stir fry, candles, fresh farmer’s market produce. He puts on a little more weight. Stop buying caloriemate. Hair is a little shinier (he’s using your products in the shower, let’s be real). He hasn’t been burned in ages (you always keep sunscreen with you and insist on applying it to his pale skin).

As a child, he knew the burden that he was. Even as his mother loved him, she couldn’t hide every sigh and slump of the shoulders as she damned near went hungry some nights trying to keep him alive while his father’s pay went straight to his tab. It never left him. But you ignore any and all of his attempts to be low maintainence, to take up less resources— you want every rich taste and pleasure of the world that you know to be his as well. And you’re so happy when he lets you give.

It’s never forceful. Just kind. “Try this, honey— I think you’ll like it,” holding a forkful towards him. He forgets to even start asking you out— your relationship blurs so quickly from all the domesticity. You can only ply someone deprived with love for so long before they want to kiss you every day forever. Before he knows it he’s about to meet your fucking parents, palms sweating as he tries to remember how this all came to be— this whirlwind you’ve swept him up in.

But where he expects a shovel talk, he finds none. They reveal, amused, that it’s always been this way with you. Your childhood home was like a clubhouse. None of your friends had stable lives growing up— you just gravitated towards them and wanted them to have everything that you had. Suddenly the way you so speedily co-opted him makes sense. And they’re not the least bit wary of the man with the dark, leering gaze that’s covered in scars and built like a brick shithouse. Because they know your eyes are better than a jewelers lens when it comes to evaluating quality.

That night he keeps excusing himself to the bathroom to try to hold back the tears and collect himself because all of the sudden he knows what a home and a family are supposed to look like, and you all want him to be a part of it. You didn’t take him to meet your parents because you wanted to see that they approved of him— you took him because you wanted to show off how proud you were of your latest find. A fleck of gold among grains of sand. A piece of sea glass, once a sharp, discarded thing now tumbled smooth and kept in your pocket.

Simon likes feeling kept.

[bbyg4rl]

gentle love

cw: flangst, argument, happy ending !

summary: a heated argument leaves you and JJ reeling.

a/n: you can assume this is after the topper thing in s1 but its not really specific so it can be at any point in time! im having such a bad day need him so bad :/

JJ had never known love like yours. He had never known love that was gentle, a love so soft it wrapped around him like warmth. A love so nurturing, it could sustain him more than food ever could.

You were his own slice of heaven—his safe space. The one thing that could restore him when the world knocked him down.

He reveled in the way you looked at him—like he was the only boy in the world, the only one that mattered. The way your eyes softened and your lips curved into a smile in his presence sent a spark through him he couldn’t explain. Being with you was the best feeling in the world. He loved knowing you were his, and even more, that he was yours.

But like all beautiful things, your relationship had its struggles too. JJ wasn’t one for communication. When something overwhelmed him, he’d turn tail and run—usually straight into your arms. But when it was you who stirred those feelings in him, he was lost, unsure where to go or what to do.

All couples fight—it’s normal. Not everyone can get along all the time, right?

The argument started like any other. You were angry at him for getting into a fight with some random Kook, and he brushed it off, insisting he was fine and that you didn’t need to worry. But this time was different. This time, it wasn’t just a fight—he had pulled a gun on someone.

Normally, you would have talked him through his anger, calmed him down like you always did. But the weight of exam stress had made you sharper, less patient, and he didn’t take it well.

Blunt words were exchanged, tempers flared. His frustration boiled over as he snapped, “You never understand me.” His voice was raw, edged with something almost desperate. Then, quieter, almost to himself, he muttered, “Maybe this just isn’t working anymore.”

Before you could respond, before the weight of his words could fully sink in, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Tears welled in your eyes as you collapsed onto the floor, clutching your knees as waves of pain rippled through your chest. You had never fought with JJ like this before.

Your fingers found the necklace around your throat, trembling as you rubbed your thumb frantically over the J-initial locket. What did he mean by that? His words echoed in your mind like a broken record, each repetition cutting deeper.

Did this mean you had to take the necklace off? That you had lost him? The questions swirled in your head, suffocating you as you sobbed against the cold bedroom floor.

Eventually, the exhaustion, the heartbreak, and the sheer weight of it all pulled you under, dragging you into unconsciousness.

You're only woken up by JJ's calloused hands gently cupping your jaw, pulling you into him. Blinking up at him, you find tears streaming down his face, his expression shattered with guilt. His breath trembles, and then—a wrecked sob escapes him, your name breaking apart on his lips.

You assume he let himself in through the window, just like he had countless times before. A quick glance at the clock tells you it’s been an hour since he left—an hour that felt like an eternity.

Looking back at him, you pull him close, a mix of relief and heartbreak crashing over you. He wraps you in a tight embrace, arms locking around you as if afraid you might slip away. His grip is desperate, unyielding—like he’s holding on for dear life.

You sit in silence, finding comfort in each other’s arms as your breathing slows, your hearts steadying together. The quiet wraps around you like a fragile truce until, finally, his voice cuts through it.

"I’m sorry."

"I'm sorry too" you whisper back, your voice barely above a breath. You know he was only doing what he could in the circumstances he was trapped in.

"I should've let you explain before I snapped at you." You look up at him, a pang of guilt striking your heart as the words leave your lips.

"It's alright," he murmurs, his southern drawl soft, almost sheepish. "I shouldn't have yelled at ya either. I was bein’ a dick."

You both settle back into silence, the weight of unspoken emotions lingering between you. Then, his voice breaks through again.

"I hope you know I’ll never leave your side. Whatever I said before... I was just angry. I didn’t mean it."

His words tumble out in a rush, his tone almost frantic—like he’s trying to take his previous words back, like he’s just stepped on a puppy’s tail and is desperate to make it right.

You press your palm against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart as he apologizes. It’s a silent gesture—one that tells him you believe him, that you accept his apology without needing to say a word.

"I could get rid of the gun if you want me to" he murmurs softly against your temple. "You mean more to me than a piece of metal."

"No, it’s okay. Keep it. Just… don’t get into trouble." Your voice is quiet but firm, a stern edge creeping in.

He nods without argument, pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you. Then, with a sigh, he buries himself in the crook of your neck, as if that’s the only place he truly feels safe.

You turn your head, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Please don’t ever tell me you’d leave me again," you whisper, your voice trembling, fragile with fear.

He lifts his gaze to yours, guilt pooling in his eyes. "Never" he vows before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Then, without a word, he reaches for the ring on his pinky finger, sliding it off effortlessly. He gestures for your hand, taking it in his own as he carefully slips the small ring onto your finger.

"Never again." he murmurs, a silent promise, a quiet commitment to never hurt you.

You cradle his face in your hands, pulling him into a slow, lingering kiss—deep and unhurried, saying everything words couldn’t. He was yours, and you were his. That was all that mattered.

Entwined in each other’s arms, you stay on the floor, neither willing to let go. The bed is forgotten, lost in the warmth of his touch and the quiet intensity that lingers between you.

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[loafysainz]

FIGHTING TOGETHER | CL 16

charles leclerc x fem!reader

warn: angst, bit fluff, grief & loss

summary: When Y/N’s cancer worsens despite treatment, the doctor says there’s no cure—only time. She begins to lose hope, but Charles refuses to let her give up, promising they’ll fight together, no matter what.

The world around Y/N blurred, the sterile white walls of the hospital room closing in as the doctor’s words settled into her bones like ice.

“The treatments aren’t working as we hoped. Instead of slowing it down, the cancer is progressing faster than expected.”

She couldn’t breathe. Her hands trembled on her lap, fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater as she forced herself to listen. To understand. But the words felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else’s story, not hers.

“At this stage, aggressive treatments will only prolong your life. There is no definitive cure.”

No cure.

Y/N’s heart clenched so tightly it physically hurt. She wanted to scream, to ask how this was even possible. They had caught it early. They had started treatment immediately. Everything should have been fine.

She turned her head, eyes searching for the one person she needed most.

Charles sat beside her, unnervingly still. His lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His green eyes—usually filled with warmth and love—were wide, blank with shock.

She had never seen him like this before. Charles was always the strong one, the one who could make her feel safe even in the worst situations. But now, he looked just as lost as she felt.

“I’ll give you both some time.” The doctor’s voice was distant, muffled, before footsteps faded away.

Silence filled the room.

Y/N exhaled shakily, her throat burning. “Charles…” Her voice cracked, and the sound of it made something snap inside him.

Charles reached for her hands instantly, gripping them so tightly it almost hurt. His warmth, his presence—it was the only thing tethering her to reality.

“Baby,” he finally spoke, his voice low, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “We’ll fight this. Together.”

Her heart ached. “Charles, you heard what the doctor said. There’s no—”

“No.” His voice was firm this time, and he shook his head sharply. “Don’t say that. Don’t say it like it’s over.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him. His jaw was clenched, his eyes glassy, and his entire body was tense as if he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

“Charles,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “I don’t want to die.”

A sharp inhale.

Charles closed his eyes for a brief second before shifting forward, pulling her into his arms. “You won’t,” he murmured into her hair, his voice trembling. “You won’t, because I won’t let you. We’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll be here every step of the way, Y/N. I swear it.”

His arms were wrapped around her so tightly, as if he could hold her together when everything else was falling apart.

A sob tore from her throat. She didn’t even realize she was crying until Charles pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks with the gentlest touch, wiping her tears away with his thumbs.

“You’re not alone,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’ll carry this with you, no matter how heavy it gets. We’ll fight this. Every single day, we’ll fight.”

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as if letting go would mean losing everything.

And in that moment, even with fear consuming her whole, she believed him. Because Charles had never broken a promise to her before.

And she prayed he never would.

—

One day, the first time Y/N noticed her hair falling out, it was just a few strands on her pillow. Nothing alarming. Nothing too serious. But then it started happening more often—on her sheets, in the shower, tangled between Charles’ fingers when he stroked her head absentmindedly.

She tried not to care. She tried to tell herself it was just hair, that it would grow back. But when she looked in the mirror and saw how thin it had become, how the once-full locks that Charles used to run his hands through now barely framed her face, she couldn’t help it—she broke down.

That night, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the strands that had fallen onto her lap, eyes burning as she stared at the evidence of her body deteriorating. She heard Charles come in, but she didn’t move.

“Mon amour?” His voice was soft, hesitant.

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she whispered, “I look awful.”

Charles knelt before her, hands resting gently on her knees. “No, you don’t.”

“Charles, please,” she choked out, her grip tightening around the hair in her hands. “Look at me. My hair is falling out. Soon, I’ll be—” She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’ll be bald. I’ll look sick. I’ll look—”

“Beautiful,” he interrupted, his voice trembling. “You’ll look beautiful.”

She let out a broken laugh, shaking her head. “You’re just saying that.”

Charles reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I have never lied to you about this. Since the moment I met you, you have been the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And nothing—nothing—will ever change that.”

Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but Charles wasn’t done. He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You think your hair makes you beautiful? It’s not just your hair, mon amour. It’s you. It’s the way you smile. It’s the way you talk. It’s the way you exist.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop. “And even if—no, when—you lose all of it, I will still look at you like I did the first time I saw you. Because you are you. And you are mine.”

She broke. A sob tore through her chest, and Charles pulled her into his arms, holding her as she cried into his shoulder. He pressed his lips against her temple, whispering, “You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You will always be beautiful.”

But no matter how much he reassured her, no matter how many times he told her she was still the most breathtaking person he had ever seen, it didn’t change the truth of her condition. It didn’t stop the way her body was failing her.

And Charles saw it.

Every single day.

Every single moment.

Every time she winced in pain but tried to smile for him. Every time she grew too tired to even sit up properly. Every time she held his hand during treatment, her grip weak and trembling.

He cried often.

Silently.

When she was asleep, when she wasn’t looking, when he excused himself to the bathroom just to let out a sob. He wasn’t strong enough to watch the love of his life suffer like this.

And then—then came the news that shattered what little hope he had left.

The doctor sat across from him in the dimly lit office, the air thick with unspoken grief. “Charles,” the doctor began carefully, “we’ve done everything we can.”

Charles’ hands clenched into fists. “No.”

“The treatments—”

“Try something else.” His voice was tight, desperate.

The doctor sighed. “At this point, they’re only prolonging her life. They’re not helping anymore.”

Charles felt like he had been punched in the chest. “So, what? You’re telling me to just sit back and watch her die?”

The doctor remained quiet.

Charles shot up from his chair, slamming his hands against the desk. “I am paying you to save her!” His voice shook with barely contained rage. “You’re supposed to help her! Do your job!”

“Charles,” the doctor said firmly, “I understand this is difficult, but we have reached a point where—”

"NO!" He was breathing heavily now, his entire body trembling. “I refuse to accept that. I will do anything—I don’t care how much it costs, I don’t care what I have to do—fix her!” His voice cracked on the last two words.

The doctor’s expression softened, but his next words were like a dagger to Charles’ heart.

“All we can do now is make her comfortable.”

Charles felt his knees buckle. His hands slid off the desk, his breath coming out in short, painful gasps. “No,” he whispered. “Please. Please, no.”

“She doesn’t know,” the doctor continued gently. “I wanted to tell you first.”

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, his chest aching with the weight of it all. He wanted to scream, to cry, to fight against the reality of the situation. But all he could do was stand there, shattered and broken.

Because no matter how much he loved her—no matter how much he was willing to give up, to sacrifice, to suffer for her—love alone wasn’t enough to save her.

—

The words left Charles’ lips in a trembling whisper, his forehead pressed against Y/N’s. His fingers gently cradled the back of her head, careful, as if she were made of the most fragile glass. He kissed her forehead, lingering, as if he could seal his love into her skin—so deep that it would anchor her here, in this world, with him.

She had been quiet for a long time. Too long.

The hospital room was bathed in a soft glow from the evening sun filtering through the half-closed blinds, but it did nothing to warm the cold fear seeping into Charles’ bones. Y/N had always been his light, but now, she was dimming right in front of him, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Then, in a voice so quiet, so fragile that it shattered him, she spoke.

“If I go early, it’s okay… We’ll meet again there, I’ll still be the same. I’m sorry for the imperfect journey”

Charles' breath caught in his throat.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

"No," he whispered, his voice breaking instantly. "No, don’t say that. You will survive. You will stay here with me. You’re not going anywhere, do you hear me? You’re not going anywhere without my permission."

His hands tightened around hers, desperate, as if holding her tightly enough would keep her grounded to this world. His eyes burned, but he couldn't stop the tears that spilled freely, tracking down his face as he pressed kiss after kiss to her forehead, her cheeks, her nose—wherever he could reach.

"You’re not leaving me," he repeated, his voice unsteady. "Not now, not ever. I won’t allow it."

Y/N only smiled softly, tired, weak, but filled with the kind of love that made it hurt even more. She raised a shaky hand, brushing her fingertips against his damp cheek, wiping away his tears even though she was the one who needed comforting. That was always who she was—selfless, too good, too kind.

And it only made it harder to watch her suffer.

The pain was unbearable.

Y/N clenched the sheets beneath her, her knuckles white, her entire body trembling. Every inch of her ached, burned, screamed. It felt like she was being torn apart from the inside out, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Charles,” she whimpered, her breath hitching.

He was by her side in an instant.

“I’m here, my love. I’m right here,” he murmured, his fingers immediately finding hers, threading them together, grounding her.

Tears gathered in Y/N’s eyes as she gasped for breath, her body convulsing under the agony that never seemed to stop. She had been strong for so long, had fought for so long—but right now, she just wanted it to end. She wanted the pain to go away.

“Charles…” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper. “It hurts. It hurts so much. I— I can’t—”

Charles swallowed thickly, his own pain reflected in the way his lips quivered. His chest tightened as he watched her struggle, completely helpless to take away her suffering. It was the most agonizing thing he had ever experienced.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I want to stop. I can’t do this anymore. Please, let me stop.”

Charles felt like his entire world was crumbling.

His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as he fought against the sob threatening to choke him. He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her damp cheeks, his own tears falling freely.

His strong, beautiful girl. His Y/N.

He wanted to give her the world, but all he could do now was hold her through the pain.

“Shh, it’s okay, Mon Amour,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s okay. The pain will go away soon, I promise. Just hold on a little longer, alright?”

Y/N whimpered, her fingers tightening around his as another wave of pain wracked through her body.

Charles felt utterly powerless.

“You can do this,” he murmured, pressing a shaky kiss to her forehead. “You’re strong. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

Another broken sob escaped his lips as he kissed her again, over and over, desperate and full of love.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. We’ll get through this together, I promise.”

But the truth was—he didn’t know how much longer they had left.

And it was killing him.

—

“I want to see Lord Perceval become World Champion this year.”

Charles paused, his hand tightening around the spoon he was holding. He had been feeding Y/N carefully, making sure she ate properly despite how weak she had become. But her words made his heart sink. He didn’t answer immediately, staring at her as if hoping he had misheard.

“When are you leaving for the circuit?” she asked softly, looking up at him with tired but expectant eyes.

Charles swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. He set the spoon down gently on the tray and reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear—what was left of it, at least. His fingers lingered against her cheek, tracing the curve of her face as if memorizing her. His voice was quiet but firm when he finally spoke.

“I'm not going this year.” His eyes find hers, his expression unwavering. “I'm staying here with you.”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “Charles—”

“I already made up my mind.” His voice was laced with finality. “I don’t care about racing right now. Nothing matters more than you.”

A lump formed in her throat as she saw the raw emotion in his eyes. She had always known how much she meant to him, but this—this was different. This was Charles giving up everything he had worked for, his lifelong dream, just to stay by her side.

She hated it.

She loved him for it, but she hated it too.

“Charles…” Her voice wavered as she reached for his hand, holding it between her frail fingers. “You can't do that. You can't just give up everything for me.”

“It's not giving up,” he countered, squeezing her hand gently. “It's choosing you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a second, she felt like crying. But she couldn't let him do this. She wouldn't.

“Please,” she whispered, her fingers tightening around his. “I never ask you for anything, do I?”

Charles inhaled sharply.

“I always do what you want,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “I always support you, I always cheer for you. But just this once… please grant me this wish.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and Charles felt his resolve cracking.

“I want to see you win,” she said, her lips trembling. “I want to see Lord Perceval become World Champion this year.”

His heart shattered.

Her eyes—God, her eyes were still shining, still full of so much hope. Despite everything, despite the pain, the exhaustion, the way sickness had drained the color from her face… she still had that fire in her. And it was burning for him.

Charles exhaled shakily, running a hand down his face. “Y/N…”

“Please.”

It was that word that broke him completely.

He could never say no to her, not when she looked at him like that. Not when she was still trying to give him hope, even when she was the one suffering.

With a heavy heart, he nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I'll do it. I'll race for you.”

A small, weak smile appeared on her lips, and Charles immediately leaned in, cupping her face gently. His forehead pressed against hers as he closed his eyes, breathing her in.

“You have to promise me you'll watch every race,” he murmured.

She giggled softly. “Of course, I will.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “And you have to wait for me. I'll win for you, but you have to be here when I do.”

Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. “I'll be here.”

Charles didn't hesitate. He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers with so much love it made her breath hitch. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, a desperate plea for her to hold on just a little longer.

“I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “More than anything.”

She smiled against his mouth. “I love you more, Lord Perceval.”

And in that moment, he knew—no matter what happened, he would give her the championship she dreamed of. For her. For them.

—

Charles had always made time for Y/N. No matter how hectic his schedule was, no matter how exhausted he felt after a race, he would call her. Even when she was too weak to talk, even when her responses were nothing more than soft hums or whispered words, he still called. He would tell her about his day, about the track, about the weather—anything, just to keep her company. And when she couldn’t talk anymore, he would simply admire her.

"You’re so beautiful, mon amour," he would say, voice thick with emotion. Even when her body had grown frail, even when her hair was gone, even when her skin had lost its color, to him, she was still the most breathtaking woman in the world.

