#this is just something I’ve had in my files for a while

[helaintoloki]

Change of Plans

pairing: mafia boss!Bucky x reader

warnings: mentions of violence, blood, and abuse (not from bucky); bucky technically “kidnaps” reader; hurt/comfort

notes: i’ve actually never written an au piece like this before but someone requested a hurt/comfort piece with mafia!bucky and i wanted to give it a try!

summary: Bucky Barnes, notorious mafia boss and your fiancé’s biggest rival, decides to use you as leverage for a business deal. however, you soon find out the man is not what he seems

You sit at the empty counter of the diner and absently swirl your paper straw around the whipped cream that sits neatly on top of your milkshake. Other than the waitress who sits filing her nails at the register and the elderly couple nestled into a booth at the back of the restaurant you’re alone, but you like it this way. It’s rare you ever get a chance to set foot out in public like this without your fiancé or an escort of his choosing, but you’re grateful for the chance to finally breathe again.

The bells above the door jingle with the entrance of another patron, but you don’t bother to remove your tired eyes from the glass in front of you. You enjoy the sweetness of the shake and the dreamy love song that plays from the jukebox, but your muscles remain tight with tension despite your calm surroundings, something the man who seats himself next to you seems to notice.

“Long day?” His smooth voice prompts from beside you. A barely visible quirk of your lips follows his remark, and you subtly shift your gaze over to him. His features are kind, his eyes showcasing a genuine interest in your overwrought state while his smile signals his polite nature. He doesn’t seem threatening or overbearing like the men you tend to surround yourself with, and this makes it easier for you to open yourself up to the complete stranger.

“I just needed to escape for a little while,” you admit with a meager shrug, absently trailing your finger along the condensed glass.

“Are things that bad?”

“You could say that,” you huff humorlessly before taking a long sip of your shake. The man hums thoughtfully in response before reaching into his pocket and producing a wallet.

“In that case,” he says warmly while setting a ten dollar bill on the counter, “your shake’s on me.”

You stare at the man in bewilderment, unused to such acts of genuine kindness from complete strangers. Most people tend to stay clear of you, the people that occupy your home never so much as even sparing you a passing glance, and you find yourself speechless as you process the genuine joy you feel at finally being seen.

“Thank you,” you utter gratefully, swallowing down your emotions as you turn to look at the bill on the counter. “I-“

The glint of silver catches your eye and you freeze when you make note of the metal fingers that rest upon the dollar. Your horrified gaze slowly trails up his hand and along his bionic arm before meeting his innocent smile. Your blood feels like ice in your veins, stomach heavy with dread as you force yourself to swallow down the accumulation of nervous spit that had pooled in your mouth, and you suddenly find yourself wishing you hadn’t left the house alone.

“Judging by the look on your face I assume you know who I am and what I do for a living,” he says coolly, raising his hands in surrender to signal his innocence.

“I… I do,” you manage to get out despite the tremble of your voice.

“Good, that’s good. Saves us both some time.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” You whimper softly, bottom lip quivering in a way that tugs at the man’s heartstrings.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures you sweetly despite his intimidating aura. “Despite my line of work, I make it a point to treat all dames with respect. It’s how I was raised. That’s why I’m sitting here asking you nicely to come with me. I really don’t want to manhandle you or drug you or throw you into the back of a van like your meathead fiancé would. I want you to walk out of here with me feeling dignified and respected.”

Your mind is reeling from the contradictory nature of the man sitting before you. You’re not an idiot, you’ve heard the stories of Bucky Barnes and the things he’s done to get to the position he’s at now. You know he’s the leader of a rival gang here in New York, and you know he’s been at it with your fiancé for months over territories in the city and shady business deals that always seemed to fall through, and yet here he was behaving like the perfect gentleman.

“Does that sound good to you, y/n?” He presses gently, the sound of your name coming from his lips filling your stomach with dread. He flashes a charming grin that would have had you giggling like a school girl in different circumstances, but in this instance it only has you fearing what is to come.

Knowing you have no way out of the situation and that the best possible outcome for you has been thrown into your lap, you reply in defeat, “I’ll walk out of here with you.”

“Smart girl,” Bucky coos with a grin before standing up from the stool and offering his arm for you to take. You swallow nervously while slowly lowering yourself off the stool and locking your arm with his own, allowing him to guide you out of the diner and towards the black SUV that sits waiting for you both.