The night before the final race of the season, he called her again. She was barely awake, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you tired, mon amour?" he asked softly.

"A little,"she admitted.

"Then sleep, my love. Dream of something nice. I’ll call you after the race, okay?"

There was silence for a moment before she murmured, "I love you, Charles."

His chest tightened. It wasn’t often that she had the energy to say it lately. He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat before whispering back, "Je t’aime, mon amour. Always."

That was the last time he ever heard her voice.

—

Race day arrived, and Charles felt… calm. Confident. As if something greater than himself was pushing him forward. He had promised Y/N he would win this for her, and he wasn’t going to let her down.

Before the race, as always, he called her. But this time, she didn’t pick up.

Charles frowned, but quickly reassured himself. She must be sleeping. She needs rest. I’ll talk to her later.

And so, he raced.

And he won.

He did it. Charles Leclerc was the World Champion.

He climbed out of his car, heart pounding, overwhelmed with emotions. He had dreamed of this moment for years, and yet, the only thing he wanted was to share it with her.

As soon as he had the chance, he grabbed his phone. He called her. Ring. Ring. Ring.

No answer.

"Come on, Y/N, pick up," he murmured under his breath, bouncing his knee anxiously.

Then, he saw his brother approaching him. Lorenzo’s face was pale, his eyes red. Behind him, Arthur looked like he was struggling to hold himself together.

"Charles…" Lorenzo’s voice was hoarse. "It’s Y/N."

Charles felt his entire body go cold.

"No." His voice barely came out. "Don’t say it. Don’t—"

"She’s gone, Charles."

Something inside him shattered.

A strangled sob ripped from his throat as he dropped his phone. His legs gave out, and suddenly he was on his knees, hands gripping his face as a raw, broken wail tore through him.

The cameras were still rolling, the interviewers waiting for him, the entire world watching—but he didn’t care.

"No, no, no, please—" He gasped between sobs, rocking back and forth, his chest heaving as if the weight of the entire world was crushing him.

When they finally pulled him up for his WDC interview, he looked like a ghost. His eyes were hollow, filled with endless grief, and yet, tears wouldn’t stop falling.

"Charles, congratulations on winning your first World Championship."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His lips trembled, his hands clenched into fists. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked.

"This… this was for her." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. "The love of my life."

He tried to say more, but his throat closed up. His face crumpled as more tears fell, and suddenly, Carlos was beside him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Then the other drivers, his friends placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The world had just watched him win everything, only to lose the one person he wanted to share it with.

—

When Charles returned to Monaco, he went straight to see her.

She looked so peaceful. Almost as if she was just sleeping.

Charles knelt beside her, his fingers brushing against her cold hand.

"Mon amour… I won." His voice trembled. "You kept your promise. You watched me become champion, didn’t you?"

Silence.

A choked sob escaped his lips as he leaned down, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her hands.

"It’s okay now, my love. No more pain. No more suffering." He cupped her face gently, his thumbs tracing the curve of her lips. “You’re so beautiful today. Just like always.”

Tears dripped onto her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Wait for me, mon amour. We’ll meet again. I promise.”

He stayed with her for as long as they would let him, whispering sweet words, kissing her gently, holding onto her as if he could keep her there a little longer.

Even as they finally took her away, even as he watched her disappear into the ground, he couldn’t let go.

Because how do you say goodbye to the love of your life?

END

[daylighted]

I need more baby!reader Dean , I adore everything you write 😭

i think... it's about time... i give u guys what u want ( dean flirting with baby )

sam had his hands full with lore clinging to him, just as dean had intended for things to go. see, that was the only reason he'd entertained your bizarre wish of turning his dad's journal into a girl at all. not that he'd admit it to himself or anything, but it was true. sam occupied meant that there were no witnesses to the fact that, very quickly, his entire resolve was crumbling away due to all of the chipping you'd done at it.

you! this girl that was yes, once his car, but now was this full-fledged human being. you, who liked to be pressed entirely to the window as he drove, taking in every sight with your nose against the glass. you, who held a hand over your heart every time you got anxious, and then proceeded to tear him apart in one sentence because of that anxiety. and you, who cried your eyes out after you said something you thought was too mean.

dean was screwed — but he was thinking of it less like a bad thing now and more like something that could, possibly, potentially, be good for him? this was just as new to him as it was to you, considering he'd never had someone be so utterly devoted to him like you were.

you were brushing your teeth at the sink, humming a song to yourself in the process. he loved showing you music. each song became your new favorite. dean didn't know, really, if you liked them because he showed them to you, or you genuinely liked them, and honestly? didn't care. he was never going to deny the fact that, no matter what it was, you were too damn cute, humming along to whatever metallica song came on next in his (absolutely not specially curated) cd collection.

"c'mon, baby, i don't have all day," he grumbles, tapping the tv remote against his thigh to the beat of the song you hummed to. "you said you wanted to watch..."

he trails off, because he knows you really well by now, and knows you'll fill in the blank. which you do, excitedly spitting out the foamy toothpaste in your mouth and all but leaping onto the bed next to him. "the witcher!" you were a little unbearable after learning that you came to existence because of a witch. dean in all of his whipped glory, thought it was as endearing as ever. "put it on! now!"

"i'm tryin'," he laughs, holding the remote over your head as he scrolls through the options on netflix. "hard to focus when you're bouncin' around over there." goddamn, was it. "sit still, will ya?"

all it takes is one ask for you to, expectedly. unexpectedly, you've decided to settle right on his lap. dean was well aware of how snuggly you got at nighttime, but this was a new level to it. he is suddenly extremely focused on the tv screen, and definitely not on your bare legs wrapped around his, or your head nuzzled into his chest. or anything in between. please, god, don't let him focus on anything in between.

"did you know i love you?" his heart skips a beat every time you say it, even though dean is well aware of how you mean it. not like the way he wishes you would, but somehow somewhere in between what he wants and something platonic. the only type of love that you knew was this, and he didn't want to do anything to selfishly divulge you away from your feelings, however convoluted and confusing they were.

dean nods, his free hand coming up to trail his fingers through your hair. "i know." and dean did. you made sure to tell him once a day, which was another new thing for him. "love you too, angel."

he feels the scowl before you even voice your complaints. you were baby. he should call you baby. but something about the phrase, love you too, baby felt entirely too real and serious, and you could handle it, but he couldn't. not like this.

"there you go," you say, and instantly, dean's mouth tilts up in a smile, "trying to name me again."

your head lifts to meet his eyes, and he watches as the scrunchy irritation to your face melts into a warm smile. you always smiled when he did. you were a girl full of so much love, it just spilled out of every place it could. "it's called a nickname," he says, not for the first time, either. very common occurrence because dean cannot for the life of him stop calling you pretty names, "you can call me nicknames too, you know."

"no." you scoot up in his lap, and he has the willpower and strength of a fucking god, because he does not, in fact, whimper like he could have. could have! but didn't. you really should not fucking do that, but you don't know any better. he has to remind himself that you don't know that you sitting in his lap and gliding against him is enough to set his soul on fire.

dean raises an eyebrow up at you as you resettle on his stomach, your knees under his armpits. he sets the remote aside, his hands going to your waist to steady you. to steady you, he tells himself, even though you've never looked more secure in your life. "no? don't even want to try one?"

"you're dean, and i'm baby. that's just how it is and has been." you lean down quickly, and dean actually gasps, stuttering on his breath in his throat, thinking you're going to kiss him. he deflates when instead, you press your forehead to his, nose-to-nose. you don't know better. it's a constant mantra in his head. "you can't go changing it up now."

"you could call me baby."

your minty breath fans across his face, your eyes trailing over every inch of his face. you always look at dean so reverently. no one has ever looked at him the way you do, like there's nothing broken and nothing to fix, just beauty in every crevice.

"i don't want to." the honesty makes him grin, shaking his head in his amusement.

your hands come up to hold his face in between them, your palms flat on his cheeks, the scratch of his late-night stubble tickling against delicate skin of your hands. he knows it tickles, just by how you start to giggle. god help him. "i could call you angel. or sweetheart. or darlin'. i could call you babygirl."

something shifts in your eyes. it's subtle, barely noticeable, but you've got your face against his and he can see everything from here. he traces his fingertips along your ribcage through your shirt — his shirt, actually, but it'd taken up permanent residence on you. "no."

"no?" he echoes again, his head tilting to the side. your grip on his face tilts it right back, and dean can't help but laugh heartily. "don't tell me my pretty baby hates bein' called babygirl."

"stop it." you're blushing. your skin is warm beneath his hands, and all he wants is to reach under your shirt and feel it properly. a reminder to himself that you were real, and not some hyper-realistic delusion he'd been having for weeks.

it's all too easy to tip his chin up, so close to kissing you that his mouth opens and he feels the brush of your lips against his like electricity. "why? you're baby, and you're a girl. what's wrong with that?"

dean hadn't ever riled you up before. sure, he'd pissed you off, he'd endured plenty of verbal lashings from your sharp tongue, but this was new. this was the first indication that you loved him like he wanted you to love him.

"not funny."

"very funny, baby," and then suddenly, it's just as unfunny as you said, because your eyes fall to his mouth, and now he's a bit frozen in place. he bunches up the sides of your shirt beneath his fingers so it's raised enough for him to slip his fingers beneath, the warmth of your skin against his sending shivers down his spine.

you're going to kiss him, he thinks. you won't know what it means, and you definitely aren't going to know what you're doing, but he's already prepared for that. he'll guide you. he'll show you everything, actually, as long as you let him.

it's barely a proper touch of your mouth to his, but it's electric. he leans up to chase more of it, to seal the words into your mouth—

the hotel room door clicks as the lock releases, and dean stutters back with a jolt, his head knocking against the headboard. you turn your head to the door, not even bothering to move even though you really, really should, dean's a fucking wreck and you almost kissed him and—

"oh, come on, dean." sam's irritation is visible when he meets his brother's eyes, shrugging off the coat he was wearing.

dean lifts his shoulders in an exasperated shrug. "we are witching the witcher, sammy."

lore points at the tv screen. "you are not watching anything. you are queued up to watch cocomelon."

dean stretches his neck to look over your shoulder, and his expression flattens. he was fine with lore, he didn't have any qualms against her existence, but he was beginning to regret letting you swindle into creating her.

dean doesn't know if he's thankful or not when you climb off of his lap and go over to lore, already babbling about... god, what did you two even talk about? every time he tried to focus on the two of you together, he instead just zeroed in on you, and everything else went blank.

everything was still blank now. he watches your eyes light up with the weight of your joy, and he can't help but wonder if it meant anything at all, or if it was just a moment that you two had, and nothing more.

once again, all dean could do was hope it was something more.

notes. how many times will dahlia change her format for baby!reader: the people may never know. this came out sm longer than expected PLSSSS I JUST LOVE BABY & DEAN OKAY !!!

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @jensenacklesballsack @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @h8aaz @mahi-wayy @bejeweledinterludes @h8aaz @jjmbbg @valjy

[lexirosewrites]

Day 3: Love Confession

for @stmarchmm

When Eddie had initially confessed to his interest in Steve, Steve had appeared like he may faint or puke.

Or both.

Despite the obvious chemistry between them during the Upside-Down and their defeating Vecna together, Steve still hesitated.

Admittedly, that made Eddie panic a little bit too.

He’d been so sure that Steve returned his amorous feelings, but now it doesn’t feel quite so obvious.

“If I misread this completely, I can leave. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Stevie,” Eddie chokes out, heart in his throat.

That seems to snap Steve out of it.

“No! No, you didn’t. You read it correctly, I just—”

And then he pauses. A very long pause.

One where Eddie could fit a lot of words if he wasn’t trying so hard to kick his own habit of filling awkward spaces by rambling endlessly.

“But?” he’d finally prompts Steve.

“I don’t know if I’m actually capable of doing that again.”

That’s where Steve loses him.

“Doing… what again?”

Steve avoids his eyes, arms wrapping around his middle like he needs some extra protection. From what exactly, Eddie is unsure.

“Loving someone.”

Eddie knows about Nancy.

Steve had gotten incredibly wasted one night and cried on his shoulder until he fell asleep, sobbing about how hurt he’d been by the painful rejection.

As Nancy’s friend, he’d wanted to take a neutral stance.

As an alpha falling in love with Steve, he’d been furious and wanted to tear the world apart with rage.

The sweetest omega alive had poured his heart out to his alpha girlfriend and she’d rejected him, broken his spirit with her carelessness.

She may not have meant to do it, but Nancy changed Steve fundamentally.

So, “I love you,” Eddie states plainly.

No frills, no goofy gestures, no silly voices.

Just the facts. What Steve needs to hear.

“Eddie, you really don’t have to do th—”

Steve looks like he’s going to cry. Eddie won’t allow that. Never again, if he can help it.

“I love you,” he says again, louder. “I love you and there isn’t a single thing you can say to change that, sweetheart.”

Steve stares at him then, mouth partially agape in what appears to be shock.

Eddie takes pride in the fact that he can still manage to surprise him at all. Steve’s so used to his antics that nothing seems to phase him anymore.

“You— you don’t really mean that,” he protests softly.

Except. Yes, Eddie truly does.

“I do though. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything else in my entire life. I love you, Steve. I love you, even if you never love me. If you decide that there’s no room in your heart for an alpha like me, I will keep loving you. I’ve made up my mind already.”

The tiniest crack of a smile. Barely there.

Did he do it? Did Eddie finally do something right in this life— so right that the most perfect omega of his dreams might actually take a chance on him?

A chance on them.

A chance for what Eddie believes is definitely the best idea he’s ever had.

“So even if I tell you that I’ll spend every day with you terrified of how this relationship could ruin me again?”

The words are serious, but he can see the clear look of amusement in Steve’s eyes.

He’s trying to play cool and unaffected. A game of testing boundaries and Eddie’s determination.

The good news is that Eddie doesn’t have healthy boundaries anyway.

If Steve needs him to wake each morning and say, “I love you,” stop every hour and declare, “I love you,” and go to bed with an, “I love you,” on his lips, Eddie will make it happen.

He’s crazy, but he’s crazy in love too.

“I’m not afraid of loving you, Steve Harrington. Whatever you need from me, it’s yours. Patience, reassurance, blind loyalty and devotion— they’re all yours, baby. You couldn’t pay me to go away, even if you wanted to!”

Steve’s beautiful, beaming smile isn’t hiding any longer.

God, he loves Steve.

[tinytinyblogs]

Hi, I love your work! Can I request what actions of their beloved can calm down the inner monster yandere!stray kids. For example: hugs, kisses, soft tone of voice, gentle words, etc.

I hope, you have a good day!

P.s. sorry for the mistakes, english is not my native language

Don't worry, darling, I'm staying right here.

Calm yandere!skz down because you're the only one who can handle this.

Hyung line, Maknae line (coming soon)

💬First, I’m sorry for the delay—I’m doing my best in this messy life of mine. Second, your words mean a lot. Thank you for reading, liking my work, and sending a request! I always love new ideas, and I hope this one is okay for you.

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

For Chan, his protective instincts are boundless, a force so powerful that it drives him to do anything—absolutely anything—to keep you safe and by his side. His love is fierce, all-consuming, and at times, overwhelming, especially when his emotions spiral out of control. When he feels threatened, when the thought of someone stealing you away crosses his mind, his protective nature can turn volatile. He might lash out, his actions sharp and intense, as if he’s ready to tear the entire world apart just to keep you close. In those moments, when his emotions are raw and his grip on reality feels tenuous, the key to calming him lies in one simple yet profound gesture: a kiss. That one kiss, filled with reassurance and love, has the power to ground him. It’s a silent promise that you are his, that you belong to him and no one else, and that you feel safe under his protection. For Chan, your trust and dependence are everything. They are the anchors that keep him steady, the reminders that his love is not in vain. When you whisper to him, telling him you trust him to take care of you, his breathing begins to steady, his frantic energy slowly dissipating. As he calms, he’ll gently place his hand on your cheek, his touch tender yet possessive.

His eyes, once blazing with fiery intensity, now soften as they lock onto yours. He gazes at you as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face—the curve of your lips, the warmth in your eyes, the way you look at him with such unwavering trust. In that moment, the world around him fades, and all that matters is you. “Right,” he says, his voice low but steady, a quiet declaration of his devotion. “You are mine, no matter what. And I will always protect what’s mine—even if I have to kill for it.” His words are heavy with meaning, a testament to the depth of his love and the lengths he’s willing to go to keep you safe. With that, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if to shield you from the world. He holds you so close that you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, a rhythm that echoes his fear of losing you. In his embrace, there’s a sense of desperation, a need to keep you anchored to him, as if letting go would mean losing you forever. For Chan, your love is his lifeline, the one thing that keeps him grounded in a world that often feels chaotic and uncertain. And as long as you’re there to remind him that you’re his, that you trust him and need him, he’ll always find his way back to calm, his protective nature tempered by the love you share.

Minho

Surprisingly, when it comes to Minho, the secret to keeping him calm and grounded is simpler than you might think: your undivided attention. On the surface, he may appear cold, distant, and calculating, someone who keeps his emotions tightly locked away. But beneath that stoic exterior lies a man who deeply craves your complete focus and affection. Minho wants to be the only one you care for, the only one who occupies your thoughts. The idea of you directing your attention or care toward others stirs something unsettling within him—a quiet jealousy that he struggles to suppress. He genuinely wants you to be entirely his, and the thought of being ignored or overlooked is something he simply cannot tolerate. To soothe him before his possessive tendencies take over, all you need to do is give him the attention he feels he deserves. Step closer to him, gently caress his cheek, and look into his eyes. Reassure him that he’s the only person who matters to you, the only one who holds your heart. A soft, tender kiss on his forehead can work wonders, melting away his insecurities and reminding him of your unwavering devotion. These small gestures speak volumes to him, calming the storm of emotions he keeps hidden beneath his calm exterior. Another way to ease his restless mind is by cooking for him.

It’s a simple yet meaningful gesture that shows you care, and it brings him a sense of comfort and stability. As you move around the kitchen, you’ll feel his presence behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a gentle yet firm embrace. He’ll rest his chin on your shoulder, his breathing steady as he holds you close, silently reminding himself that you’re his and his alone. In those moments, the cold, calculating side of him fades away, replaced by a quiet contentment that only you can bring out. Minho doesn’t need grand gestures or dramatic declarations of love. What he needs is your attention, your affection, and the reassurance that he’s the only one who truly matters to you. As long as he feels that, his inner turmoil settles, and he becomes the calm, devoted partner he longs to be. Your presence, your touch, and your words have the power to transform him, to remind him that he’s loved and valued. And in return, he’ll give you his unwavering loyalty and a love that runs deeper than he’s willing to admit. In those quiet moments, when his arms are wrapped around you and his breathing is steady, you can see the real Minho—the one who loves you fiercely, who needs you more than he’ll ever say. And as long as you’re there to remind him that he’s your everything, he’ll always find his way back to calm, his heart steady and his love unwavering.

Changbin

Hold his hand tightly and reassure him that you’re not going anywhere—physical touch is what Changbin needs most. He’s the type of yandere whose emotions run deep and intense, often overwhelming him to the point where he feels like he’s losing control. His love for you is all-consuming, and with that comes a fear so profound it can send him spiraling. When his emotions take over, when his possessive instincts flare up and he starts to see red, the only thing that can bring him back to reality is your touch. It’s his lifeline, the one thing that grounds him and reminds him that you’re still there, that you’re not leaving. When you take his hand in yours or pull him into a warm, firm hug, you’ll feel him melt almost instantly. His tense shoulders relax, his breathing slows, and the storm inside him begins to quiet. In those moments, his walls come down, and the only voice he hears is yours. The only person he’ll listen to is you. Your touch has a way of soothing the chaos in his mind, of reminding him that he’s not alone, that you’re still his. He clings to you, not just physically but emotionally, as if you’re the only anchor keeping him from drifting into madness. Changbin’s intensity can be overwhelming at times, but it’s also what makes him so deeply devoted.

He loves with everything he has, pouring his heart and soul into the relationship. But that love often comes with a side of fear—fear of losing you, fear of being replaced, fear that one day you’ll wake up and realize he’s not enough. It’s this fear that drives his possessiveness, that makes him hold onto you so tightly. When you hold his hand or hug him close, whispering that you’re not going anywhere, that fear begins to fade. He’ll bury his face in your shoulder, his grip on you loosening just enough to let you know he’s calming down. In those quiet moments, he’s not the possessive, emotional yandere—he’s just Changbin, the one who loves you more than anything, the one who needs you more than he’s willing to admit. Your presence, your touch, and your reassurance are what keep him grounded. They remind him that he’s still the one you choose, the one you care for. And as long as you’re there, as long as you remind him that he’s yours, he’ll stay calm, grounded, and utterly devoted to you. Changbin’s love is intense, sometimes chaotic, but it’s also deeply sincere. And in those moments when he’s holding you close, you can see the real him—the one who loves you fiercely, who would do anything to keep you by his side.

Hyunjin

Hyunjin is the type of yandere who is both dramatic and obsessive, especially when it comes to you—his beloved, his muse, the center of his world. His love for you is intense, almost artistic in its fervor, and he channels that passion into everything he does. But there are moments when his emotions become too much to handle, when his breathing quickens, his grip on you tightens more than usual, and it feels like he’s ready to shut out the entire world just to keep you by his side. In those moments, when his possessiveness threatens to overwhelm him, the best thing you can do is pull him into a warm, comforting hug and whisper those magic words: “I love you.” As you hold him, you’ll feel the tension in his body slowly begin to ease. His hands, which were gripping you so tightly, now soften as they move to rest on your back. The hug deepens, becoming more tender, as he processes your words and the reassurance that you’re not going anywhere. “Right?” he murmurs, his voice low and almost pleading. “You love me, only me. You can’t love anyone else. I’m the only person you need, right?” His words are filled with a mix of desperation and hope, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince you.

It might take him some time to fully calm down, but even as he does, his hands never leave you. He clings to you, needing the physical connection to reassure himself that you’re still there, still his. Whether he’s sketching, drawing, or simply lost in thought, he keeps you close, his fingers occasionally brushing against yours as if to remind himself that you’re real. His art becomes an outlet for his emotions, a way to pour out his feelings and create a future where the two of you are inseparable. He sketches scenes of the life he dreams of—a life where you’re by his side, where he’s the only one you see, the only one you love. In those quiet moments, as he draws and you sit beside him, you can see the storm inside him begin to settle. His breathing evens out, his grip softens, and the intensity in his eyes fades into something softer, more content. He glances at you occasionally, as if to make sure you’re still there, still his. And when he’s finally calm, he’ll pull you into another hug, this one gentler, more secure. “You’re my everything,” he whispers, his voice steady now. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

[treatbuckywkisses]

It's happened she LITERALLY did this for ME🥺😭 

the warning............ already has my stomach tense as fuck🫠

Thor is such a sassy king in this LOLL dramatic man with power 😮‍💨

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning. LMAOOOO YOU GO BABE !!!!!! 

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you. My God shutup this whole encounter between them is literally the most freaking precious thing EVER☹️☹️

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life. Em I'm SICK this is everything☹️❤️

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar. THE LOVE THEY HAVE IM SCREAMING 😭😭

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk. I just gasped so loudly.............what a bitch 

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her. YESS STANDING ON BUSINESS BABY 

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture. this is so realistic😔 poor baby I'm feeling so bad for her rn

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else? UGH EM the writer that you are !!!!! Seriously!!! The self doubting and silent spiral is so me lol so I can confidently say you wrote this out so well ❤️‍🩹 

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you. Their love 🥺🥺🥺 I will never be over them 

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling. I'm going to cry over this forever 

YOU'RE MY FUTURE YOU'RE MY EVERYTHING BE SO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW EM 

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.  How actually dare you write this

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.” A SLEEP CONFESSION I'M SO SICK HES SO FUCKING PRECIOUS 

A male paramedic was shot.  ........I know you did not do what I think you did.......... 

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart. No.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.   No simply no what the fuck hey what the hell 😃 em what the fuck! My heart is in my asshole right now you're so evil what the fuck is this babe!! (This is really written so beautifully but I'm mad at you currently) 

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore. STOP??????????? DON'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT WHAT THE FUCK. 

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh. I'm literally sobbing RN

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed. Me fkin too 😭😭😭😭😭 

So I'm basically feeling all stages of grief RN but mostly denial🫶🏻 I simply refuse to believe you would do this to ME SPECIFICALLY?????? HOW DARE YOU😭😭😭 YOU GIVE ME ALL THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS SO WONDERFULLY AND LOVEY AND SOFT AND PERFECT AND THEN TO RIP IT ALL AWAY SO FORCEFULLY LIKE I'M THE ONE BEING SHOT WHAT THE HELL EM RESPECTFULLY WHAT THE FUCK. talk about a twist bc I was in denial from the beginning I really was thinking you'd make it Steve to throw us off but no she had to go and pull the trigger on my fucking man I'm so sick rn I'm going to bed until bucky wakes up.

In Situ

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 8 | Series Masterlist

In Situ - meaning in the natural position (ie. Bucky’s place next to you)

Summary: You ask Bucky to accompany you to the hospital's fundraising gala.

Warnings: strictly 18+, unprotected soft loving sex, creampie, graphic depiction of gunshot wounds & significant bleeding to a major character, a bit of angst as they struggle to reveal their feelings, will we finally get an ‘I love you’??, certain ex-fling of Bucky’s makes an appearance, this part has a bit of everything, fluff, angst, smut all rolled into one; I will apologise in advance you have every right to hate me given the ending of this

Word count: a whopping 10.3k (buckle up)

A/N: this part is dedicated to the wonderful @treatbuckywkisses and @yenzys-lucky-charm, I haven’t updated this series in so long and I genuinely thought no one would care about it being incomplete but you both have left such sweet comments on the other parts that inspired me to continue with my vision for paramedic!bucky, so I hope you both enjoy my darling friends 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

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It’s the start of a very long shift when the person you least want to encounter, Dr Thor Odinson, approaches you with a glowering expression which looks like the most accurate embodiment of ‘I would rather be anywhere else’.

You would rather quite literally be in any other room of the hospital than in trauma room 2 right now, but as your direct superior, you have to constantly take direction from the same man who tried to compete with Bucky for your affection, and then blacklisted you at work after you turned him down.

“Before you say no to this, I need you to know this is a requirement of your employment here and you cannot get out of it, no matter how much you might want to.” Thor states with the same amount of joy as if he were inviting you to a funeral. His hands fidget almost unconsciously with a sealed envelope as he speaks, before offering it to you with a firm, outstretched hand. “Believe me, I’ve already tried.”

You consider him for a moment, his eyes not quite meeting your examining gaze and nervously grinding his back teeth. Taking the envelope, you notice your name written in messy, scrawled handwriting on the front.

“Not sure why I wouldn’t want to, whatever you’re inviting me to sounds like the absolute time of my life.” You jest in an effort to diffuse the tension between you. Thor, however, doesn’t seem to find it funny as rather than a chuckle, you elicit the most forced eye roll you’ve seen in a while.

“It’s a fundraising gala, mostly for the research labs associated with the hospital, but part of the proceeds go to supporting patients without healthcare who otherwise would not afford our help.”

Though the thought of contributing to those of the community who are less fortunate, and find themselves in the unfortunately common situation of being in debt to a healthcare system which was designed to further cripple the already vulnerable, the lack of enthusiasm Thor is conveying during the conversation makes you wary of what important information you’re likely missing about the event.

“You’re allowed to bring a plus one.” He adds with a rising inflection, almost as if it’s a question rather than a statement.

Silence falls between you two, and for a moment you fully believe Thor is waiting for you to confirm whether you will be bringing Bucky as your date, which would just make this uncomfortable encounter even more awkward, but thankfully he speaks again before you need to say anything.

“You’ll be representing the ED, and more importantly the hospital, at this event. You and whomever you bring better be on your best behaviour, I don’t want to have to write you up again.” A smirk curves on your face as he walks away. Although there is a finality to his voice in which you know you won’t get out of this work event, Thor has reminded you of the very public display of affection Bucky showed you in the emergency room which had earned you an official warning from hospital HR.

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning.

* * *

The night of the Gala, Bucky knocks on your front door, feeling rather uncomfortable in this taut suit with the unnatural feeling of the shoulder pads compressing against his already broad shoulders.

He tries adjusting them as he waits, he wants to look his absolute best for you, to rival even a fraction of the radiance he’s sure you will exude tonight. But they feel even more out of place now he’s fiddled with them and regrets the decision until he hears the pattering of your footsteps behind the door.

“You have to close your eyes before you come in.” You call out to him in a playful voice, without opening the door. “I’m not ready yet.”

Bucky’s positive that in any state of undress or stage in the process of getting ready you are the most beautiful girl in the entire world, but a warmth spreads through his chest at the notion you’re wanting to look your best for him.

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you.

Bucky hears the lock click as it opens and a small giggle, before the light pressure of a pair of lips on his.

“No peeking.” You request as you take his hand and lead him inside. Bucky knows your place like the back of his hand already and doesn’t need his eyes open to know that you take him towards the couch. “I’ll be right back, don’t you go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” With each beat of Bucky’s heart his anticipation of seeing you only grows. He’s seen you in every way imaginable, naked and writhing for him, vulnerable with sickness, beaming with pride and joy, and yet every time he sees you he is continually flawed by how stunning you are in every scenario.

“Buck, you can open them.”

Bucky is simply lost for words. Never in all his life has he been in the presence of someone so utterly breathtaking. Looking at you now, practically radiating golden light, a brilliant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and your body looking downright heavenly in a form fitting dress which compliments the colour of your eyes, Bucky believes angels do actually exist.

“You are so beautiful.” He manages to stammer out once he’s picked his jaw up off the floor.

“Not as handsome as you in this suit.” You grip the lapels of his jacket to pull him even closer to you, straightening his tie in an action that overwhelms Bucky with a need to kiss you.

“What, this old thing?” He attempts to brush off your flattery, because next to you, there is positively no way anyone could compete with your beauty.

Bucky gulps the excessive saliva pooling in his mouth as his eyes roam your frame once again, because he can’t help but literally drool over how stunning you look - can’t believe that he gets to be the one who walks into the gala tonight with you on his arm.

The only other time he has felt this utterly floored by someone’s appearance was the first time he laid eyes on you as you strolled across the ER on that now historic day when he could not believe someone in scrubs and a lab coat could look so breathtakingly beautiful.

“You are genuinely the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life.

You kiss him in the breath after he finishes speaking, in that luscious, sensual way that no one else has ever kissed him and evokes a warm, fuzzy, almost life-ruining devotion, dare he say love, in his chest.

“Let’s just stay here tonight.” Bucky mumbles against your lips, his hands finding the zipper on the back of your dress and slowly unzips to let the fabric fall from your décolletage.

He can feel you smile against his lips but then you bruise his heart by pulling away and saying “As much as I would prefer to spend the whole night naked here with you, I’ve already been told I cannot miss this event.”

However, they aren’t words which scare Bucky away from a challenge, he dives back into the kiss, the tip of his tongue tangling with yours. He thinks he has you convinced when your hands start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck - you know how much he likes it and do it constantly to turn him on, but then you pull back and Bucky sighs.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” He responds with a chuckle. You’re the only woman who’s ever had him whipped before, and Bucky’s not sure you realise how powerful the hold you have over him is.

“I promise, all we have to do is last an hour at this thing, and then you can take me home and have your way with me.”

* * *

You walk into the Gala, which is already packed with hospital staff dressed to the nines, hand in hand with Bucky who, in your opinion, looks magnitudes more handsome than any of the other men all dressed in black suits.

You turn to him and he’s already looking at you with that sparkle in his eye, like you’re absolutely perfect, just as you are, and there is nothing about you he would ever dream of changing.

“What?” You ask when those twinkling eyes don’t look away, but instead study your features as if there’s words left unsaid on the tip of his tongue.

“Just imagining pulling you into one of the on-call rooms, tearing this dress off you and tasting every inch of you.” Bucky shifts his hand to rest on the small of your back, his breath warm against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“Well, we have done some of our best work in there.” Bucky hums in agreement, both of you taking a second to remember the first of many visits to the on-call room which left you with shaking legs, but was also the first time either of you acknowledged that your feelings were deeper than simply hooking up. “I think you need to grab us both a drink to quench that thirst of yours, James.”

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar.

While Bucky is busy with that task, you instead make your way over to the other side of the atrium to take a look at the items available for the hospital's silent auction. You have to chuckle to yourself looking at the prices listed on the bidding sheets - as if anyone with medical school debt could afford to pay for even one of the allusive holidays or artefacts they had obtained for the fundraiser.

But you suppose your job tonight isn’t to bid on the items themselves, but to shmooze the wealthy guests in attendance into bidding with their spare millions.

Searching out one of the items at the lower end of asking prices, you decide to put an almost embarrassing low bid on an all expenses paid weekend to Mexico, that you know someone will outbid you on, just to say you participated in the night without needing to lie through your teeth.

You stroll through the busy hall, keeping your eyes peeled for Bucky near the bar but it seems you’ve lost him in the packed crowd. It’s usually fairly easy to spot your tall, broad boyfriend, and your heart sinks a little that you’re forced to walk aimlessly around the event as everyone else is wrapped in conversation.

“Doctor, lovely to run into you like this.” You hear a voice you’ve heard before but cannot place from behind you. And though you can’t actually see their face, the tone of their voice contradicts their words - they don’t seem pleased to see you at all.

Turning around, a face that evokes prickly apprehension in your chest comes into view. She’s hauntingly beautiful, the type of beauty which artists spend hours trying to commit to canvas and which is just not attainable for regular people like yourself. She holds herself like she’s closing out a Victoria Secret fashion show and is fully aware of the enchanting effect she has on any man who sets eyes upon her.

“Jacqui… I didn’t know pharmacy staff were invited to this thing.” Even with her disagreeable inflection, you do your best to sound pleasant.

“Oh well you are when you’re heading up the department.” She boasts, with a little wobble of her head which you mostly think is to draw attention to her shiny, voluminous blonde hair.

So is she just here to rub her new job title in your face?

“Congratulations, I didn’t know you got promoted.” You try to sound genuine even though you really couldn’t give a shit.

“I saw you walk in with Barnes. Where did he scamper off to?” You are now actually very glad to not have found Bucky in the crowd earlier. Something about the way she is trying to control the curiosity in her voice, and that she was actively watching the two of you together, makes you cautious of her intentions.

“Not sure, I was just looking for him.”

There’s a long pause where both of you refuse to be the next one to speak. You just want this conversation to be over. But you aren’t that lucky.

“How long have you two been together now?” The inquiry is almost punctuated with sharp spite, and though you don’t want to indulge her line of questioning, there’s a voice in the back of your head that’s telling you you need to defend your Bucky from whatever that time is implying.

“A couple months.” Is the defensive response you retort - it’s technically correct, though you’ve only been official for a month of that.

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk.

Where the fuck was this coming from?

“I trust him implicitly.” You attempt to control the absolute bewildered facial expression that’s trying it’s very best to overtake your features.

“Oh you poor, naive thing.” She says with a tone you use when delivering bad news to patients' families. “Men don’t change, they just hide their true nature from you. Wait a few months, he’ll be back to his fuckboy ways, guys like him can’t resist cheating. I guarantee it.”

Most men are like that, at least in your experience. But Bucky has never given you any cause to believe he would treat you like that. Just because he had a reputation of casually sleeping around before meeting you, doesn’t mean once he’s in a relationship he’ll be unfaithful.

You can’t imagine the sweet man who walked into your place tonight with his eyes closed, waiting for your consent to see you fully dolled up in your gown and then proceed to call you the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, would ever cheat on you.

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her.

The look in her eyes appears like you’ve challenged her, but you don’t want to think about the connotations of that right now. Without saying goodbye, you turn on your heel, needing to get as far away from her as quickly as possible.

Rippling anxiety bubbles in your chest that in your experience only Bucky’s touch can soothe. You frantically search for him in the sea of black suits, trying to also keep half an eye out for Jacqui so you don’t accidentally run into her, but he is again nowhere to be found.

Where the hell is Bucky? Your mind practically screams as you bump into a strapping chest, but this one unfortunately belongs to the one and only Thor Odinson.

God, could he have worse timing?

You plaster on your best smile, trying your best to keep a calm facade as he introduces you to two older gentlemen he appears to be chaperoning for the night.

As wealthy and influential as they are, having made their billions from a tech empire started with a little trust fund from their families' generational wealth, you can’t find it in you to care at the minute. You just want to find Bucky. Need him to hold you until the tornado of anxiety dissipates in your chest.

But Thor doesn’t allow you to slip away unnoticed, instead he prompts you to talk up the work the team does in the emergency room, speaking about the people you save from all walks of life, from those without health insurance to the affluent who can afford the life saving medical procedures others fail to receive.

Knowing their donations tonight could mean the difference between many getting life saving medicine and not, you summon the will to engage in conversation, trying to push down the acidic bile bubbling in your stomach that had risen as result of your interaction with Jacqui.

The sharp taste remains on your tongue as you’re now caught in philanthropic discussion, silently cursing Thor who stands beside you for ever inviting you to this damn gala in the first place.

It’s at least fifteen minutes later when you finally excuse yourself from their presence, the two men having pulled out their cheque books, much to Thor’s delight, preparing to make generous contributions that would have the hospital naming wards after them.

You hate to think what trouble Jacqui could get up to in that time frame. But you don’t have to wait long to find out.

Finally, after searching near the whole hall for Bucky you find him. Goddess like Jacqui by his side.

She stands there, supermodel tall, blonde bouncy hair, beautiful, toned legs on display through the slit in her dress, a flirty smirk curving on her face, tucking strands of loose hair behind her ears like a schoolgirl with a crush.

The nerve of her, approaching Bucky at all, but especially after the words spoken between you earlier.

Just seeing them together, the most exquisitely gorgeous woman flirting with the man whom you love and confirmed less than half an hour ago to her you are in a relationship with, makes your insides tightly twist with jealousy, as if someone were wringing out a wet towel.

Half of your mind is telling you to stalk over there and possessively claim your man in front of everybody, but the other half, the insecure side which believes Bucky could do so much better than you, who would want someone as beautiful as Jacqui by his side, and which is currently winning the battle in your mind, wants to run off crying into the furthest corner of the hospital.

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture.

Bucky smiles, not quite his signature cocky smirk that never leaves his face when the two of you are together, but it’s definitely a smile nonetheless and your heart sinks through the pit of your stomach.

Men don’t change. He’ll be back to his fuckboy ways.

You’re not sure why you’re letting Jacqui’s words penetrate your mind, burrow into the deepest crevices and allow them to make a home there. You suspect it’s because at one point in time Bucky thought she was desirable enough to take home and do unexplainably filthy things with. Does he still have that same attraction for her?

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else?

Practically paralysed in place as you watch their interaction, it feels like your heart has stopped beating all together when Jacqui strokes his arm. But buoyant relief comes near milliseconds later when Bucky brushes her off. That’s your man.

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you distinctly see him mouth the words ‘I have a girlfriend’, which relieves some of the tension in your tightly wound heart.

Bucky frantically searches around the room, and appears to have found what he is looking for as his eyes settle on your face.

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you.

But when your mind catches up to all the drowning emotions swirling in your chest, an uncontrollable sob bubbles up your throat and tears sting your eyes. You’re not even upset with him, but the fear of what Jacqui had been planning on trying with him still manifests as a choking lump in your throat.