Your body trembles against his own, fingers digging tightly into the fabric of his expensive suit jacket the closer you get to the car. Your entire body feels like it’s moving on autopilot due to the fear coursing through your veins, and you don’t even try to put up a fight as he opens the rear door and helps you into the car.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re in good hands,” he assures you with complete sincerity. You merely sit in silence and watch him shut the door closed, leaving you alone with the thoughts that race through your head.

While most would assume your frightened nature to be the result of essentially being kidnapped by one of the most notorious mob bosses in New York, it wasn’t Bucky that had your entire being on edge. You didn’t fear him, and despite his reputation you trusted his word that no harm would come to you while in his care. In fact, Bucky was the least of your concerns.

What frightened you most was what your fiancé would do to you once you were returned to him and the consequences you would face for leaving the house on your own. You knew that you’d rather endure whatever Bucky had planned for you than be met with your soon-to-be husband’s wrath, and you didn’t look forward to what was to come. He’d be livid to know you’d willing let yourself be taken by his biggest opponent without so much as putting up a fight, and he’d take out the hit to his ego on you.

You were utterly screwed.

~~~

You arrive at a mansion hidden in the outskirts of New York about half an hour later. You aren’t given much time to enjoy the scenery as you’re rushed inside, but you note the luxurious front lawn and pristine water fountain that make the home appear much nicer than your own. You’ve never been one for wealth or material items, but you had to admit Bucky had excellent taste.

Your heels click along the marble tile as you’re guided down a hallway and towards an office nestled in the back. Bucky sits waiting for you in his leather chair, a blond man and redheaded woman standing intimidatingly at his sides. The door shuts softly behind you, and Bucky quietly signals for you to take a seat in the chair across from him. You swallow nervously before slowly sinking down into your seat, on edge for what is to come.

“What do you think?” He prompts with a subtle grin, gesturing to the space around him. It’s much bigger than your fiancé’s office and much nicer too, equipped with a fireplace and antique decor. It’s inviting and warm despite being owned by a notoriously cold blooded man.

“It’s… nice,” you answer truthfully. “I’ve never been in a mansion like this.”

“I’m glad you like it, because while you’re here with me I want you to think of this as your home. You’re free to walk around and explore or to enjoy the gardens and the pool as you please.”

You’re stunned by his admission, definitely unused to such hospitality from mob men like Bucky. Your own fiancé didn’t even treat you so kindly, and your own home came with restrictions and a total loss of your autonomy. You felt guilty for being almost grateful at the fact that Bucky has decided to take you in, but you remind yourself that it isn’t permanent, and he’s only doing this to achieve a much larger goal at hand.

“The only rule is you can’t leave the grounds, and while I want to trust you’ll keep your word, I’ll still have to keep eyes on you at all times just in case you start getting antsy. Sound fair?”

“That’s fair,” you answer truthfully despite your underlying distrust. Surely this must be some sort of trick or cruel joke he’s playing on you, his hospitality a facade to catch you off guard, but so far he’s kept to his every word.

“I’m glad you see it that way,” he exhales while sinking back into his seat. “I don’t exactly enjoying holding you hostage like this, but your stupid fiancé left me no choice. Rumlow hasn’t been taking my threats seriously, so I figured kidnapping his girl might finally catch his attention.”

The mere mention of his name fills your entire body with dread, but you’re quickly able to mask the feeling with practiced ease. Every bad thing that’s happened to you since your engagement has been because of him, but you know that when all is said and done this little incident will be blamed on you. You hate him, but you’ve been conditioned to keep such things to yourself, so you only offer Bucky a quiet nod and keep your eyes glued to the ground like you normally do in the presence of mafia men.

“If there’s anything you need you let me know, and if you can’t find me you can ask Steve or Natasha,” he says while gesturing to the two beside him. “They’re my best workers which means I trust them with my life and yours. In the meantime, I’ve got work to do, so Natasha will show you to your room.”

“Thank you,” you utter meekly before rising from your seat, chancing a glance at the man across from you. His eyes are still full of kindness like they’d been at the diner, and you find your stomach flipping at the mere sight of his careful smile. You feel like you should be more afraid, you shouldn’t be so willing to be this man’s prisoner, but you can’t find it in you to care.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be taken care of here with me,” Bucky assures you with a wink before signaling for Natasha to show you out.

You keep your gaze low as you follow the woman down the hallway and up the stairs, too intimidated by her to speak yet too curious to resist casting a look her way. You’re startled to find she’s already looking at you, a small smirk forming on her lips at your jumpiness.

“He means it, you know,” her smooth voice says while taking careful steps up the stairway. “He won’t hurt you, and we’ve been given strict orders to look after you.”

“So you’re one of his workers too?” You ask in astonishment. Rumlow never hired women to work for him, and he never so much as dared make business deals with them either. She chuckles.

“It’s like he told you- Bucky treats all dames with respect,” she notes fondly, reaching the top of the steps and turning a corner down another hallway. “We’re all equals here, including you.”

“How long will I be here?”

“That depends on Rumlow. Your fiancé won’t keep off our territory and owes Bucky a hefty amount of money. He also doesn’t like people taking his property, which is why you’re here. He always brags about you during business meetings, so Steve suggested you might be a good motivator for him to fall in line.”

You try your best not to let show the hurt her words bring, especially because she means no harm, but it’s degrading to hear yourself referred to as property. Though, you suppose it’s true considering he owns you and your autonomy as a result of your engagement, and you know that once you’re married you’ll never be free to be your own person ever again. This thought sits with you long after Natasha shows you to your room and leaves you to your own devices.

You find yourself unable to sleep for most of the night.