The physical distance between you throughout tonight has let doubt and hesitancy creep into the only small space in your heart Bucky’s affection has not yet touched. Jacqui planted the seed and it’s already bloomed into a large tree, branches crowding space in your tightening chest.

The last thing you remember seeing is Bucky taking a large stride towards you, before your hands fly to cover your mouth and you take off, walking as quickly as you can in your heels, to where you know the nearest on-call room is.

* * *

Prickling panic fills Bucky’s lungs.

Has he inadvertently just ruined the best thing in his life?

Jacqueline’s voice calls his name as he chases after you, watching as you weave between guests and make your way to the nearest exit, which only takes you deeper into the hospital.

He was naive enough to think Jacqueline’s intentions were innocent when she approached him for conversation, just two colleagues catching up at an event that neither of them were fully participating in, but he was sadly mistaken.

He’ll never make that blunder again.

Watching you shuffle into the nearest on-call room, Bucky takes it as a positive sign that he’s not the one you’re upset with, at least not completely, when you don’t slam the door in his face but instead leave it open knowing he’ll follow you inside.

Bucky stays by the doorframe for a split second, watching as you work to steady your breathing, hands wiping the corners of your eyes, but the overwhelming urge and the need to comfort you wins out and he can’t help but hastily rush to your side.

“Darling…” He starts to say but when you look at him with big, wide eyes that are filled with tears, his mind goes blank and all he can think about is holding you.

You turn into his chest, face nuzzled into his lapel, and his arms instinctively close around you.

It’s the little sob which escapes your lips that does Bucky in completely. He hates to see you upset, but never in the months of knowing you has he been privy to this amount of genuine distress. He’s seen some not so great days, shaking frustration, even teary eyed with sadness, but never breaking down weeping.

He would move heaven and earth to ensure you never feel this way again.

He places a feather light kiss to your hairline whispering, “I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you.”

Though it was not his intention, his words provoke more sobs to escape your throat and Bucky pulls you ever closer. He’s practically holding up your entire body weight, and decides you’ll probably be much more comfortable on the bed this on-call room provides.

Even seated, you cling to him like he’s your lifeline, and Bucky can’t ever imagine letting go. He’d drown if it meant holding you safely out of the rough, relentless rapids currently flooding your mind.

As a paramedic, he’s so used to taking action, launching into a crisis with the equipment to be able to provide aid, to prevent further suffering. But right now all you need is his presence, to be the anchor grounding you to this world as a reminder that you have someone in your corner fighting for your happiness.

He hates not being able to do more for you.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Bucky asks after minutes of comforting you without words.

God, you feel so stupid. Crying at a work function because one of your boyfriend's ex-flings decided to flirt with him.

But it’s more than that - it’s the disrespect, the fact that she seems so entitled to Bucky’s affection simply because at some point in his history he slept with her, regardless of if she hurts you along the way to get to him. Do all the women at the hospital look at you like you’re an inconsequential ant they can step on to get what they want?

It doesn’t help that she's also the most stunning, physical personification of a man’s wet dream you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not you Buck, it’s her.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just continues rubbing his large hand up and down your back, which tells you he’s confused by your statement. Perhaps you’re not making any sense in this outburst of emotion, you can barely keep your thoughts in a logical stream let alone expressing them eloquently.

“Jacqui, she… I told her we were together, she knew I was your girlfriend, and she still had the nerve to flirt with you.”

“I didn’t flirt back.” Bucky says defensively, and as much as you adore him, it’s making you frustrated having to spell it out for him how her actions have made you feel when your throat is aching from pure emotion.

You take a deep breath, allowing oxygen to diffuse into the deepest alveoli of your lungs, calming the constant stream of anxious thoughts, and letting you regain control of the tears falling from your eyes.

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling.

“I don’t know if it’s jealousy or insecurity. I genuinely don’t care how many women you were with before me Buck, it’s just a number, it doesn’t matter.” You sit up and look him in the eye, needing to convey just how vigorously you believe your statement. “It’s just… it's a soul crushing feeling that people in the hospital, people I have to work with every day, use the fact that you’ve slept with them to make me feel uncomfortable. That somehow because they know what you look like naked it diminishes our relationship and then they feel entitled to flirt with you and try and fuck you even though they know you’re dating me.”

The misery in Bucky’s eyes is almost tangible, and maybe it’s just an illusion from tears in your own, but seeing you hurting makes him start to cry too. His large hands engulf both of yours and his thumb strokes the backs of your hands resting comfortingly in your lap.

Previous partners have always brushed you off, gaslit you or raised their voice and called you crazy when you expressed an ounce of self-doubt or insecurity, but Bucky listens to each of your words with a determined focus, taking the weight of them on himself, as if they have just as much significance to him as they do to you.

“Darling, I’m so sorry Jaqueline made you feel that way. She had no right. But you need to know there is not a single woman on the face of this earth that could tempt me away from you, no matter how hard they try. No one has ever had me like you do.”

The panic beating of your heart starts to calm when Bucky places gentle kisses to your knuckles. His eyes brim with trepidation, as if he’s just realised how fragile relationships can be and he’s desperately trying to hold onto you, preventing you from ever letting go again.

“I can’t change my past, as much as I might want to, but all I know is you’re my future.” Tears trickle out of the corners of your eyes, but now the reason being due to happiness at Bucky’s sweet confession.

What did you ever do to deserve him?

“My life before I met you was dull, black and white reruns of the same shit each day. Since I met you, everything is in vivid colour. If I could go back in time and wait for you, I would. If I knew you were around the corner, there wouldn’t be any other women. But to me, you’re the only woman that matters. It’s so profoundly better with you because I-, because I care about you beyond comprehension. There were never any feelings with anyone else. You are the only person I have ever felt this way for. You have nothing to be insecure about or anyone to be jealous of, you’re the only woman in my eyes, and I-, you’re my everything.” For someone who constantly says he isn’t very good with words, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to make you fall even more in love with him. They are perfect words. Precisely what you need to hear from the man who has quickly become the reason for your being.

There’s a buoyancy in your chest as those familiar eyes, so blue you could drown in, examine your face for any non verbal cues of how you’ll react to his words.

“You really feel that way James?” You ready yourself, inadvertently grinding your teeth, waiting, hoping, wishing for him to say those three little words that will take your relationship to the next level.

But that hope pops like a bubble floating in the wind.

“Darling, I would never lie to you.” He punctuates with a kiss to your lips, slow and fervent, full of meaning. The look in his eye tells you he wants to reveal more, but it passes in a blink. “C’mon, let me take you home, and I’ll show you just how much I care.”

Bucky’s firm hold on your hand never leaves yours as he leads you back through the gala. You notice some glance at you, but all you’re focussed on is your boyfriend, his head held proudly high, not giving a damn what other hospital staff are whispering under their breaths.

* * *

Bucky slowly unzips the back of your dress, the material slowly falling away from your shoulders. A shiver runs down your spine as his lips kiss down the path of the zipper, starting between your shoulder blades, careful not to miss a single inch of skin as your dress bunches around your stomach and hips.

“You were the most beautiful woman there tonight. You’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” He whispers against your skin, in such a sure tone you can’t help but believe him. His hands roaming over the base of your spine before gently pulling your dress over your hips. “Can’t believe I got to be the man who walked in with you as my partner.”

Bucky turns you around to kiss you once you’re bare for him. The passion, zealousness of his lips feels like you’re drowning in a tender devotion he could not articulate with just words themselves.

You don’t need to break away from the kiss to push his jacket off, unbutton his shirt, nor unbuckle his belt. He’s as hard as a rock, standing at attention ready for you as soon as his trousers hit the floor.

“My darling girl…” He practically growls in your ear when you cup his balls with one hand as the other starts stroking him, using your thumb to spread the pearly bead of precum over his tip whilst placing kisses to his chest. “This will be a very short, one act play if you keep doing that.”

“I’ve barely touched you Buck.”

“Mmm, I know. That’s just how much you turn me on.” The signature smirk he shoots you turns your stomach to mush, and makes you feel like you’re the dazzling sun at the centre of his universe.

Bucky’s large hands pull you down on the bed, on top of him. He sits you on his thick thighs, tongue sweeping into your mouth, hands exploring your every curve.

You wish you could live in this moment forever, relishing in how much care Bucky holds you with, but still manages to make you feel like you’re the sexiest woman in the solar system.

It hits you square in the chest when his soothing, wide blue eyes look up at you with a familiar tenderness that gives life to butterflies in your stomach, that you would do anything for the man underneath you, the man you love.

“What do you want, darling?” Bucky asks between breaths as he sucks on your hard nipple, his tongue swirling, doing magical things that could make you cum just like this. “What do you need?” He adds, switching to your other breast, which makes it hard to control your stream of thoughts - but there is one thing at the forefront of your mind that you don’t have to consider to know you need desperately.

“You.”

He lets out a groan around your nipple and you suspect thrusts his hips up involuntarily, just to feel closer to you.

“I need you Buck.” You repeat, tucking your finger under his chin and bringing his lips up to tenderly touch yours, as the urge to kiss him overcomes you. If it were up to you, the remainder of your life would be spent with your lips locked with his.

“How?” His stubble scratches the tips of your fingers as you cup his face. The desire brimming in his eyes, the hunger to ravish every part of you, the yearning to have you so close to him you can’t tell where you end and he begins, leaves you breathless.

“Just like this, please.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but your imploring tone inspires Bucky on, not wanting to waste a single second more where the two of you are not joined.

Your forehead rests against his, his eyes boring into yours as he simultaneously uses one hand to assist you lifting yourself to hover over him, and the other to line his tip up to your dripping entrance.

An obscene sound from the back of your throat topples from your lips as you sink down on Bucky's cock. He doesn’t take his adoration filled eyes off you for a single second, even to blink, as he fills you up completely. A whine escapes his lips once you’re seated on his thighs, appreciating how your pussy is swallowing his entire, impressive length.

“You enjoy sitting on your throne?” You can tell he’s trying to tease, a mischievous twinkle in those deep blue eyes, but his voice quivers slightly, almost as if it’s strained, which you know him too well to realise is a dead giveaway for just how aroused he is.

How aroused he is by you.

That fact alone is enough for you to start grinding against him, hips moving back and forth, working up a rhythm that has you seeing stars and him groaning your name.

Both of his large, calloused hands are resting on your hips, helping you keep the tempo, making sure each rock of your hips results in your clit being stimulated against his pelvis. His lips find your collarbone, teeth scraping your delicate skin, the sensation of which clears your mind of any coherent teasing response you could have come up with.

“Fuck, look at you fucking yourself on me. You’re a fucking dream.” Bucky’s mouth is one of the most arousing parts of him, not only for what his lips and tongue can do to your body but also for the salacious words he speaks in that gravelly tone which turns you on just as much as his body does. “That’s it, fuck me darling, this cock is all yours.”

“Buck you’re so deep.” Is all you can think, all you can feel is how his length is nestled within you, how much he fills you up. You’re bursting because of how satiated you feel with him inside you, but Bucky’s musky, woody scent, as well as his warm, tender touch surrounds you from the outside, you feel like he’s everywhere all at once, and it brings you right to the brink of coming undone.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” In this moment you want to give him everything you have, give him everything he’s asking for and more. His voice is gentle the next time he speaks, a murmur just for you, and matches the softness in his gaze. “It’s okay, I got you. Let go for me.”

Bucky sucks the pulse point on the side of your throat and it’s the complete end of you. You shudder, feeling safe caged in his arms as ecstasy fires up from the base of your spine through every neuron in your body, your toes curling, fingers scratching down Bucky's back - you can even taste it on the tip of your tongue as you scream his name.

Your legs shake uncontrollably, unable to continue your pattern of movement grinding down against him, but Bucky takes matters into his own hands by wrapping his arms around your waist and fucking up into you to prolong your high.

Once you’ve finally stopped seeing stars, your vision coming back into focus, all you can see is the adoration, pure captivation as he looks up at your sweaty form trying to catch your breath.

“That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

No one’s ever looked at you like this before, as if you’re the only girl in the world, the only person that matters to them, the one who holds their fragile heart in the palm of your hands and trusts you not to break it.

A dangerous thought flashes through your mind - do you dare tell Bucky that you love him for the first time right now, in the middle of the throes of passion. You have always wanted to let him set the pace of the relationship - he was the one who wanted to take it slow, not rushing into anything, but you can tell by the blooming warmth spreading through your chest, you have never loved someone more than you love him right now.

Bucky reaches up and affectionately brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and before you can think twice about if you truly want to confess your devotion in this moment, he’s kissing you again.

Before you can even recognise what he’s doing, his toned arms have engulfed you in a tight embrace, and without pulling out of you, he flips you onto your back, making sure your head rests gently on one of your pillows. His body weight presses you deliciously into the mattress, it feels like being tucked in securely with a weighted blanket that just so happens to look like a Greek god.

“Need to feel you cum on my cock again, it’s so fucking addicting.” Bucky practically growls in your ear, his breathing heavy. His long chestnut hair falls into his eyes, but it doesn’t prevent him from gazing at you with a tangible combination of awe and lust.

The thrust of his hips is downright sinful. You feel the longing absence of each inch of him as he pulls out, only for him to split you apart again as his hips snap forward. Bucky starts out slow, his fingers intertwine with yours, forcing your hands above your head, but when he starts placing open mouthed kisses on the underside of your jaw, his strokes pick up momentum.

James Barnes has you in a trance, caged in by the sheer size of him, each languid, sensual thrust into you tightens the knot twisting into shape at the bottom of your belly.

He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on. As his shining pupils fixate on the pleasure contorting your face you ponder if he is possibly thinking the exact same way about you.

The moans dripping from his lips, mixed with grunted curses, along with the telltale crease in his forehead, and the fact that his teasing mouth can’t come up with anything coherent is evidence of how close he is. But you know Bucky’s generous heart better than anyone, perhaps even himself, and you are sure he’ll be determined not to cum before you.

One of his large hands continues to pin your wrists down as the other moves to wrap your legs tighter around his waist. Then he has the fucking audacity to rub the pads of his fingers over your clit in tight circles. You’re so done for.

“Bucky, oh fuck… yes, just like that.” You manage to stammer out, barely able to move with his weight pinning you beneath him, knowing your body is hurtling towards an inescapable, forceful orgasm, and all you can do is feel as Bucky plays your body like a fiddle.

“Please, need you to… I can’t last like this.” You can feel the desperate, animalistic timbre of his deep voice in your chest and his hot breath against your neck. “Darling please.”

And then you shatter.

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.

Bucky speaks your name as a prayer, a vow, a promise. Over and over again. A reminder that you are who he is coming apart for.

It almost makes you dizzy how lost he is in the feel of you, how his hands spread you open as far as your legs will flex, but then you hear the wanton whimper as he spills his orgasm inside you and it’s almost enough to make you cum again.

As your heart rates slowly return to normal, Bucky lays down beside you, cupping your face tenderly as his tongue slips once again into your mouth. You would have thought given the display of passion just produced he’d have had his fill of physical affection, but he continues to surprise you.

Who would have guessed that Bucky ‘doesn’t go on second dates’ Barnes would now be clinging to you like a koala, not being able to get enough of your touch.

* * *

“Sweet dreams Buck.” You whisper in that tired, yet sickly sweet tone that Bucky associates with the contentment of falling asleep beside you.

”They’ll all be about you.” He responds with a delicate kiss to your forehead, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down the expanse of your back.

“Then I wish you nothing but dirty dreams.”

He rarely dreams of anything else nowadays, but it makes him smile nevertheless that your minds think in such similar ways.

You really are the girl of his dreams.

Even more than that, if there was an expression which captured just how significant you had become intertwined in his life after a relatively short period of time. His brain could not have concocted someone as perfect as you, even in his wildest fantasies.

He holds you close to him in the total darkness as your breathing slows, but there are too many thoughts racing through Bucky’s brain for him to fall asleep.

Tonight was perfect. Complete, utter perfection. Not that he expects any less of a night spent with you.

So why, even after building the courage all week ahead of the gala, (and if he was honest with himself, since the week he swapped to be on the night shift with you), had he yet to utter those three magic words?

Steve would say there was one final wall around Bucky’s heart he had yet to pull down for you, to reveal his deepest darkest vulnerability that he could barely admit to himself, let alone the flawless woman who consumed his every waking thought.

The insecurity he had been plagued with since he was fourteen years old and his father had wished death upon him.

The fear that he is innately unloveable.

Just because he loves you in a way that influences his every decision, impacts every aspect of his existence, and alters the chemistry of his brain, doesn’t mean you are as hauntingly consumed by devotion as he is.

And even though the rational part of his brain tries reminding him you would not have shown such patience and stuck around as he clumsily attempted to manoeuvre being in a relationship for the first time if you truly did not want to be with him, that nagging insecurity is always at the back of his mind like a fog that won’t clear, doubting whether after everything he has endured, if he is deserving of being loved the same way he adores you.

But at some point Bucky knows he needs to find the bravery to take that leap, even if your possible rejection would be his ultimate downfall.

“Darling?” Bucky whispers as quietly as he can into the still night air. You don’t stir, nor do you respond, which is exactly what he’s hoping for. “Darling, are you awake?” He questions slightly louder so that you couldn’t help but hear him considering his proximity.

You continue to rest peacefully, lips slightly parted and breathing steadily, which is precisely how you always appear when sleeping beside him, but given the gravity of what he is about to reveal to you, Bucky has to be absolutely positive you’re in a deep slumber.

“Chicken butt.” He says randomly, hoping that if you are feigning sleep this will cause a crack in your rather convincing facade. But to his delight, your expression doesn’t change in the slightest, no muscle in your face so much as flinches, and Bucky is finally convinced.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself even though he knows you’re unable to hear him.

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.”

You provide no response, features stay perfectly still, breathing rate doesn’t change. Which is of course exactly the reaction he’s hoping for while you rest, but he can’t stop his mind from wondering what your reply might be if you were awake; if you’d profess the words back to him, or if instead you’d recoil, shying away possibly because Bucky was moving too quickly.

Nevertheless, Bucky knows better than most that life can be painfully short, everyone has their expiration date, and you need to tell the people in your life how much you care about them before it’s too late.

“I love you.” He repeats with a smile and a kiss to your bare shoulder. Though he is navigating the all consuming, anxiety riddled, life ruining feeling of falling in love for the first time, Bucky knows with absolute certainty that he would go through it all again, one hundred times over, if it meant getting to spend his life with you.

But now for the difficult part - he has to say those three life changing words when you’re actually awake to hear them.

* * *

When the irritating ringing of your alarm wakes you up the following morning, a wave of disappointment washes over you. The night before with Bucky had been nothing short of memorable; complete with overflowing emotion, devotion, and no hint of apprehension from the man who had previously told you himself he wanted to take the relationship slow.

It was the most tangible display of pure love you have ever beheld.

But now, you lay alone in a web of cold sheets, Bucky’s place beside you unnaturally empty. When he has an early shift, typically he wakes you before he leaves, and at the very least gives you a kiss on the forehead, if not a much more intimate show of affection. But today, you have no recollection of being woken, no memory of his pillow soft lips on yours.

You find it takes a much more determined effort to get out of bed without an energising kiss from your Bucky.

The gala is the talk of the hospital, those who did not receive an invite interrogating everyone who attended for all the latest gossip. You hear your and Bucky’s names dropped a couple times in passing conversation, but all that does is remind you of the night before, and Bucky proclaiming his devotion to you while extracting a pleasure from your body no one else has been able to produce.

Tonight, you promise yourself, those three small words that have been tugging at your mind for the last month, tonight you’ll tell Bucky.

His declaration of wanting to take your relationship slowly was all the way back before your second date, before you officially became his girlfriend, before you held him as his mother underwent life saving surgery, before you knew of his traumatic past, before he switched to the night shift just so he could see you more often, before last night where he told you you are his everything.

Regardless of if he says the words back, you need to tell him. Need him to know that he is the love of your life, that synapses in your brain have reformed so your train of thought always comes back to him, that he has rewritten the molecular code inscribed in your cells so that they crave him like water, drawing him in like osmosis.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your pager going off, calling an all hands on deck emergency.

The ER is a frenzy of nurses clearing trauma rooms, doctors discharging patients who have already been seen to and Dr Strange shouting at surgical staff to prepare the operating rooms.

“There was a shooting at the mall. Police and paramedics are on scene, but it sounds bad.” Wanda fills you in as you both wash your hands and put gloves on, getting ready for the volume of blood and carnage that comes with gunshot wounds.

Dr Strange gathers the emergency medicine team together to brief you all on what you’re about to face. His face is stoic, having treated too many disasters to even seem phased by the decimation of so many lives.

You have not mastered that, but you also like having your humanity, caring about people is what you do best.

“So far we know of eight victims being routed here. There will most likely be more. All G.S.Ws, five women, two men and a child, about eight. One of the men was a paramedic on scene.” The last sentence out of his mouth gives you pause.

A male paramedic was shot.

“A paramedic? Did they say who? Give a description?” All eyes turn to you and no one needs to say it aloud to know exactly what you’re thinking.

“No, that’s all the information we have at this time. They should only be a few minutes out.” You’ve never known Dr Strange to be very sympathetic, but the look he shoots at you is what you assume to be the most compassion he is capable of.

The nagging part of your brain that always finds a route to the most devastating scenario, no matter how unlikely, is screaming so loudly you cannot ignore it.

What if that paramedic is Bucky?

There would have to be thousands of paramedics in a city of this size, what would the chances actually be that Bucky is the one paramedic in critical danger at this very moment.

But the universe has always found a way to be cruel to you, with the exception of when it brought devilishly handsome Bucky Barnes into your life. But what could be more cruel than introducing you to unconditional love and then destroying your heart by taking it away just as swiftly?

Wanda, sensing your paralysing worry beside her, comfortingly strokes her hand up and down your upper arm. “He was working the morning shift today, his shift will be well and truly over. He shouldn’t have been working when the shooting happened.”

“Yeah… he was on morning shift today.” Reminding yourself how you woke up in bed alone. Your lips tremble as you attempt to talk yourself down from the ledge of sheer panic. But your best friend can tell this fact doesn’t convince you.

“Call him.” Wanda instructs with a level voice, only a small glisten in her pupils gives away that she too is worried for his safety.

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably as you locate his contact in your favourites, accidentally dialling your mum first before you see the picture you have of the two of you together set as his contact pop up as it starts ringing.

Time stands perfectly still, the bustling hospital which is always full of movement, the constant beeping of patients pulse oximeters, announcements sounding over the PA, it all goes dead silent and all you hear is the ring tone of a phone call which Bucky isn’t answering.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

It goes to voicemail, his voice filling your ears but it’s of no relief because it’s only a recording.

You press his contact again.

And again.

And again.

The fourth time you’re forced to listen to his infuriating voicemail, you leave a panicked message. “Bucky I’m so worried about you, please ring me back as soon as you get this. There’s been a shooting. Please, I need to hear your voice, hear that you’re alright. Please.”

You thought he’d pick up the phone and relieve you from this torment, but now knowing he hasn’t answered after multiple calls, you’re more convinced than ever it’s him that’s been shot.

“Wanda if it’s-”

“You can’t think like that.” But that's all you can think about. Your job, the duty you have to these patients who are en route to the hospital, none of that comes close to the need to know Bucky is unharmed.

The world starts moving in slow motion as the first of the patients arrives. Time runs like molasses, but the anxiety in your chest turns up one hundred fold, as if flashes of lightning strike your chest one after another.

A woman gets pushed in on a gurney, light brown hair stained with blood, and even from the sight of how the paramedic needs to hold her skull flap to her head to prevent her brain being exposed, you know she won’t make it as much as the surgeons will try to save her.

There’s a child, not much bigger than Sasha who you treated the day you first met Bucky, that gets pushed through next. In complete juxtaposition, she’s sitting up talking to paramedics, arm in a sling, but mostly looks unharmed.

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart.

Chestnut hair and an EMT uniform.

You’d know those thick, wavy locks anywhere.

“Bucky!” You don’t even recognise your own voice with how much terror it is consumed with. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

In a flash you’re by his side, keeping pace as they wheel him deeper into the hospital, your lungs and throat scorching with distress.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.

Not your Bucky. They can’t take your Bucky.

“Buck, can you hear me?” Your hand cups his cheek, and he’s as cold as ice. His eyes are shut so he can’t even look at you to give you one last chance to memorise the astonishingly blue irises which have been your source of solace since meeting him.

A mask covers his mouth and nose, delivering rescue breaths. You try to place a block in your mind to stop it from retrieving the medical knowledge you have spent years memorising - you don’t want to know how catastrophic a situation his body must be in to be needing rescue breaths.

“I love you, James. You hear me? I love you!” It almost ends your existence when he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even so much as flinch at your confession. You hope any part of him that is still alive inside the casing of his cold body manages to hear those words.

Dr Strange and Wanda have to physically restrain you from following the team treating Bucky and prevent you entering the operating theatre.

Dr Strange’s voice sounds like a hum, too far away to make sense of even though he’s pushing you away from the OR. All you’re focussed on is keeping your eyes on Bucky for as long as you can.

Is this the last time you will ever see him alive?

It’s only once he is out of sight, that your brain starts to catch up to the realisation of what has actually happened.

Bucky was shot. A bullet ripped through his skin, tearing muscle and fascia, lacerating his organs, possibly fatally wounding him.

Bullets are designed to kill. To end the life of the organism the gun barrel is aimed at. There is no mercy from a gunshot wound, you had seen too many to believe better.

A guttural cry forces its way out of your parched windpipe without you being able to prevent it, your kneecaps sting as you fall to the ground. Hot, large tears cascade onto your cheeks as Wanda’s arms engulf you.

Any second now, James Buchanan Barnes’ heart could be taking its final beat and you wouldn’t be any wiser. His lungs would stop breathing, preventing oxygen from binding to hemoglobin in his blood and reaching his brain. Everything else would shut down quickly from there.

One second he’d be here and the next he wouldn’t.

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore.

You had seen it too often, heard from bereaved family members time and time again how quickly it had all happened, but it wasn’t until this very moment that you understood the magnitude of that sentiment.

How could he go from telling you yesterday night that you were the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on to now possibly his cold, lifeless body laying on an operating table with his soul having crossed over to the afterlife?

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh.

Never see his dazzling sapphire eyes as they regard you with overwhelming affection.

Never feel that warm rapture blooming in your chest when he’d proclaim himself as yours and kiss you in the same breath.

He’ll never get to know you love him.

It feels as though you are tumbling wildly down into an abyss, waiting for the inevitable crash at the bottom that would either end this eternal suffering or that sudden jerk, the lurch as you wake up from this cruel nightmare.

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed.

Oxygen would be the gift you’d allow yourself once your love was awake and talking again; cracking stupid jokes with his signature cocky smirk and flirting with you like you were on your first date again.

And if he were to pass into the next life, taking your heart with him, then you would simply refuse to take another breath until you were reunited with him once again.

Part 10 coming soon

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @Dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @aya-fay @lowkeysebby @redbarn1995 @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky

[solaris-amethyst]

💫It’s okay to be sad💫

✨Pairing: Jongho x afab!reader ✨Prompt: When sadness takes over boyfriend Jongho is there with kind words and sweet gestures. ✨Genre: fluff, not really angst but sadness? non idol au ✨Word count: 1.6k ☀️Authors note: Not my best work but bad days = a need for fluffy fics catered to yourself so yeah this is purely self indulgent for myself and what I needed to hear after this day.

Today had just been a day where sadness was just overwhelming you. Any misstep or mistake at work made the tears well up in your eyes and the lump in your throat grow tighter. It felt unbearable especially when you hade made a mistake which had caused a person in a higher position to be annoyed at you.

You knew that most people could spot you weren't happy today, not that it was hard to spot, your eyes were glossy with tears and slightly red and your nose had turned a bit read as well from blowing your nose over and over again in the bathroom. Someone had even mentioned they could see it through your entire body language, they had told you you didn’t look well and that they were worried for you, one person even suggested you’d call in and take the day off tomorrow to focus on yourself.

You hadn't done many mistakes at all today but the ones you did make made you feel like the whole world would crash and your thoughts running wild with anxiety and overthinking every single interaction. Despite everyone who noticed you were upset reassuring you that there was nothing to be worried about or feel upset about it don’t make the feeling go away. For some reason the sadness only grew. So once your shift ended you had hurried to change into your regular clothes before hurrying back home as quickly as you could not wanting to spend another minute at work.

Feeling tired and suffocated.

The walk up to your and your boyfriend's shared apartment was slow, a feeling of exhaustion taking over your body as you open the door. It felt good despite the overwhelming feeling of tiredness and emptiness in your entire body to finally be home in a space where no one would judge you.

As you open the door you can hear your boyfriend Jongho shuffling around in the kitchen as he hums a tune.

"Y/n darling? Is that you?" You hear him say in a giddy voice as he rounds the corner to come greet you. You take him in, his cheeks are round and slightly rosy and his brown hair is slightly curled giving him that teddy bear look you adore.

"Hello my love." He says with a gummy smile but when he spots your face, the red eyes and the unshed tears his smile drops.

"Are you upset? Has anything happened love?" He takes a step towards you with worry and he waits patiently for you to hang your jacket and take off your shoes before taking your hands in his. Gently caressing them as he allows you to take your time to speak if you want to share whatever it is that is bothering you.

"It's just... you know one of those days where your emotions run wild and everything feels like shit and the smallest mistake feels enormous." You tell him, your voice thick with emotion as you once again fight the tears from falling down your cheeks.

"I understand sweetheart. It's okay to have those days you know? I have them as well. Is there anything I can do for you? To make it feel better?" He asks gently and you shrug not knowing what could make it better.

"Not really."

"Can I give you a hug? I give really good hugs you know." He offers gently and that's something you can't say no to.

Jonghos hugs are always comforting and they feel safe and that's what you need right now. Comfort and a safe place so you nod at him and he is quick to bring you in for a hug. Hugging you tightly as he kisses the side of your temple.

"It's okay to be sad love, you can let it out." He murmurs and you can feel the tears fall from your eyes as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, hugging him back just as tight.

Jongho holds you for however long you need, only ever pulling back when he feels you moving indicating you feel that you have had enough. You stand there for a good 10 minutes as you cry and snivel into his shirt and when you break the hug you try and clean his shirt to which he tells you it's okay and not to worry about it, he can always throw it in the wash later he says.

"Was there anything at work that made you feel even worse?" He asks and you nod.

"Yeah I couldn't find some meat for an order but when I asked last Friday I understood it as the kitchen was taking care of that and the potatoes and I didn't have to do anything. But apparently that was wrong of me to think when that's what she said when I asked her. And then I couldn't find it at first so I looked every where over and over, I looked in the meat fridge, the freezer, the vegetable fridge like everywhere! And I could feel her growing annoyed with me, mentioning that I should have said something during Friday if I couldn't find it and you know then she found it two seconds later when she started searching because it was under the cheese but in that basket it looked like it was only cheese and I don't know it just felt like I made a huge mistake because I misunderstood what she meant and then I personally felt like she was annoyed when I tried to explain why I thought she meant that way." You ramble on and you're not entirely sure Jongho understands the situation but he nods nonetheless.

"Well, if she said that the kitchen takes care of it she should have specified what exactly or just told you that this particular thing they didn't take care of so you'd know. I wouldn't say that's something to blame on you my love. This whole thing where you're packing orders, it's a lot, it's easy to miss a product when they arrive with a bunch of other things and I'd say it's logical that you'd assume there was only cheese in that basket. And you guys fixed it before that order had to go out right?" He asks and you nod as you wipe a tear from your cheek. "Then there is no reason for her to be annoyed. Yes, perhaps it is annoying and scary of not knowing what to do if you're missing something and the time the order is going out is soon but at the same time we're all humans and we can all make mistakes. Wasn't this the same person who by mistake put the wrong date on one order and then on another put too little of the food they had actually ordered?"

"It was." You mumble looking down and Jonghos hand goes to gently grasp your chin to make you look at him.

"Then it is not the end of the world. Even the sun has spots, we all make mistakes that's what makes us humans and now both of you have learned something from this situation. I can promise you that she's not annoyed at you and if she is that's a very dumb reason to be." He tells you and you nod leaning in to hug him again which he gladly lets you do, allowing his arms to come around you once more.

"How about we have a cozy evening you and I? You go and hop into the shower, you can sit under the scalding hot water and I run down to the supermarket and buy your favorite ice cream and snacks and drinks and then when I get back I can join you in the shower for a bit to relax under the warm water, you know we can sit and cuddle under the stream. Then when we get out we'll get dressed in our warm pajamas and fluffy socks and we'll order pizza and watch Pongo or something. Would that make it slightly better?" He asks as he leans his head on yours and you nod.

"I'd like that."

"Then that's what we'll do. And if you still feel sad I can help you call in sick tomorrow and we'll spend our entire day tomorrow cuddling together."

"You'd do that for me?" You glance up towards him and you find him looking at you with adoring eyes.

"I'd do anything for you my love."

"Thank you Jongho, I really needed to hear that after today. I don't know, I feel so bad for feeling so sad and all." You tell him sniffling.

"Don't feel bad, sometimes we just need to allow ourselves to feel sad, the only important thing is we talk to someone about it and don't let ourselves stay in the negative feeling for too long. Sadness is sometimes a good thing as well but for now we'll focus on making it less intense, it doesn't have to go away entirely just less intense so we can enjoy ourselves together." He says earnestly before giving your tearstained cheek a kiss.

"I love you so much."

"I love you more. Now go get into the shower, I'll join you once I'm back from shopping and then we will just cuddle the night away."

He gently pushes you towards the bathroom with a smile as he goes to put on his shoes, telling you he won't be gone too long. You can't help but feel a bit calmer after speaking to him, the sadness still present but not as overwhelming as it's been since you woke up early this morning.

And perhaps after today, it will only be a small pool of sadness within you as love takes its place in the form of your loving boyfriend and all the things he does for you.

[tkomptgoedluv]

tear you apart.

grumpycafeworkervampire! joost x f! reader

tags: dead dove do not eat, f! reader, internetcafe & vampire au, very much the ‘he hates everyone but her’ trope, even more so the ‘who did this to you?’ trope, reader’s boyfriend is an asshole and deserves everything he gets, joostie has a crush and it’s bad, light stalking, hurt angst and comfort all in one, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 5,040.

warnings: descriptions of an un-specific mental illness, cheating, descriptions of self harm, mentions of & scenes of DV, violence, gore, rpf.

notes: hello!! thank you guys so much for waiting on this even though it’s been over a month since we all lost our minds a little over vampire joost. i’m very proud of this one, even if the ending is kind of rushed, and i may or may not have already planned out parts 2 & 3 as well so please lemme know if you want a series out of this! (if you don’t say yes then juno might kill you btw). this fic also comes with a MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING so please read at your own risk and stay safe!

love you all lots — enjoy!! 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

the whole point of joost setting up his little internet cafe was that he needed something simple, for a while. something quiet, something normal. he needed to get away from his life with the band, and away from all of the blood and guts that came right along with it. for once, he wanted to be invisible.

that’s what the cafe was supposed to do for him; become an escape, of sorts. he wanted to spend all day, everyday, sat behind that desk of his, with earphones in his ears and a magazine in his hands. if someone needed help with one of the computers or something, then he’d do so, but only with a roll of his eyes and a scowl on his face. anything more than that and he’d flip them off, flash his fangs at them maybe, and laugh as they’d run out the door, screaming.

he didn’t want to talk to these people, his customers — a lot of them he actually couldn’t stand. they were messy and far too loud for his liking, always leaving their rubbish on the floor and shouting at each other. but at the very least they were simple, so he could handle teaching them how to find youtube and cleaning up after them if it meant that they’d all leave him alone. besides, he still had his ways of disposing of the ones that just wouldn’t behave themselves.

but then you had to come along, didn’t you?

you, with your big sad eyes and your soft, soft smile that was such a rarity to see. this plan of his, you were ruining it and you didn’t even know it.

joost could never admit it to himself, but he was a little infatuated with you. all you ever did was just sit in the corner, as far away from everyone else as you could possibly get, and stare at the computer screen until your eyes would grow too heavy. it made you such a stark contrast to the rest of them that joost couldn’t help but feel something towards you, even if he wouldn’t show it.

he found himself quickly learning your routine, making a note of how you only ever came in at night, no earlier than nine o’clock, and always left before the early hours of the morning. he had no choice but to notice how you always had the same heartbroken look on your face, with red-rimmed eyes and a frown pulling down at your lips. and he could never ignore how you only ever seemed to wear clothes that were at least a few sizes too big for you, always drowning in the fabric of old hoodies and sweatpants.

all of these little things that he couldn’t stop himself from knowing about you…well it was all a little bit weird, wasn’t it? because joost, he was yet to speak to you, to even acknowledge you, really. only when your back was turned would he ever dare to glance in your direction, and even then it was quick, only ever from the corner of his eye.

whatever this was, this thing joost had for you, it was starting to blur the lines between a normal, human crush and borderline stalking. that was why no matter what, it could never be anything more than just a few glances here and there. no matter what, he had to stay away.

joost wanted simple, and you just weren’t that.

but like all of his other plans, you had to go and ruin that one too, because then you started to smell.

not of anything bad, of course, just of blood. and to joost, everyone smelt like blood to some extent; it was one of the many consequences of his particular…lifestyle. he should’ve been used to it by then. the sweet, sweet smell of you shouldn’t have almost knocked him off of his chair when you walked in that day.

at first he just assumed it was nature taking its course; you were a girl after all, and it explained the constant grimace on your face. but after a week, the smell hadn’t gone away — now four months later, it was still there. if anything, it was only getting stronger.

like tonight, there you were, sat in your usual spot right by the window, and joost could smell it. he could barely concentrate on reading his magazine the way it was making his head spin and his heart race. for a human,

a scent like that wasn’t normal; despite his better judgment, joost found himself worrying about you.

even more so when you started to cry at your desk.

your head was down and your hands were hiding your face, muffling the sound. no one else around you could hear it, they were too engrossed in playing their silly little video games to really notice. but joost wasn’t like them, was he? he could hear it. he could hear it over the sound of a ‘SUM 41’ song playing on full blast in his ears, in fact.

it made him freeze in his seat, his hands grip the pages of his ‘SPICE’ magazine a little too tightly. then he looked over at you only because he knew that you wouldn’t see it, and caught a glimpse of your shoulders shaking slightly. the sight alone made his eyebrows crease and his knuckles turn white, but it was your small gasp of breath that made him growl.

everyone’s head turned at the sound as the click-clacking of the keyboards ceased, and suddenly joost had sixteen pairs of eyes all staring at him. the only one that hadn’t looked up was you, who merely flinched at the sudden noise as you finally lowered your hands, only to wipe your nose and go back to staring at your computer screen.

in slow movements, joost slammed his magazine down and kicked his feet up off of his desk, muttering a low ‘we’re closing, everyone get out.’ with a cigarette still hanging from his lips. when nobody moved he rose from his chair and stubbed out his cig into his garfield-shaped ashtray, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

that was all it took to get everyone up, shoving their shit into their pockets, and heading out the door. you went to stand as well, having already pulled your hood well up over your head in preparation for the hard-falling rain outside. but you stopped when you heard the guy at the reception desk clear his throat not just once but twice, his attention only on you as everybody else made their exits.