~~~

You’re awoken the next morning by a maid knocking on your door to inform you of Bucky’s request that you join him for breakfast. She leaves you a dress reminiscent of the ones you have in your own closet back at home, displaying Bucky’s excellent attention to detail when it comes to business. It seems he’d planned this out much more in depth than you’d thought, and you’re not sure whether this detail should be taken as a comfort.

You make yourself presentable and slip into the dress with ease before making your descent down the stairs and towards the dining room. The house is awfully quiet despite the morning hour, but you appreciate the stillness. Brock can be loud and overbearing, and his henchmen aren’t any better, so you enjoy the change of scenery.

Bucky sits at the head of the table when you finally peek your head in, a newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other as he passes the time until your arrival. An appetizing breakfast spread fills the table, immediately prompting your stomach to growl loudly. Your last meal had been the shake at the diner, so it’s safe to say you haven’t exactly eaten proper food in some time.

“Good morning,” you greet timidly to alert him of your presence, seating yourself across from him while he quickly sets his paper aside with a smile.

“Good morning,” Bucky responds pleasantly, his sole attention now on you. “How did you sleep?”

“I slept okay… all things considered.”

“I can understand that,” he hums thoughtfully before gesturing to the food laid out on the table. “I had the kitchen staff prepare a little bit of everything so help yourself. What’s mine is yours.”

“Thank you,” you murmur sincerely. An awkward silence settles in the room as you begin to fill your plate with fruit, Bucky simply watching your every move much to your discomfort.

“I knew that dress would suit you,” he compliments in an attempt to break the silence. You flash him a meek smile but say nothing as you pop a strawberry into your mouth. “It looks good. Although, I’m thinking I should have gotten one with longer sleeves to cover that hand shaped spot on your arm there.”

His words have you freezing in place, eyes widening in dismay as he brings your attention to the ugly bruise that paints the skin of your arm purple and blue. You quickly slap a hand against the mark to hide it in vain, prompting Bucky to let out a sigh. You watch the clenching of his jaw while he sits back further in his chair, brows furrowing together in dismay as he tries to piece together his next sentence carefully in his head.

“Rumlow do that?” He asks, though you don’t have to answer considering the look of shame and fear on your face seems to answer for you. You offer him a single nod, prompting a scoff of disbelief to leave him. “Fucking scum.”

“I’m used to it now,” you defend pathetically, head lowering in shame and eyes glassy with tears that threaten to fall. “It’s just how he is.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” he grumbles to your dismay. Sensing your discomfort, Bucky immediately softens his features and tone. “It’s not you I’m mad at, y/n. I just can’t wrap my head around the fact that a brute like him found a girl like you for a wife. You don’t seem like the mafia type- you’re too trusting, too sweet.”