“not you, grey hoodie. you stay.”

joost could hear a ringing in his ears from how silent the room became once the last person had left, the cafe door swinging shut behind them, it’s sign now reading ‘closed: come again soon!”

there was a certain…hesitation behind the way that he moved closer to you. behind the way that he grabbed a new cigarette from his pack, letting it dangle between his lips as he pulled up a chair next to you. the absolute last thing that he wanted was to wind up scaring you, somehow, even if the look on your face told him that you already were.

joost could see you shaking, could see all of the tears welling up in your eyes no matter how many times you tried to blink them away. he could hear your heart hammering away inside your chest, the rush of warm blood inside your veins. for once, maybe for even the first time, joost was starting to regret having the reputation that he did.

“i know i’m not exactly known for my ‘outstanding customer service’, but i just want to make sure that you’re okay.” he paused only to take a drag of his cigarette, the ash falling down and dirtying the denim of his jeans. “are you okay?”

no, you really weren’t.

without a word you turned away to press the ‘on’ button of your computer screen, its cold, blue light casting a dark shadow across your face. it showed him exactly what you had been looking at before you’d tried to leave, having forgotten to properly log out first. whilst the receptionist leaned forward and squinted at the screen, you let your head hang low to hide the fresh tears that burned along your waterline.

you’d been scrolling through facebook rather aimlessly when you came across the picture. at first, you thought that it was just an old one someone had reshared simply for nostalgia sake; one of those ‘on this day five years ago’ type things. then you had seen that it had only been posted an hour ago, so you tried convincing yourself that it wasn’t actually him in the photo — even though he’d been tagged in the fucking thing.

whether you could accept it or not, it was very much him. it was him sucking on the neck of your best friend, at a party he insisted that you couldn’t go to.

“what exactly am i looking at here?”

but to joost, it was just a picture of what he guessed was a house party. the girls were half dressed, the guys were clutching onto their beer cans, and nobody in sight looked sober. not exactly something worth crying over, he thought.

“that’s uh, that’s my boyfriend right there…and that’s my best friend next to him.”

he didn’t say anything for a minute; he didn’t really know what to say. joost just kept glancing back and forth between you and the computer screen, with his lips ever so slightly parted and the cigarette between his fingertips long forgotten about. he understood it now, and couldn’t blame you for any of the tears running down your cheeks anymore.

“for what it’s worth, i’m sorry. dude’s a fucking scumbag for doing that to you.”

you merely chuckled, the laugh coming out all dry and hoarse. “you have no idea.”

it was a small comment, maybe just your own way of saying ‘yeah, i know’, but something about your choice of words made joost frown. he didn’t like the gut feeling it gave him, nor did he like the way he saw you flinch again, this time at the way he raised his hand, though only to toss his now burnt-out cigarette into the bin.

it was making him think, making him realise that, that definitely wasn’t the first time you’d reacted to something so minuscule like that. how even the slightest of movements normally had you ducking your head and cowering, with your shoulders all bunched up by your ears. and it was making him wonder if there was maybe another reason behind the clothes that you wore, besides how you just ran a little colder than the average person.

the crease in joost’s eyebrows deepened as he swivelled his seat more to face you rather than the computer, and rested a careful hand on your knee. as you looked up, he swapped his frown for a smile that you just about managed to mirror.

“i’m here if you wanna talk about anything, okay? i’m joost.”

when you told him your name back, he acted as though he hadn’t know what it was already.

the sudden ringing of your phone cut through the soft silence like a jagged knife, the sound of your shitty, pirated ‘AFI’ ringtone bringing a genuine smile to joost’s face as he got up to walk away. it was merely a formality at this point, stepping away to give someone a bit of ‘privacy’ whilst they took a phone call. joost could be all the way across the street and he’d still hear it, whether he was trying to or not.

although admittedly, this was one he was purposefully trying to eavesdrop on. he caught a glimpse of the caller ID — saw the bright red love heart next to the name ‘levi’. since it matched the name tagged in the photos, it was a safe assumption to presume it was the boyfriend calling.

he hoped to hear the guy grovel, begging on his knees for your forgiveness or at the very least offering you some kind of explanation. anything to prove this gut feeling of his wrong. but even the shouting from the other end of the line made joost wince, his palms starting to sweat as he began tidying up the other desks.

it started out as just pure name calling, accusing you of facebook-stalking his friends and not trusting him, that you were ‘fucking crazy’ and a ‘stupid little bitch’. then it became about how he’d already made it clear that you weren’t to go to the cafe tonight, not under any circumstances, and he could see online that you were.

joost really did try to busy himself, tried to grit his teeth and bear with what he was hearing this asshole scream at you. he wasn’t supposed to have been listening, anyway. he was supposed to have been staying away, like he was always meant to.

but he just couldn’t take it though, could he? he couldn’t handle hearing this boyfriend of yours threaten to beat you black and blue, and not for the first time this week. he had to storm across the room and snatch the phone right out of your hands, flipping it shut to disconnect the call. honestly, he probably would’ve smashed the fucking thing had you not taken it back from him and slipped it into your trouser pocket.

“tell me he didn’t mean that.”

you weren’t given a chance to scold him for his eavesdropping, even though you weren’t entirely sure how he was able to hear your conversation in the first place. joost was already staring you down, his arms crossed and chest heaving as he towered over you. you could almost feel the anger he radiated; see the darkening of his eyes and flare of his nostrils.

it was no wonder that you couldn’t look at him; you didn’t have the guts to.

“tell me he doesn’t fucking hit you.”

you couldn’t.

you couldn’t lie to him like that. you weren’t quite sure why, you were lying to everybody else in your life about it. he wasn’t the first to ask you that kind of question, and he wouldn’t be the last, either. but you just didn’t have it in you to try and feed him the same old bullshit that you always fed anyone else that asks you about it. chances were, he wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

so instead, you showed him. still with your eyes focused on the wall behind him, you peeled off that god-awful hoodie and let it fall to the floor, leaving you to shiver in a thin, white t-shirt. it exposed each and every single one of the bruises that levi had given you, both old and new, as well as those half-a-dozen little cuts that you’d given yourself.

you felt joost’s fingertips trail along every single one of the marks, gently brushing along the skin of your arms and only stopping once he reached your wrists. he hesitated then, though only because he didn’t want to hurt you anymore than you already had yourself. it was with such a delicate hold that he took your arms in his hands, turning them over in the light just so that he could see it all a little easier.

“this wasn’t him, was it?”

you already knew what he was referring to and so you shook your head, still too scared to meet his eyes. if you had, you would’ve seen his own tears welling up in his.

this was what he had been smelling. all those spots of blood pooling underneath your skin, slowly turning into bruises. the thin, red lines that ran up and down each one of your arms; some old and scabbed over, some not. all of it, every single mark, was why he could always smell so much blood on you.

joost didn’t even know he still knew how to cry, it had been so long. he hadn’t shed a tear in years; not since way before the…change. and you were the reason that streak was broken now, because he soon found himself dropping your arms to wipe the wet from his face, further smudging the dark eyeliner around his eyes.

“fuck, okay, we’re gonna…there’s a pull-out bed in the back, we’re gonna make you a bed for the night — for as long as you need. you’re not going back there.”

he was pacing around as he rambled, wiping the snot from his nose as he did so. by the time you’d pulled your hoodie back on he had a whole plan laid out for you, the kind that had you moving into the cafe, sleeping in the staff room, never to see your boyfriend again.

it was getting harder and harder to believe that this was the same guy that you’d heard so many horror stories about. all the gossip, the whispers, the rumours, they all painted joost out to be some kind of monster. yet here he was in tears over you, doing laps of the room with his hands pulling at his hair in a panic, all because he knew your secret now. knew that you’d been dealing with enough monsters of your own to know that he wasn’t one.

“why do you care, joost?” your voice betrayed you as you spoke because with each word it waivered, coming out all cracked and broken until you could barely say anything at all. “you don’t know me.”

“i do! i mean, i know enough to know that a guy like that is gonna fucking kill you one day and that can’t happen, okay? it can’t. do you understand that?”

in a moment of weakness he made his way back over to you and placed his hands on either side of your face, gently tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. under the warm, yellow lights of the cafe you could see every ounce of fear in his eyes, feel the shake in his hands as he tucked loose strands of hair behind your ears.

“i’m sorry. i know that this is a lot and you don’t really know me like that but i need you to trust me, liefde. i’m gonna keep you safe, i promise.”

just like that, every single one of those little promises that he’d made himself about staying away from you, gone.

you found yourself nodding before you’d really even given a thought to what it was you were actually agreeing to. just as long as joost kept looking at you like that, you’d probably agree to anything.

“okay, okay, that’s good. just…stay here, alright? i’ll be right back.”

you blinked, and you were alone.

the staff room door was open ajar now, with a dimmer, yellow light spilling out. there was a lot of faint rustling around; a few little bangs and crashes followed by some muffled swearing. besides that and the rain hitting against the cafe windows, it was silent — almost eerily so.

it gave you the space to actually try to understand what it was that was happening. joost was back there setting up that bed for you, turning the cafe's staff room into a makeshift bedroom, just as he promised. you wouldn’t be going home tonight, not tomorrow, maybe not ever. as for levi? it was hard to wrap your head around the fact that you weren’t ever going to see him again.

you took a seat back at your desk, closing each one of your tabs and logging out of whatever websites that you needed to. myspace, youtube, facebook; you had to stop and stare when that fucking picture popped up again.

calling her your best friend was a stretch, she was always more his friend than she ever was yours, but still, it stung. besides joost now, she was the only one who knew your secret, who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and seen him hit you so hard it knocked you clean off your feet. she still convinced you to stay, giving you the exact same excuses for it that levi did.

he was always stressed and going through something that you just wouldn’t understand, and you were always the one making him feel worse, so it really couldn’t be his fault then, could it?

you were just about to close that very last tab, the cursor hovering over the big red ‘x’ in the top right-hand corner, when the front door swung back open. the sudden ding of the electronic doorbell made you jump, as did the bang of the door frame slamming against the wall. you heard his voice before you saw him standing there on the worn-out welcome mat, soaking wet and seething.

“i fucking knew you were here.”

levi.

even from where you were sitting you could smell the alcohol on him, see the glazed-over look in his bloodshot eyes. peaking out from the collar of his jacket were small, dark hickies dotted all across his neck and there was a faint smudge of pink smeared across his bottom lip. he hadn’t even had the decency to clean himself up, to wipe the last speck of her literal fucking lipstick from off of his face.

“you little fucking bitch, what did i say to you, huh? i told you to stay home. why is it that you can’t ever fucking listen?”

“i’m not doing this with you, levi.”

he laughed at what you said, more so chuckled, darkly underneath his breath. he always found it funny when you tried to talk back to him, refusing to do whatever it was he demanded or throwing back any of his endless insults right back at him. it didn’t happen often because when it did, you’d pay for it.

“oh yeah? you’re not gonna ‘do’ this with me? who the fuck do you think you are to say that to me?” when you didn’t say anything else and turned away from him, deciding to instead face the now black screen of your computer, he continued. “cmon, get the fuck up, we’re going home.”

you didn’t move. you focused on your breathing, focused on the feeling of the grey cotton between your fingers as you played with the fraying threads of your hoodie’s sleeves.

“i’m not talking to myself here. i said get up!”

levi’s voice bellowed from all the way across the room and you could’ve sworn that it made the keyboards shake. still, you stayed exactly where you were, making it clear to him that you weren’t going to be going anywhere tonight — especially not home, especially not with him.

being ignored like this was almost worse than anything you could’ve possibly said back to him. you've never done that before, never tried to disobey him quite so outrightly. you had always been one to break as soon as he’d raise his voice, a shadow of a smirk curling the corners of his lips as he’d dare you to say whatever it was again.

only this time, you weren’t saying anything at all, and he really didn’t like that.

his strides over to you were so quick that you didn’t have any time at all to react before you were being yanked out of your seat and dragged back over to the door. you were tripping over all of the other chairs as you tried to pull your arm free, begging for him to stop and to let you go whilst he dug his nails deeper into the flesh of your forearm.

it hadn’t even occurred to you that the background noise of joost moving furniture around couldn’t be heard anymore, that the staff room door was no longer closed ajar and instead now wide open. it hadn’t even occurred to you, not until levi was being teared away from you, leaving behind a small rip in your hoodie and faint claw marks in your skin.

from where you were standing now, you couldn’t see much anymore. tall, broad shoulders became the barrier that separated you from levi, keeping you hidden away from him. you weren’t sure how long joost had been back there listening, how he was able to intervene so quickly or how he had the strength to toss your boyfriend almost to the other side of the room. you were just grateful for it, for him, and tightly clutched onto one of his arms so that he couldn’t disappear on you again.

“woah, what the fuck is this? who the fuck are you?”

levi had knocked into a couple of desks as he stumbled but eventually found his footing, his leather jacket hanging off of his shoulders from where joost had yanked at it. he shrugged it back on, eyes glued onto and glaring at the man you were cowering behind. neither of you expected him to start laughing like how he did, a deep, bitter chuckle that somehow made the air around you feel colder.

“so this is what she’s been doing here all this time, huh? been fucking around with some freak behind my back?”

“get out.”

there was no laughter in joost’s voice, no humour peaking through the cracks of his expression. there was only a silent begging behind his anger, a slight pleading in his words because joost already knew how this would end if levi didn’t turn on his heel and run.

but levi just wasn’t one to listen, was he?

instead he made a beeline for what was now your bedroom, supposedly, with no regard for the ‘staff only’ sign that was stuck to the door. without even taking a full step inside he could see the sofa bed that had been pulled out for you, decorated with scattered cushions and a messed up, old white duvet. it didn’t matter that it actually wasn’t what it looked like, because he’d already made his mind up and seeing that was all the ‘proof’ that he needed.

so levi wasn’t laughing anymore as he slowly turned around, now in a position where you were in his full view. he could see how you had yourself wrapped around joost’s arm, almost hugging it, and was starting to shrink under his gaze. he stared you both down for a moment before he locked eyes with you, his teeth gritted and jaw twitching.

“you fucking whore, you’re so fucking dead -”

he’d charged at you with one hand balled up into a fist and the other stretched out, a single finger pointing right at you. you jumped back and away from joost, your arms up and shielding your head as you turned away and readied yourself to feel it. a hard knee to the stomach, a sharp pull at your hair, something.

you only moved again when you heard a small whimper; an impossibly pathetic sound that you’d never heard before, but one that only levi could have made. you lowered your arms and raised your head, and immediately crashed into the desk behind you, choking on a cry that became lodged in your throat.

joost; sweet, misunderstood joost had his hand plunged inside levi’s chest, his fingers wrapped around and squeezing at his heart. those once soft blue eyes of his were now a deep, glowing shade of red, and as he grinned, you caught a glimpse of two long, sharp fangs. blood stained his lips and dribbled down his chin as he took a chunk out of levi’s neck, swallowing down every last piece of flesh and spitting out the odd little bone.

and he started to moan into it with each large gulp that he took, becoming so lost in the pleasure of it all that for just a moment, he seemed to forget that you were there. it had just been so long since he’d last indulged like this — feeling that warm rush of blood slide down the back of his throat, the heavy pulse of his prey slowly growing weaker and weaker.

joost didn’t stop until whatever was left of levi’s head was in one hand and his still heart was in the other, his body already turning cold at his feet. he easily could have stayed there for a little while longer, gone in for seconds and thirds perhaps, when he finally hears you. he hears you choking on your tears, on the single breath that you were holding.

you hadn’t been able to look away even though you had so desperately wanted to; you could feel the image of levi standing there all helpless, his mouth bobbing up and down as he tried so hard to scream out, burning into your eyes.

“liefde?…”

his voice was so gentle, sounding almost frightened, and yet you still jumped when joost finally spoke. he was just standing there staring at you, eyes all wide, with blood smeared across his face and splattered across his button-up shirt. even as he stood above the body parts of your boyfriend, joost somehow looked small now, like a dog that had been found chained to a fence for a few too many days.

for every step that he tried to take towards you, you took another five back, carefully inching your way closer and closer towards the front door as you did so. you could see it start to click in his head, the welling up of tears in his eyes as he glanced back and forth between you and the door.

“no no no, please, please don’t do that. i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry. please, i’m not gonna hurt you, please don’t go.”

joost took another step forward and you shrieked, bumping hard into the wall behind you, scraping your elbow against the brick. you hadn’t needed to say anything after that, hadn’t needed to beg for him to let you go because you watched him recoil, his hands held up in surrender.

you took one last look at levi, at what was left of him.

“fuck, i didn’t…i’m so sorry, liefde.”

and you ran, without ever looking back.

[heechwe]

A TEAR IN SPACE | 최한솔

୨୧ pairing: hansol vernon chwe x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 5.9k ୨୧ genre: comedy, fluff, smut ୨୧ tags: tattooartist!vernon, spit play, semi-dom!vernon, degradation kink, pet names (princess, etc), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, backshots, creampie. ୨୧ synopsis: Your first tattoo shouldn't be left in the hands of a stranger. But what scares you the most about the entire experience may just be how hard you're already falling for the tattoo artist. ⟢ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally posting the damn birthday fic I planned weeks ago. Better late than never! Beta'ed by my usual sweethearts, @lovetaroandtaemin @gyubakeries, and to all of the friends who read it early and hyped me up, I love you so much. Also song title inspiration from a song by Glass Animals!

If your family and friends had known you were going in with no game plan for your upcoming tattoo, including what you wanted or where you would put it, they would have a heart attack. The only thing you’re certain of is the parlor itself, the place having tons of room for walk-ins since it opened barely a month ago. Despite its infancy, though, the business was getting rave reviews.

Better yet, it was only a ten-minute walk from your apartment. It had to be a sign to get one of your own, now or never.

Your heart rests in your mouth when you push the door of the business open, the blue neon sign for Cheol + Chwe Ink Company flashing in the corner of your eye. Only one customer sits in the tattoo parlor. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth as the tattoo artist repeatedly shades the same lines.

“First timer,” the artist says as he moves his hand and the ink gun from the reddened space on the guy's arm. He looks away from the canvas and to you for a moment, and your heart feels heavier with his eyes on you. His brown eyes captivate you, even as you look over the rest of his face and outfit. Shaved head, white t-shirt, and both arms covered from biceps to the backs of both of his hands in ink. “Told him not to get a dragon.”

“Fuck you, Vernon,” The guy spits, turning his head away and huffing out bated breath. His bangs fall into his eyes, and he has to use the arm not being tattooed to swipe them from his face.

“All I’m saying is, I told you to go for the roman numerals. Roman numerals are easier and faster than animals.”

You laugh to yourself and turn your head away, looking over the station around and behind Vernon’s head. Sketches litter the wall, some impressionistic, others dark shades of white and black. You recognize a couple of the art styles from your copious research on tattoos: neo-traditional, fine line, and so on. Some sketches remain unfinished; he’s tacked others, fully colored, to the wall. The guy clearly knows his stuff.

“Welcome to Cheol and Chwe! I’m the Cheol, Seungcheol that is. What can I do for ya?” The muscular guy behind the counter had to have materialized in front of you without you noticing. He’s got a warm smile that eases some of your nerves. And he has even more tattoos than Vernon, some covering his neck area.

“I was wondering if you could take a walk-in today for a free canvas.”

You see Vernon’s jaw tick and his ears perk up. It may not be an everyday occurrence for someone to come into a parlor with no expectations for what they get, especially for someone as capable as Vernon clearly is.

“Completely free? Alright, we can do that.” Seungcheol pulls out a clipboard with paperwork for you to sign. “Tattoo minimum is a hundred. That work for you?”

You nod. “Not a problem.”

You both go over the paperwork together, and by the time that you have your cash and ID out, Vernon walks over to Seungcheol with the cordless ink gun still in his hand. “Can you take over the rest of Mingyu’s tattoo? Just the shading needs to be finished.”

“What the fuck man!” Mingyu throws his free arm in the air, and Vernon smirks at him.

“Rather do the free canvas than another dragon, man. Sorry.” Vernon slides his focus back on you with a smile. “I’ll try to keep the design to the standard minimum. Unless you want something worth more than that.”

You contemplate and pull a few more bills from your wallet. “All I got is two hundred on me. Is that enough for a masterpiece?”

He chuckles and brushes his fingers against yours for the extra bills. The contact makes you shiver, but he’s cool and collected the entire time you touch. “I think I can work with that.”

With the way Vernon talked about the other guy’s first-time experience, you weren’t about to let him know you were also a first timer. Then again, you wouldn’t take the pain like a baby. You’d handle it like a pro, for sure.

“You’re in excellent hands,” Seungcheol pipes up, breaking the sudden tension in the air that still simmers between your fingertips.

The second you sit in Vernon’s chair and Vernon has a blue Sharpie in his hand, ready to freelance the design on your skin, your eyes once again shift across the space. It’s all black brick with industrial lighting, meant to give off the art as the focus. Where Seungcheol’s side is a lot cleaner, only a handful of his prints and designs on the mirror overlooking his chair, Vernon is scatterbrained. But he has to have some kind of system in place, flitting across drawers and supply boxes without issue.

You can tell he has you pegged already with his small smile and inquisitive eyes. From the way you fidget in your seat to the antsy movements of your eyes, it has to be obvious you’re a newbie to all of this. But Vernon is ever the gentleman, not pointing any of your behavior out when he asks, “Do you have any specific style in mind for the tattoo?”

You shake your head. “Free canvas, remember?”

He chuckles and takes the cap off of his marker with his teeth. “Just checking,” he remarks before the first touch of permanent marker goes over the skin of your forearm. 

Vernon creates broad strokes with the marker, his hands steady as he works with the free space. He follows those lines up with more precise details a few moments later, going in with cross-hatching and shading that looks absurd at first glance. Only he can see the greater picture of the design in his head. It may be a mixture of techniques and methods to anyone else, but ‌you trust the process the longer he continues.

Moments later, you look over the art on your forearm, stunned to see the biomechanical shapes and lines forming a pair of angel wings.

“If you hate it, we can start over.” He looks incredibly vulnerable as the words leave his lips, eyes sparkling with inspiration as he shares his stare with you and the drawing on your arm. He may say he’ll be okay with you detesting the idea, but you know better; it’s written all over him.

And you don’t detest it, not at all. It’s a beautiful design of contrast and light that isn’t too bold, yet in no way simplistic. The artwork sits so perfectly on your arm, you can only imagine how happy you’ll be with the ultimate piece.

When you tell him you love it, you know he knows you mean it, and he’s just as excited to start as you are. Sure, residual nerves relating to the pain of the entire process still linger, but with a smile as bright as Vernon’s guiding you through the fear, how can you think this is the wrong decision?

Before the ink gun’s tip can hit the first layer of skin, Vernon tries to explain the process to you, all while you keep your hard gaze on the contraption at his side. “The layer underneath the epidermis is where the ink goes, and it stays on that layer, which is what makes it permanent,” he says. “That’s why it stings so much at first, but once we go for a little while and your nerves go away, you’ll barely notice.”

“Who said I was nervous?” You quirk your eyebrow, trying to play it cool once more, but by this point, why lie? The feelings you thought were merely residual spring back up, your fear at war with your enthusiasm. You sigh as Vernon gets out a razor to shave the hairs on your forearm. Unsure of how to say what you want, no words come out while he slides the blade across your skin.

He looks up from your arm with a pout. “What happened to the girl who kept looking at her soon-to-be tattoo in the mirror? Bring her back, I miss her right now.”

You huff out a laugh, crossing your arms. “I’m still excited! I’m just nervous about how long it’s gonna hurt.” You cover your face with your hands, your cheeks turning a deeper shade than a moment before. “And now I’ve ruined my cover because you probably think I’m a big wimp like your friend over there.”

You both turn to see Mingyu biting down on his fist hard at another portion of the shading, so lost in his own misery he didn’t notice you just shit-talked him. Seungcheol keeps his thoughts to himself as he inks, but he looks like he’d rather deal with a thousand pages of paperwork than the guy in his chair.

Vernon chuckles quietly and continues preparing the cups of ink and his work station for the tattoo. “Wanna know a secret? Everyone is kinda nervous about their first tattoo, to varying degrees obviously.”

“Really?”

“Really really.” He winks and takes one of your crossed arms in his hand to lie on  the small resting place of the chair. “Think you’re a bit more comfortable now?”

You nod your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth. The gun sits a ways away in the corner of your eye, but it’s just the process. And accepting it makes it less scary.

Besides, you’re in excellent hands, as you’ve been told.

When the first puncture happens, you try not to suck in a breath or jolt as much as you can without disturbing the beginning of the process. You just take it for what it is and focus on the guy in the chair willing to create something beautiful for you and you alone to have on your body.

THREE MONTHS LATER

Vernon looks up from your sternum, his design partially completed under him. “Look at you now. Who would’ve thought we’d be here?”

“Just shut up and keep inking, Tattoo Boy. It’s a bitch to hold my chest like this.”

Vernon smirks and does as he’s told, running over another piece of empty skin with his usual cross-hatching technique. It reddens from the needle, but the feeling doesn’t phase you now. You just keep your breasts in your hands so as not to disturb Vernon working on the newest ink on your body. 

It’s your newest one. Half of a dozen tattoos already litter your body in random places, all done by the master himself. Cheol tried once to give you a small butterfly behind your ear a month ago, but Vernon was quick to shut the idea and the artwork down. “If she’s gonna get any design, it’s gonna be made by yours truly, Cheol.”

So there you were, toeing the line between becoming a full on tattoo fiend and keeping what’s left of your skin unmarred by Vernon’s ink gun.

You have told yourself countless times it’s because the final artwork is always top-notch, and no piece comes at an unreasonable price. Yet all of your friends look on with knowing eyes and judgemental expressions.

“Is it about the art, or is it the artist you really like?” One of your close friends asked over lunch two weekends ago with a glint in her expression. You couldn’t answer then. A million excuses came to mind that didn’t adequately explain what it was about overall. Your lack of a response seemed to be the only answer needed to confirm their suspicions and confuse you further.

Maybe you were lying to yourself. Maybe it truly was about the designs you loved so much. Either way, it was all the reason you needed to see the guy behind the ink gun, and you wouldn’t stop now.

Seungcheol walks in from the backroom and puts on his jacket. “Alright, man. I’m leaving for the night. Lock up for me?”

“No problem.” Vernon retracts his gun to run his wet cloth over your skin to soothe the redness. “Give Yeri my love.”

Seungcheol waves at you on his way out, and you tip your head in acknowledgement on account of your occupied hands. The bell dings above the door to signal his exit. “Who’s Yeri?” you ask.

“New girlfriend. Probably won’t last another month, but the old fart’s a lover, not a planner.”

You giggle, but the sound’s stunted once the needle presses down and into you again. “And which one are you, Chwe?”

Vernon chuckles, his breath tickling the skin just under your breast, making it harder for you to stay still. “Why don’t you tell me?” His hand holds you in place as he goes over another line. The sterile glove concealing his hand probably can’t detect how warm your skin has become, and you bite back the whimper in your throat as his thumb rubs circles into you. It’s the only thing that could make you relax the first time, the two of you came to realize. He’s committed the act of touching you in that way with every tattoo since to try easing your nerves, despite your protests that you’re not the same girl from all those months ago.

One thing that hasn’t changed is his ability to upend the feelings in your stomach like a professional. A couple of butterflies seem to knock around in there every time he says or does things no other artist would do to you and for you.

How is Vernon so calm every time you sit in his chair, composed as ever, while you’re in shambles? In all the encounters between you two, despite all of his implicit and explicit behaviors, he’s been stoic. He’s a still river amid your frenetic energy swooping in and out of the tattoo parlor.

Maybe he isn’t giving anything away because he doesn’t feel how you do. He’s not hiding anything, if that’s the case. He just isn’t interested in you, save for giving you countless tattoos that he’s hand drawn or you've requested and making a good buck out of it.

The thoughts sober you into a supine position, your voice quiet and any budding warmth chilled as he finishes the rest of his work. Vernon runs his rag over the last lines, pleased with the ultimate design. “Perfect art, perfect canvas,” he mumbles with a hint of a smile. “What more could I ask for?”

When he’s done, you try to rise from the chair and walk away, but he puts the gun to his side quickly to grab your naked waist. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His face scrunches up in confusion, his pout almost doing you in. “I gotta bandage you up, goof.”

You shake your head, trying to move back toward your shirt. “I’m going home, okay? Nothing crazy. I already have all the aftercare stuff in my—”

“Why are you running from me? Did I hurt you?”

You turn your back quickly to yank your shirt over your head without Vernon seeing your full chest, but you know he’s probably turned his head by now as well. Gentlemanly, as always. “You didn’t, not at all,” you say, partially believing the half-truth on your lips. “I just know what this is.”

“And what’s that?” His face turns serious, jaw locked and eyes trained on yours. You want to be blunt and out in the open with the thoughts on your mind. It’s too raw and real for you to expose yourself so blatantly right now, however, when you were shirtless two minutes ago. It’s much easier to be naked in one way rather than the other, unfortunately.

“Transactional,” you say. “I pay you for something, and you do it. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Is that what you think?” He tries to step closer when he catches the undercurrents of your statement, but you back away.

You don’t let him get close enough to shatter you further.

“You can send me the invoice.” He doesn’t say another word after that. Vernon lets you pack up your things and walk out of the parlor without asking you to slow down, to stay, to do anything except go. The chime of the entrance and exit bell rings through your ears as you walk home, your heart distraught and face tear-stained by the time you make it to your apartment, unsure of what to do next to mend the shattered parts of your heart.

“You were in here four days ago, kid. Maybe let the paint dry before you come in for another one?” Seungcheol asks with an air of concern that you want to smack him square in the face for. You don’t need another person in your life, close or not, complaining about your “new habit,” as they’ve called it. Is it so wrong to want to do things on your own and with your money that bring you joy, even if it’s excessive?

“Cheol, just gimme the damn butterfly, okay? It’s not rocket science.” You move past him at the counter to sit in his chair, back turned away from him and the door. “I want one piece that isn’t done by He Who Shall Not Be Named, alright?”

Seungcheol makes a sound of defense and walks over to you, his black boots stomping against the concrete floor in a way that rattles inside of your ears. “Alright, lemme print the stencil.”

You don’t want to talk, to think, to breathe the very concept of the frustrating tattoo artist you’ve grown to know over these past few months. He is not anything to you, and vice versa, as it was so clearly stated yesterday. Why are you wasting your time focusing on him so much when the relationship you’ve built has only existed in the walls of your mind?

When you turn your head to the bell above the door chiming, you expect to see anyone but him in a sleeveless tie-dyed shirt and ripped jeans. You silently curse your thoughts for conjuring him up, like a bad memory that paints the insides of your eyelids. He walks in with his Avengers backpack slung over one shoulder, the contents of it you’ve seen him take out and put back in thousands of times. Sketchbook, iPad, a case of nondescript pencils and pens for him to draw with.

Before Vernon can say a word to you, his eyes sparkling with an intention that you have yet to understand, Seungcheol walks out of the backroom with prints of the butterfly tacked to sticky paper. "Oh," Seungcheol exclaims. "Thought it was your day off."

Vernon instantly loses the hopeful expression in his eyes, the lines of his face glazing over into indifference and something else entirely that you cannot place. "I needed to clear my head. Didn't expect you to be here either." It feels like he's saying the words to you directly, the venom in them not going without notice.

"Was just doing the books when this one came in." He tips his head at you, and you blush hard.

"I mean—I can go if it's a problem," you whisper, turning your head in Seungcheol's direction but feeling the heat of Vernon's gaze on you like a wildfire, brushing across your skin without rhyme or reason.

"No." Both of the men’s responses almost overlap, but Seungcheol doesn't have the same strength in his tone that Vernon does. You feel anchored to the chair by the force of it, too scared to confront Vernon right now but too stuck to run away, trapped in every sense of the word.

Seungcheol's ringtone pierces the air, the sound high-pitched and girly to signify a specific person on the other end of the line. "It's Mina. I should take this." He sets the papers down near the chair you’re sitting in and runs outside. Hearing his new slice of the week’s voice is better than the impending argument between his coworker and his client, you think.

Only, you’re not Vernon’s, truthfully. Not in the way you want to be.

The first minute between you alone is pregnant with silence, both of you unsure where to start after leaving it on such a brutal note four days prior.

You huff out a breath before asking Vernon, "How are you?" The bags under his eyes tell you he hasn’t slept. His clothes look haphazardly put on, his belt practically flinging open from the rush he must have been in this morning. You feel guilty for being in any way involved in his flurry of negative feelings, but that saps out of you the minute you remember why you’re mad at him.

You immediately stand up and let a laugh escape, feeling idiotic for the question you just let leave your lips. "Actually, I don't want to know how you are right now. I shouldn't even be here."

"One, that hurts." He has the nerve to pout at you, his bottom lip jutting out like a little kid who dropped their ice-cream cone. "Two, I have to agree. Can’t focus when you’re around, to be honest." He moves from his spot in front of the door in case you want to run now, but you refuse to leave. Not when everything inside of you is bubbling up so perfectly for an explosion.

"Still waiting on that invoice from last night, by the way," you sneer with a close-lipped smile. You cross your arms, waiting for him to give you something besides a sarcastic comment.

"Ripping into me was enough payment, I think." Vernon sighs in between his smile and pinches the bridge of his nose. He steps closer to his workstation, and even closer to you, before letting his backpack fall onto the floor with a thud.

"Still trying to break your iPad?" you ask.

"I can buy a new one at this point. The point is that I've been a jerk.” His following gaze is vulnerable, his brown eyes remorseful. “You're right."

You roll your eyes. "Was that so hard to admit?"

"You haven't been exactly forthcoming either, princess. It's not like I'm an idiot, I see how you look at me."

You clench your fists at your sides and swallow your disappointment. "No, that role’s been reserved for me since the day we met." You're grateful the guy can be honest in this one arena at the very least, but it doesn’t make the rejection hurt any less. "So, I guess I'll see you around. Tell Cheol I'll send him a twenty or something for the wasted paper."

Before you can walk out of the parlor, Vernon clasps your forearm in his hand, his touch soft but charged with force. You can feel it in the way the pads of his fingers press into your skin, not too deep but in no way gentle. “Where are you going?” he asks in the quietest whisper you’ve ever heard.

His voice melts all the ice in your heart, pure warmth flooding your senses from the way he grazes his fingers from your forearm to your wrist and ultimately to your hand, intertwining your fingers.

“I don’t think you should touch a client like this, Tattoo Boy,” you murmur, unwilling to separate from him at this point.

“I think you know by now I don’t just see you as any other client.” He presses the hand not intertwined with yours to your cheek, thumb crazing the highest point. “I’m just sorry it took so long for me to admit it to myself. I’m not the best at…all of this.”

“Didn’t ask you to be,” you respond. “I just wanted honesty, and I appreciate it.”

He nods and steps closer, his lips barely a few inches from yours and breath fanning across your face when he asks, “What do you want now?”

“Now…” You pretend to contemplate before dragging your lips into a cheshire-like smile. “I want a lot of things from you, but I think a kiss will suffice for now.”

He obliges your request, pressing his lips to yours in a featherlight fashion. Only when both of you sink in the feeling of each other’s mouths does it go deeper, his tongue pressing against the meeting of your lips to sink into your mouth.

And sink he does, as do you. You fall deeper into him as he holds you tighter, running his fingers along your neck and down to your waist, squeezing the shirt and shorts you’re wearing to emphasize his newfound need.

“Oh, shit!”

You and Vernon separate quickly, the sound of Seungcheol’s voice reminding you that you’re still in a public place and should have some respect for their business. Then again, Vernon was making out with you just as strongly as you were with him, so the blame isn’t entirely on you.

“Sorry, um—Mina needs me to pick her up anyway, so…I’m gonna go! I’ll reschedule with you if you want me to, kid.” Seungcheol can’t look either of you in the eye as he walks past to grab his stuff, the tips of his ears red as he makes his way to the entrance.

In a flash, Seungcheol’s gone, and you release a squeal of embarrassment as Vernon laughs into your neck. “It’s not funny! I didn’t expect your boss to see all of that.”

“Hey,” Vernon interjects, “co-owner.” You stick your tongue out at him in response, but he just brushes a free strand of hair from your face. “We don’t have to be ashamed.” His eyes darken as he pushes his fingers into your neck. A small whimper escapes you, as much as you try to fight it. “Don’t tell me you’ll actually call him back for a tattoo.”

You roll your eyes again at him, the boy oblivious to the most logical answer. “What do you think?”

Vernon pecks your lips one more time in relief before walking towards the windows at the front of the parlor, the open space outside visible from the ceiling to the floor. Before you can ask, he says with a smirk as he brings the curtains down, “Don’t want anyone else getting a show, right?”

Vernon’s tongue touches the roof of your mouth as his hands roam underneath your t-shirt. You lie splayed out on his tattoo chair, with half of Vernon's body covering you. He pinches the skin that peeks out of your bra as his tongue works circles against your own. His fingers ghost so close to the curve of your breast that you may fall apart untouched at this rate. You can only imagine what you’ll do when he explores the places you want him to the most.

“You’re okay with this, right?” He asks with sudden vulnerability, his lips swollen and kiss-stained as he parts from you. A string of saliva peeks out in the corner of his mouth, and you find it utterly adorable how lust-blown his irises look already. “I get it if you’d prefer for this happen somewhere more private, I just—”

You press his mouth against yours. The method of shutting him up works wonders, Vernon groaning into your mouth as you palm him above his jeans and let the actions of your body do what the words can only do for so long.

Weeks of waiting, months of wondering, just for him to bring the pleasure of heaven down onto you like this. Inked arms caressing your body, sounds signaling his pleasure, mouth burning kisses into your skin like your own Vernon-shaped badges of honor.

Like a tattoo, every touch marks you as his.

“Open your mouth,” he commands as he wraps his hand around your jaw and chin, and you do it without a second thought. Before you can register the action, he spits his saliva onto the center of your tongue. It’s filthy, pure sin. From the sound that leaves his lips to the way he looks at you, expectant and waiting, any normal girl would probably retract and think it odd for a make-out session to come to this point.

But, because you’re you, eager for any and all of him, you swallow it. He emits a hum of approval, roaming the expanse of your face like a man who’s been without a real meal for too long, ready to devour anything that’s in front of him.

Vernon scoots you both closer to the edge of the tattoo chair, dragging his hands up to the top of your jean shorts as he slides further down until his knees hit the concrete floor. “I want these off. Lift your hips.”

He takes the clothing off as soon as you lift your lower half up for him to discard the fabric. Your body jolts from the cool air, the chillier temperature in the space hitting your core and the wet patch on your underwear.

“Shit,” Vernon says as he parts your legs, his hands splaying out on the insides of your thighs. “This wet for me, already? I have a lot to live up to.”

“Don’t tease me,” you say with a pout in his direction. You wiggle your hips closer to his body, needing more than he is giving in the moment. He stills you with one hand on the outside of your thigh, and the other pulling your panties to the side, the air completely brushing against your exposed cunt.

He kisses both of your kneecaps before he inches closer, each second a drag into the ultimate oblivion you want to fall into. If only he would quit making you wait for it.

The second you think to chastise him for moving so slowly is the second he attaches his mouth to your clit. He licks a stripe from your perineum to the swollen bud, his open mouth latching onto your pussy like it’s all he wants to consume for the rest of his life.

You latch your fingers between the strands of his hair, moaning into the open air above you as he works your body for all it’s capable of. He’s only seen you naked for a minute yet he seems to know exactly how to make it stop, start, speed up, and slow down just from his ministrations.