“That’s because I’m not,” you admit with a humorless laugh, sniffing away your tears before finally willing yourself to meet his gaze. You don’t know why a man you’ve only known for a day is able to get you to open up so easily to him, but at this point you can’t find it in you to care. “I never wanted any of this.”

“How’d you get mixed up in all of this?” Bucky presses gently, not wanting to force you to talk in fear of making you uncomfortable.

“My father owed a debt to Brock, and he paid it back with me. I never had a choice, and I gave up fighting it once I realized it would only make things worse for me. Accepting that this is just the way things are now makes it easier to survive.”

A look of quiet astonishment settles on Bucky’s features as if he hadn’t expected that answer, and you quickly revert your eyes back to your plate of food to avoid his sympathetic gaze. You don’t like talking about your impending marriage or the fate your father had forced upon you, but Bucky has a way of making you talk without inhibition. You almost hate it, but you haven’t been able to have a real conversation with anyone in over a year, so you have to admit it feels nice to finally have someone who listens to you.

“What about you?” You ask to change the subject and remove some of the attention off of you. “You don’t seem like the mob type either. How’d a man like you end up in this business?”

A nostalgic smile spreads across his lips as he shifts in his seat and begins to reminisce on his younger years. “Steve and I grew up in the slums. Crime and violence were rampant in our neighborhood, but corrupt politicians decided to pocket the resources meant to help us fix our home. Once we realized no one was going to do their job, we decided to do it for them. I don’t particularly enjoy the more violent aspects of the mob, but it’s a necessary evil if I want to get anything done.”

It’s your turn now to be stunned by his response. Most men like Rumlow join the mafia for the money or the notoriety; they join gangs for power and personal gain. But not Bucky. The more you learn about this man the more alluring he becomes, and the facade of the cold blooded killer people paint him out to be quickly fades the more time you spend with him.

You want to ask more questions, to spend hours getting to know more about the infamous Bucky Barnes, but your breakfast is cut short by the arrival of Steve who politely apologizes to you for the disruption.

“Something’s come up,” he alerts Bucky with a knowing look, “we need to go.”

“Great,” Bucky mutters before rising from his seat and flashing you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to cut breakfast short, doll. I’ll make sure the chefs cook us something nice for dinner, alright?”

“Actually, would it be okay if I made dinner?” You ask timidly, catching both men by surprise. “There isn’t much to do here, and I’d like to repay you for breakfast.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky agrees with a fond grin, “whatever you want. I won’t be long.”

You watch the two men hastily exit the room, leaving you once more to your own devices in a dining room that suddenly feels much too big for you. You find yourself glancing down at the purple mark on your arm, gently running your fingers along its surface with a sigh before returning your gaze to the now empty chair in front of you.

Why couldn’t your father have promised you to a man like Bucky instead?

~~~

You’re in the middle of chopping vegetables when you hear a commotion coming from the front door. The sounds of yelling and muffled cursing fills your ears, prompting you to carefully set down your knife and slowly make your way towards the living room.

A trail of blood stains the marble tile floors as Natasha drags Bucky into the home while Steve barks orders to the other men. Despite the chaos, Bucky looks oddly calm and only mildly annoyed at the disruption. His eyes meet your worried ones when he catches sight of you lingering in the doorway, and he signals for Natasha to pause her steps.

“Y/n, honey, just stay put, okay? I’ll be down for dinner in a minute,” he instructs cooly despite the blood that slowly oozes out of his torso.

“I can help,” you insist gently, earning a distrusting look from Natasha. When neither of them respond to your proposition, you continue, “I know how to clean up a wound like that. I do it all the time for Brock, and I can do it for you if you’ll let me.”

After a moment of hesitation, Bucky finally gives you a nod. “The first aid kit is in the bottom cabinet of the bathroom down the hall.”

You quickly scurry off in search of the kit, following Bucky’s directions and grabbing the case full of medical supplies. After double checking it holds everything you need, you promptly make your way back to Bucky. The once tumultuous living room is now silent save for the man’s heavy breathing, and you find him waiting for you on the couch. Your stomach suddenly finds itself full of nerves as you approach him, but you do your best to remain calm as you seat yourself beside him.

“What kind of wound is it?” You ask while slipping on the medical gloves from the kit.

“Stab wound,” he grits through clenched teeth while shrugging off his suit jacket. “Didn’t see the bastard coming.”

You hum softly while sterilizing your tools and preparing the disinfectant, your movements immediately faltering when you look up to find his shirt completely unbuttoned. You can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes you at the sight of his perfectly sculpted muscles and the sheen of sweat that coats them, your stomach fluttering nervously as you carefully begin to wipe away the blood and disinfect the wound.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” you state aloud in an effort to distract yourself. “I’ve seen much worse.”

“How’d you learn to do all this?”

“Another mob wife taught me,” you explain with a faint smile that fails to reach your eyes. “She was the only person to show me kindness when I became a part of Brock’s world. Taught me everything I’d need to know to survive.”

A pensive silence fills the room, the air filled only with the steady breaths that fall from Bucky’s lips as you delicately stitch the wound closed. Your brows scrunch with concentration, tongue darting out from the corner of your lips without you realizing, and the sight tugs at Bucky’s heartstrings. It’s no shock to anyone that you’re beautiful, the most gorgeous woman he’s ever laid eyes on even, but you’re also gentle, kind, and too sweet to ever be mixed up with someone like Rumlow. Bucky knew better than to get attached to people, especially when it came to business, but he couldn’t help it when it came to you. You hadn’t been here for long, but already he’d grown fond of you and your soft nature that heavily contrasted the brutality of his life.

“I’ll have to change the bandages before you go to bed,” you murmur absently after finishing your work. “Did you still want dinner? I can heat it up for you.”

“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” Bucky reminds you with a careful smile. “You’re a guest here, I should be taking care of you.”

“I don’t mind,” you insist with a shrug, “anything to help the man that’s treated me with nothing but respect since I got here.”

Bucky says nothing, but the careful brush of his metal fingers against your jaw is enough to signal his gratitude. Your lashes flutter shut in content almost immediately, all inhibitions thrown out the window as you enjoy the intimacy of being here with him alone.

“I’m going to get changed then come back down for dinner. Sound good, doll?”

“Yes, Bucky,” you chime softly, casting him a fond smile while he pulls himself up off the couch and makes his way up the stairs towards his bedroom. In the meantime, you clean up the mess and do your best to get the blood stains out of the couch before washing your hands of the remaining grime.

While Bucky changes, you reheat the dinner you’d prepared in his absence and set the table. It’s oddly domestic, and though this is a routine you’ve completed hundreds of times before for Rumlow, this is the first time you’ve ever felt at peace doing so. You remind yourself not to get too used to being here, that Bucky isn’t your fiancé, but it only serves to fill you with dread at the thought of having to return to reality.

He returns ten minutes later in a Henley and pair of sweats, and you try not to take notice of the way his biceps nearly bulge through the seams. You say nothing as you set his plate down at the table before seating yourself beside him in favor of your normal place across the table. If he takes notice he says nothing, only moving to take a bite of his dinner after a grueling day of work.

“You’re an angel,” he express gratefully, and though you try to wave him off with a bashful shake of your head he insists, “I mean it. You’ve brought a light to this place I never thought was possible. It’s been nice having you here, though I wish the circumstances were different.”

“Me too,” you profess quietly despite keeping your eyes glued to your plate of dinner. Bucky looks upon your features for a moment, taking in the details of your face while silently working up the nerve to make a confession.

“I have a meeting tomorrow,” he utters abruptly, catching your attention and prompting you to look up from your plate. “It’s with Rumlow.”

Bucky’s statement has you feeling overcome with an immediate sense of dread. Your heart begins to beat rapidly in your chest, and you try to control the shakiness of your hand as you stab your fork into your vegetables.

“You do?” You murmur quietly, an obvious edge to your tone.

“He’s asked to meet so we can discuss the conditions of your return. He wants you home.”

Your ears begin to ring. Your body feels unbearably hot with panic and your eyes immediately begin to pool with tears. You don’t want to go back to him, and you don’t want to leave Bucky. Maybe he had technically kidnapped you, but you never once felt like a prisoner here with him. In fact, you felt the freest you’d ever been in his mansion than back at home with your own fiancé. You knew what was waiting for you with Rumlow, and you didn’t think you could bear it.

“I suppose it was a matter of time,” you state calmly despite the trembling of your bottom lip. Bucky nods silently in agreement, though his brows furrow in contemplation as he leans back in his chair and grasps his chin with his finger.

“The thing is,” Bucky begins with a defeated sigh, “I don’t think I will be returning you.”

You nearly drop your fork in response to his words, your eyes widening in shock as you look to him in search of any signs of humor or sarcasm. Instead, you are met with a face full of sincerity. Not once has Bucky ever teased you or lied to you during your stay with him, and this time is no different.

“You… you mean it?” You ask with a hopeful glint in your eye.

“What kind of monster would I be to send you back with him? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did that. I won’t stand for you to marry someone who knocks you around and treats you with disrespect. I don’t have all the details worked out just yet, but I want you to trust that I’m going to help you get your freedom back. Can you trust me, y/n?”

“Yes, oh, thank you, Bucky!” you exclaim gratefully, unable to help the tears that begin to fall down your face. You’re overcome with emotion at the mere notion of finally being free from your impending marriage, and you have no words to express how thankful you are for him.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” he coos while gently cupping your face in his hands and wiping away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Everything’s going to be okay. I swear to you I’ll make it all better.”

You sniffle, letting out a watery laugh when he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. You’re the happiest you’ve been in ages, full of hope and light you thought had long since been extinguished.

And it’s all thanks to Bucky.