Stars paint the back of your eyelids as he continues to run his lips and tongue across your center. Your hole flutters at the entrance of his tongue between your walls. His nose pokes your clit as he does so, and you think this may be the best sexual experience you’ve ever had, despite the abnormal setting in which it’s taking place.

You’ll never look at another tattoo chair the same, that’s for sure.

Your release comes at the rapid movements of his tongue against your clit, the figure eights too fast for your mind and body to keep up with. Unfiltered moans and curses leave your lips as you fall back down to earth, Vernon not letting up until your body stops shaking and turns to mush against the chair.

His wet mouth lingers on your thighs, lips sticky with your essence. “Think you can get on all fours for me, princess?”

You don’t know how to sit up when you feel so limbless, all the energy sapped from you from your orgasm, but you’re willing to do what he wants if it means he gives you another.

Anything for more of the pleasure he’s made you feel in such a short span of time.

He removes your underwear completely and then unbuckles his belt as you stretch your hands and knees out on the small tattoo chair, bending it all the way down to accommodate your body on top of it. You feel the head of his cock rub against your pussy, and a garbled whimper escapes at the friction. Moving backwards into him is no use, him sensing your eagerness in a second and pulling away.

“Don’t be a brat,” he chastises.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you gave me what I want,” you talk back, turning your head to look him in the eye.

In that moment, he decides to sheath himself fully inside of you, and you shut your eyes tight at the overwhelming stretch of his cock filling you completely. “‘S even better than I imagined,” he groans as he picks up his pace. The tattoo chair squeaks underneath you as he thrusts. His hips are unrelenting as his pelvis meets yours with every slap of skin against skin.

“You look so good on my chair like this,” he grunts, hand reaching in front of you to snake down to your clit. He rubs circles against the nub, your pussy tightening around his cock from the touch of his fingers. “Perfect canvas, and my perfect slut.”

“Yes, Vernon. All yours,” you whimper, clamping down on him harder to bring yourself closer to your second release. It crawls down your spine, inching closer to the center of your thighs and waiting for the perfect moment to hit you all at once.

“Hansol,” he says, breathless. “My real name. Want to hear it come from that pretty mouth.” He snaps his hips harder into you, his tip kissing your cervix with perfect force.

“Yes—fuck! Hansol! I’m gonna come!” 

“I’m right there with you, princess.” Vernon moves faster, presses his fingers against your clit in tighter circles, does anything and everything so you both fall apart at the same time. He wants it as bad as you do, his huffs of pleasure mixing with your whines of ecstasy.

Soon enough, your body shatters around his cock, your release gushing out of you and onto his fingers as he slams himself deeper inside of you. You quake underneath him, holding the chair with a death grip as you ride out the high that turns you into nothing but a mess of pleasure.

He stills after a few more thrusts, warmth filling your insides as he leans forward to groan into your ear at the feelings overwhelming his senses. He runs his fingers across the tattoos of his making once he’s completely still, mesmerized by both his own artwork on your skin and the euphoria he’s just experienced.

Droplets of his cum leak out of you when you both separate, and he finds a random rag in a desk drawer to clean you up with. When you shudder from the sensitivity still coating your nerves, he kisses your cheek and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. You grab your clothes from the floor to put back on, but all you can focus on as you readjust the buttons of your shorts is how cute Vernon’s face looks all flushed and glistening with sweat.

“You know I can tattoo that ridiculous butterfly on you if you really want it.” His eyebrows quirk into mischievous lines, ones that make you giggle.

“I don’t. But maybe you’ll design something worth my while.”

He pulls you in by the hips, reattaching his lips to your with the taste of you on his tongue. It’s perfect, too perfect to believe it’s your reality. Yet, he’s the realest thing in your life now, save for the ink that adorns your skin. He pecks your lips once again before saying, “You know I always do.”

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @jjunberry @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @g0r3wh0rre

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊: @kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @pirateeznet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @deoboyznet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators

𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝒀 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲𝑺 𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝑶𝑰𝑵 𝑴𝒀 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺 © 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖢𝖧𝖶𝖤; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖻𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍.

[h3eb4e]

𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 - l.hs

⌜ ⌝ ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [ All Mine ] - Plaza

1:07 ——◦———— -3:55↠

ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

tell me did you get the news? she ain't fuckin' with you no more, ooh.

𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙! 𝙝𝙨 𝙭 𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙗!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 - 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙤𝙭𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥, 𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙥, 𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙙𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - 𝙝𝙚 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙪𝙩 😭

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

"Heeseung...please pick me up..." You sobbed on the other line. How'd your date go? The quavering of your voice, the slight choked up words, the sniffles that kept coming out, well, that answered his question.

"Shit, where are you?" Heeseung asked getting up, already sliding his shoes on and looking for the car keys. "I-I'm outside the apartments near the restaurant-" You sniffled out. 

"Your outside?? Get inside, Y/N, it's warm in there, just wait for me, okay?" He told you while already driving to you. You quickly ran inside the restaurant, sitting down at the nearest chair. 

It only took about 5 minutes before Heeseung walked in with an extra jacket in his hand, he looked around and noticed you. He sighed in relief once he saw you, knowing that you were physically okay. 

Well, not really. Your eyes were puffy from crying, your nose red, your eyes glossy, tears stained your soft cheeks. "Come here..." He said softly, his arms open wide for you.

You got up, wrapping your arms around him, your head under his chin. He gently rubbed your back. He placed the coat around your shoulders, gently leading you out. "Come on, i'm parked right outside."

"I'll take you to my apartment since it's closer, and I don't want you to be alone tonight." He said as he drove through the city lights. You nodded, leaning your head against the window.

He pulled up to his apartment, quickly getting out of the car to open the door for you. It was the middle of the night, the air was chilly. He led you into the familiar surrounding, some soda cans sitting around, a few takeout boxes, a sweatshirt laying around.

He quickly grabbed the trash. "Sorry, if I knew you were going to come I would've cleaned up-" He panicked a bit. "Heeseung, don't worry...i've seen you do worse, this is nothing." You managed to smile. "I know but- your a woman, it's natural for me." He said walking over to the trash.

You smiled a bit as you sat down on his couch, he came back with a glass of water. "Here." He handed it to you as he sat down beside you. "Thank you..." You mumbled softly as you took a drink.

He looked down at the glass for a moment before speaking. "What happened...? I-I mean, don't tell me if you don't want-" He panicked again, then you cut him off. "It's okay, Heeseung." You giggled. "We had an argument again." Your smile died away, your giggles stolen.

"He said I didn't put enough effort in for tonight, and that my outfit looks lazy and dirty-" You could have kept going but Heeseung stopped you. "Wait wait wait- he said that? Are you serious?" He turned to face you, a raised brow and genuinely confused look on his face.

You slowly nodded in confirmation. He couldn't believe it, not one bit. "And you believed him?" Heeseung asked, not understanding how or why someone could say that about you. "I mean, yeah. He doesn't shut up about it." You sighed, falling back deeply against the couch.

Heeseung scooted closer to you. "Why do you stay with him if he brings you down everyday?" He asked softly, cautiously. "l just wanted to feel loved by someone." You whispered, looking away. 

Silence filled the room before you felt soft fingers touching your chin. "Please don't turn your pretty face away from me." He whispered softly. "He's not good for you, he's a boy. There's men out there that would kiss the ground you walk on." He said, his voice still soft.

You didn't say anything, just looked at him. "Let me show you there's other men out there that can treat you like the queen you deserve to be." He staired into your eyes, not feeling any need to look away.

"Okay." You gave in after a few moments, and that's when Heeseung leaned in, so close his breath was condescending your skin, and time seemed to slow as your lips met his.

The only thing you could hear was his lips moving against your own, he tilted his head slightly for more access. His hands softly roamed your body. His lips moved from yours, down to your neck. His fingers found the zipper of your dress. He pulled back. "Can I...?" He waited for your consent before moving any further.

You nodded while gulping, your body shaking slightly. "Don't be nervous..." He mumbled gently against the skin of your neck. He slowly zipped your dress down, his fingers softly pulling it off your shoulders, leaving it pooled around your waist. 

"How could he not see..." His voice was muffled with his lips still on your skin. "How beautiful you are." He kissed between your breasts. "I'll pay attention everyday, i'll tell you your beautiful everyday, i'll appreciate your cooking, and how you dress up for me, wear that perfume I love so much..." He kept going as his kisses kept going to.

His lips found the edge of your panties, he looked up at you, asking that same question. You responded with a nod. His fingers hooked under the soft band, pulling it down your legs. "He's so fucking stupid...if you could see yourself...if you could see yourself through my eyes..." He through your panties off to the side, using his hands to gently pry your legs open. "You would never want to look away..." 

He placed a gentle kiss on your clit, looking up to see your reaction. He used his tongue, dragging the muscle from your opening to your clit. "You taste so good, why are all these boys so negative towards you? Is it because they didn't get to taste your pretty pussy yet?" He asked then went right back to it.

He alternated between licking and sucking, it was messy, sloppy, but so so good. If heaven on earth was a real thing, you'd compare it to Heeseung eating you out. He pulled his mouth back, using his index and middle finger to spread your lips. "Prettiest fucking pussy..." He let a ball of spit fall from his lips, making it fall directly onto your clit. 

Your hips jolted as it ran down, but he quickly caught it up with his tongue, spreading it all over. "Taste so good...fuck." He groaned, making you moan softly at the sensation. You gripped his hair tightly, making Heeseung moan against you. "Mhmm...mmmmhh..." He kept letting out as his lips moved against you.

"H-hee...-" You moaned out. He made slurping sounds, you could feel him swallowing. He looked up at you between your legs, your shaking legs. "I-I...ngh-" You couldn't even get your sentence out, to overwhelmed by pleasure. 

"It's okay baby, let go f'me..." He pulled back to speak, just to kiss your clit again, licking you all over. The coil in your belly snapped, and you couldn't even feel your own hands, it all happened so quickly, but still felt like everything was in slow motion. It was amazing.

"Pretty baby...there we go..." He kissed your thighs, trying to calm you down. You looked down at him. "W-what about you...?"

"Don't worry about me, this was about you, remember?" He smiled, his lips and chin wet with your release. You both slept in each others arms, your phone started buzzing nonstop. Heeseung groaned quietly, grabbing your phone, seeing it was him texting you.

"Call me back NOW." Texts like this kept piling up. "Come back home baby...i miss you..." Another one said.

Heeseung chuckled, texting him back. "did u get the news? she's not fucking with u more." He put the phone down, the rest of the night a quiet rest.

[suometar]

coming into your inbox again to discuss djo’s music/delete ya. Has anyone else noticed the ties between delete ya and chateau (which honestly makes delete ya even MORE heartbreaking since chateau is obvs about the beginning of his relationship with his ex vs delete ya is the aftermath). We have the reference to joe and his head injury in both (very steve coded of him lol) eg. Chateau: “I could feel the pain Of my head, seeing stars” vs delete ya: “And now I'm back on your couch, frozen peas to my head” and then the intro “oh my god” from chateau which plays in the background of delete ya at the end 😭😭😭 also thank you for pointing out the similar sounds of the police in delete ya. I love it even more since you’ve pointed that out and can’t believe I missed it before 

You're welcome! May I also point out the riff in the start of the song that is direct nudge to Prince (that was confirmed by Joe) and the very Taylor Swift -ish type melody of "The blame complex in me, me, me" that repeats in "One heart could beat for the two of us, two of us, two of us, oh-oh-oh".

There's so much of this goodness in it it's unreal. Like, this album is going to make me respect him so much as a songwriter and a lyricist. I know I've already said those earlier but they bear repeating.

Oh god YES! You're absolutely right about Chateau. I actually had thought about the same thing, though not consciously until now. And it makes total sense. 😭😭😭

Looking back and listening to his other songs there are also references to difficulties in a relationship, like in 'Go For It'. He talks about a lot of things, how a relationship starts to erode, communication breaks, misunderstandings etc etc. It also has the line "One week, And four years". Considering Decide was released in 2022 that would fit the timeline of their relationship as well. And then they broke up somewhere around 2022-2023. And the song ends with a line "It's a harder thing to do than to say (So don't say a thing)" Does it then mean leaving without explaining or not saying a thing and just trying to keep the relationship going? Who knows.

In 'Fool' he sings about being a fool for someone else. I think it's not really about him being the cute kind of fool who makes his gf laugh but the kind of fool who believes everything that's being said to him even though he knows that he's been lied to and even knows what are the tell tale signs of the lies. Because when you love someone you choose to believe the best of the person you love. Or you choose to stay with them even though it's not fully equal relationship 😭😭😭

"There's a person behind those eyes, That's not right

Any crack is a sign of lies, That's not cool (Not cool)

Everybody needs a Fool, I'll be your Fool"

Oh and what about then 'Gap Tooth Smile'? Of course I'm not entirely sure if all the lyrics are right but the version recorded in Australia is quite clear and you can hear them. Even though he's said that it's about loving your girlfriend in general - it also has a sad ending with "God, I count my blessings from the one-eyed dove". Two doves of course is a reference to lovers. And here too he says that the love was one-sided and despite that he counts his blessings over it, even though it lasted just a while

I'm not saying that those songs necessarily are about the relationship, but from the themes of The Crux it seems clear that he's been very reflective of his own life in his lyrics even before. And that it hasn't always been easy - like no single relationship ever is. But yeah the songs from Crux clearly point that out despite him only now being open about it being his most personal album.

Like, this album has so much heartache in it and it already tears me apart.

Feel free to come and ramble about Djo here anytime :)

[awesomest-sauce]

“Saddest little baby in the room

with Heartsabyul”

as pieces of writing i made

Riddle Rosehearts!

I despise being made to feel smaller than I already am. Whether it’s due to trauma or paranoia, I’m unsure. All I can say for sure is that being reminded of my inferiority makes me wanna tear myself apart.

I hold my beloved, rather than being held. But deep down, I know it’s not my choice. It never has been. It never will. A spoon can and will be bent in order to accommodate for its user. I’ve learned that, time and time again.

Trey Clover!

I know I am to blame for my own actions. As I’ve been reminded countless times, I am not a good person. But I won’t take your belittlement as someone who’s on my level or worse.

I despise myself, entirely and wholly. But you are so much more cruel of an individual. One who refuses to accept your wrong-doings. That is what separates us.

Deuce Spade!

I knew it was ridiculous. But you were so good. So sweet and loving to only me. Whispering those kind things into my ear before leaving me to hang dry in the morning. Like I was just some girl to sleep with and leave. To pleasure yourself with and then abandon.

Yet we never slept in the same bed. My lips never met yours, and you never saw me shirtless. We never got that far, or thought of it. Because you could not spare me. You failed to spare my feelings, or spare me your time and love.

I shouldn’t search for you in each embrace. But I want to be fulfilled. I deserve it, don’t I?

Ace Trappola!

I would slip off my blouse for a grand reveal. After all, I’ve been told I’m beautiful inside and out. My chest would be covered by a thin lace, just as he would fantasize so often about. I’d further permit him to slip off the fabrics of my bottoms.

Whether it’s desire for him that grants me the bravery, or the pressure of being that close to another man, I’m not certain. At least, I tell myself I’m not sure.

But to anyone who’s seen the nooks and crannies of my mind, it’d be clear. I’m just searching in desperation for love within lust.

Cater Diamond!

I will wear frills and lace. Let you call me your pretty friend. I won’t correct you when you say we’re nothing more than that. No, I’ll just be that accessory. If only it means you won’t leave.

[bluetreelights]

These are both great points! I'd also like to add that first love, while special, can also be very... wrong? Not incorrect or immoral, but definitely naive. I think, more often, First Love is another feeling masquerading as love for someone who doesn't yet understand the difference. In Solas's case, he clearly has great admiration for Mythal. He is willing to do literally anything for her. Their relationship, though, is complicated (and, in a lot of ways, doomed) by the fact that she holds herself above him. As the op said, she is his queen and a self-proclaimed goddess. She asks him to help her commit atrocious acts "for the good of the people". She quite literally asks him to change his entire being. Solas obeys because of the depths of his devotion to her, even when her desire is the polar opposite of what he wants and doing so tears him apart. I definitely don't need to re-iterate how toxic that is, but I think that many people can see their own experiences with First Love in that. Not so much the war crimes, but "Why was I willing to do that for them?" Or "Why did I let them change me?"

I imagine he was extremely wary of Lavellan, at first. She asked him for his thoughts, his opinions on matters, and he gave them. As it became more and more apparent that this woman was the driving force behind this new "Inquisition" force, though, things started to feel strangely familiar.

His whole "this is not a good idea" mindset makes sense in that he knows what he has done and what is still to come, but what if he's also feeling a little like history is repeating itself? Here he is, getting attached to another powerful woman (a woman who, when they meet, already represents a collosal failure of his plans). Will she use him the way Mythal did? We also know he's still very much devoted to Mythal, so falling for Lavellan probably feels like a betrayal of her. Another failure.

Then Lavellan does the unthinkable. She shows interest in him as he is. As Solas. Not a servant, not an advisor, not the leader of a rebellion. Just an apostate hobo who likes to talk about the Fade and ancient history. She shows up for him when he asks for help. She flirts with him. And, in the end, Lavellan is the one who offers him forgiveness and goes with him to find healing and peace.

In some ways, his relationship with Lavellan teaches him what love is supposed to be. That special place he keeps for Mythal will always be there, but I like to think he realizes that what they had was not really love after all. Just like a lot of us do with First Love. His love for Lavellan may not have been his first, but it was real.

Second Love

There is nothing wrong with being a man’s second love. Or a woman’s for that matter.

I’ve heard it being said, whether by gleeful solavellan critics or by angry, disappointed solavellan’s themselves, that the love Solas and Lavellan share is now diminished or tainted by Solas’ love for Mythal.

I could not disagree more.

In fact, I believe Solas’ love for Lavellan is made all the stronger by him having experienced (and lost) love in the past.

No one ever forgets their first love, this is true. First love is special.

But first love rarely lasts. For most people their first true love is the love that will inevitably lead to their first heartbreak.

Solas’ first love betrayed him – so much so that he had to burn her off his face. She lied to him, she used him, and yet he still held out hope that she would come back to him. He fell in love with an unobtainable, married woman, who thought she could control him.

“But you were always stubborn, Fen'Harel. Insubordinate. Unmanageable, even by Mythal’s reckoning.” – Elgar’nan

A woman who wanted to be a queen. To be a god to her people. She was not the woman he thought her to be, and so, their relationship had fallen apart.

And then Mythal was murdered. Solas blamed himself and grieved his first love alone.

In Inquisition Solas never anticipated that he could fall in love, not for a second time. But within a year’s time Lavellan had somehow wormed her way into becoming someone so special, so dear to him, that he was tempted to throw everything away just to be with her.

Second love could not be denied, no matter how hard Solas attempted to resist. No matter how many times he tried to turn away.

Love kept calling him back, and love kept calling him forward.

Second love is less naïve than the first and has learned from past mistakes. Second love is all the more hopeful and knows the pain of love lost. Second love knows the value of their shared bond and can show you what real love is supposed to be.

Solas and Lavellan’s love is an enduring, mature love. It endures separation, persists through doubt, is sacrificial, is understanding, is compassionate, and is forgiving.

When Solas says that he will tear down the veil to create the world Mythal wanted, please know that this is a lie. Solas is ultimately tearing down the veil for himself. To rectify one of his greatest mistakes. To salve his conscience.

Solas knows he’s in the wrong here, and that is why he cowers when Mythal appears before him. Remember who Mythal was when she was alive.

She was his queen. Judge, jury, and executioner of the elven people.

Solas truly believes he deserves to be executed – that is why he halfway offers the dagger to her. But what he doesn’t/couldn’t anticipate is for Mythal to own up to her part in their wrongdoings and to admit that she broke him.

She then finally releases him.

Old friends and former lovers. Solas will always love Mythal, but he is no longer in love with her. His heart belongs to Lavellan now, to his future.