~~~

You’re restless.

You can’t help yourself from pacing around Bucky’s office as the minutes slowly drag by. He’s been gone for two hours now and you’re starting to worry.

“You’re going to tire yourself out like that,” Sam comments after looking up from his book to watch you frantically move around the room. Bucky has entrusted the man to look after you in his absence in case Rumlow has any ideas about snatching you while he’s away. So far the mansion has been quiet, but it only serves to unsettle you further.

“Shouldn’t he be back by now? What if something’s happened?” You press urgently only for Sam to shut his book with a sigh and gesture for you to take a seat. You do so reluctantly, but your body is relieved to have ceased its constant movement.

“Bucky knows what he’s doing,” he reassures you as best as he can. “Plus, he’s a man of his word. He promised you your freedom from Rumlow so that’s what he’s going to do.”

Sam’s words are enough to quell your anxious state for now, but it doesn’t stop your mind from spinning with all the different possible outcomes that could result from this meeting. You want to be free of your engagement more than anything, but you’d hate for that to come at the cost of Bucky’s life.

After what feels like ages a knock finally sounds at the door. You nearly jump out of your chair from the startle it gives you, and Sam is quick to rise from his seat and draw his gun. The room becomes deathly silent as you both watch the door slowly creak open, but standing in the doorway is only a disheveled Bucky. His right cheek sports a fresh bruise, and blood that is not his own stains his clothes. He looks to Sam and gives him a single nod, prompting the man to make his exit so that only the two of you remain in the office.

You watch with bated breath as the man slowly walks towards you, his hulking frame towering over your own as he gently takes your hands in his. He looks exhausted, but he still manages to offer you a gentle smile as he raises your knuckles to his lips and presses a gentle kiss upon them.

“I took care of him,” he finally says, immediately alleviating you of all tension and worry. “You’re free.”

Your bottom lip quivers despite the smile you wear while you fight to hold back tears of joy, and without a second thought you throw your arms around Bucky in a bone crushing hug that he’s quick to return. His metal hand finds its place on the small of your back while the other delicately cradles the back of your head. You don’t care about the blood that stains his clothes or the metallic scent that he emits: you’re forever indebted to your savior, and you want him to know just how much you appreciate what he’s done for you.

“You can stay with me for now until things calm down and we find you a place-“ Bucky begins to say, but his words fall upon deaf ears as you crash your lips onto his own in a passionate kiss. You can’t think of any other way to express how happy you are, and judging by the way he immediately pulls you flush against him to return the kiss, he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

His lips move tenderly against your own while his arms wrap around your frame in the most impassioned kiss you’ve ever received. All inhibitions have been thrown out the window, but neither can find it in you to care. From the moment you met him you knew Bucky was a different man from the rest- a smart, respectful man who fully cared about your wellbeing despite hardly knowing you. In return, you’d given him unwavering kindness and tender care he once thought would never be attainable. Your story wasn’t conventional by any means, but neither were the two of you, and together you were perfect.

Embraced in the passionate arms of your protector, you think you’ve finally found the place where you belong.

~~~

You wake to the feeling of his lips gently trailing along your bare shoulder. You let out a quiet hum and stretch yourself awake before meeting the eyes of your lover. His face sports a sleepy smile as he continues to trail kisses along your arm and up to your neck.

“Good morning,” you utter pleasantly, entangling your bare limbs with his own from beneath the sheets.

“Sorry for waking you,” Bucky utters apologetically while pressing his lips against your temple. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“I don’t mind,” you assure him with a careful smile, tucking your head beneath his chin to enjoy his warmth and bask in his natural scent. His arms come to tenderly wrap around your figure and pull you in closer, and you wonder if you’ll be able to find it in yourself to get out of bed today.

It’s been three months since Rumlow’s death and the disbandment of the Cross Bones mafia. Bucky now fully controls the territories in New York, and you think it’s better this way. Crime has been at an all time low, the streets are cleaner, and life is peaceful.

Though you can come and go as you please and have all the freedom in the world now, you still call Bucky’s mansion home. It was clear the two of you had formed an instantaneous connection that couldn’t be broken, and neither of you could bear to be separated. You were given your own room and had all of your belonging moved in, and though you wanted to take it slow, it wasn’t long before you migrated into Bucky’s bedroom.

You immediately solidified your place in his life as his shining light and motivation to get out of bed in the morning. Everything he did was for you now, for your future and the life you planned to build together. This was it, and Bucky was happy to have a new sense of purpose once more.

“Why don’t we go into town today?” He suggests, voice still hoarse with sleep. “We can visit that antique store you’ve been eyeing.”

“You mean it?” You gasp, looking up to find any hint of insincerity in his features. Instead, he merely smiles and presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Anything for my girl,” he avows earnestly before pulling you closer for a kiss.

Your new life with Bucky is perfect, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[seokluvs]

keep you company ❀ h.bn // n.kd

pairing : bestfriend!brian x afab!reader x bestfriend!kamden

warnings : SMUT!! MDNI!! use of 🍃(smoking not mentioned), threesome, nipple sucking, use of pet names (baby, princess) cumming inside, unprotected sex (wrap it up jinjja), cum eating, tongue fucking, oral (m&f receiving), deep throat, squirting, doggystyle, reader is overworked — i think that’s all?? lmk if i missed anything

wc : 1,442 words

authors note : this might be THE worst thing i’ve ever written.. sorry about that im like half asleep my bad 😣😣 barely proofread tell me if my grammar sucks pls

much like everyone else in the world, work had always been apart of your life. however, sometimes you’d wonder if it was just a bit… too much.

looking over at the digital clock, you dropped your pen to bury your face in your hands. all of your pent up frustration finally being let out as you screamed into your palms

it was currently 10:47p.m., not a horrible time to be up working, so why were you so irritated? simply because, you had been writing reports for your stupid boss for the past 2 hours and you weren’t even halfway done.

looking over at the pile of untouched files, you silently cursed at your employer for not sharing the workload with your other colleagues. i mean, being work oriented had it’s pros, but seemingly, the cons always outweighed them.

i mean why should YOU have to do everything? from always writing daily reports to fixing your colleagues mistakes, the burden always found its way on your back.

god, you needed a break, an excuse to pull you out of your misery, just something to take your mind off of-

DING

pulling you out of your trance, the doorbell rang. who could possibly be at your door so late?

getting up from the dining room chair, you jogged over to the front door before checking through the peephole.

“of course” you muttered to yourself, a slight smile creeping onto your face as you recognised the two silhouettes.

opening the door, the two tall men holding grocery bags and pizza boxes were revealed. god, that really was the perfect timing ever.

“my knights in shining armour, what are you doing here so late?” you questioned, gesturing them to enter your slightly messy home.

“we figured you needed a break… and we were right.. it’s depressing in here” the older one spoke as he took his coat off and walked over to clean up your dining table.

“we also brought pizza, snacks… and weed” the taller one said as he followed suit, a mischievous smile painting his face as the last words left his mouth

kamden and brian had always been there for you. they could tell when something was up even before you let it loose, and although them showing up didn’t surprise you, it still tugged at your heartstrings.

grabbing the pizza boxes and bags from the taller one, you headed over to the kitchen to place everything as you spoke.

“you guys don’t know how much i needed this.. like actually.. i was going fucking crazy” you said, emphasising the word “crazy”

“oh we know.. you’ve been cooped up in your house all week” kamden spoke as he finished cleaning up your dining table. “but, it’s time to let loose and have a little fun”

looking up from the snacks, you saw him hold up a small baggie with weed while grinning, this was gonna be a great night.

as the minutes slowly turned into hours, the weed took over your mind and you had gotten quite a bit more loose lipped as the joint finally died out in the hazy atmosphere.

“you know what’s so annoying?” the boys looked over at you as you slurred over your words. “work. i haven’t had any time to myself, or for anyone. hell, i can’t even remember the last time i’ve been fucked, besides by those stupid reports!” the frustration was evident in your voice.

for a quick moment, the boys leaned over to exchange a glance before the younger spoke up

“you know.. if you’re that frustrated, we can help you out..” looking back and forth at them, you were slightly confused at his proposal.

“what?” you questioned, clearly missing something. are they serious? is the weed playing tricks on you? are you going insane? why are you so turned on right now?

“you heard us.. come on.. it’ll be fun.” the older one said, his fingers slowly grazing at your bare knee.

now usually, you would’ve second guessed something like this. i mean who just agrees to having sex with their best friends? that’s weird, right?

but as the emptiness in your brain took over, you found yourself sitting in between them, slowly being undressed and teased.

brian’s hands were eager to tug your shirt off while kamden positioned your face in front of his. attaching his lips to yours, the kiss felt electric — sending a jolt deep to your core.

as brian attached his pretty lips to your right nipple, sucking on the sensitive bud, you moaned at the contact, giving kamden perfect entry to stick his tongue in your mouth.

as your tongues fought for dominance, brian’s digits found their way down to your inner thighs, slowly lifting your shorts to caress small circles in a teasing manner. the overwhelming sensation of everything had you dizzy and dripping wet.

at that point, you couldn’t contain your sounds anymore. whimpering into kamden’s lips like it was a prayer, he snaked his hand up to your neck, applying just enough pressure to drive you insane.

brian removed his lips from your nipple and kneeled on the floor. breaking your kiss, you look down at him, eyes glistening up at you as he toyed with the hem of your shorts.

“can i eat you out baby?” he asked, his tone light and teasing.

nodding along, you looked back at kamden who was now kneeling on the couch.

grabbing at his own hardened member through his jeans, he spoke up in a raspy tone

“want something else in your mouth, princess?”

not even giving physical confirmation, your hands immediately undid his belt, stopping in your tracks when you felt brian’s lips attach to your sensitive bud.

dropping your hands from kamden’s jeans, your fingers laced brian’s hair as he looked up at you with innocent eyes.

the feeling was heavenly and sent you into a trance of squirming and whimpering.

suddenly, you felt a hand near your face. snapping you out of your daze, kamden guided your lips to latch onto his aching cock. he was girthy and leaking in precum, it was obvious what the sounds you were making did to him.

taking his tip into your mouth, you swirled your tongue across his glans, which earned you a guttural moan from him. taking his shirt off, he gently took your hair into a ponytail and eased more of his cock into your mouth.

as you bobbed your head onto his length, brian’s tongue found your hole, fucking itself into you as his thumb rubbed quick circles on your clit.

moaning on his dick, kamden’s actions became rougher, grabbing at your head and forcing you to deepthroat his cock before mouth fucking you at a desperate pace.

removing his hardened length from your mouth, he gave it a few pumps before speaking up

“knees. now.”

as kamden spoke, brian removed his lips from your leaking cunt to reveal his glistening chin. letting out a dissatisfied groan from the loss of friction, you complied and got onto your knees, ass facing kamden.

brian undressed and sat in front of you, his long thin cock springing into the air as his angry leaking tip greeted you.

without warning, kamden gave your ass a harsh slap before roughly inserting his thick cock into your leaking hole.

gasping at the sudden friction, you gave brian the perfect opportunity to shove his length into your mouth, immediately fucking himself down your throat.

while you were gagging on his cock, you felt kamden’s hand rubbing on your clit as his balls slapped against your cunt.

in that moment, you were so overstimulated from brian throat fucking you and kamden slamming his cock into you, that you didn’t even realise you started to squirt on kamdens dick.

the stimulation of your warm liquid hitting his lower torso sent him over the moon and he was quick to cum, still thrusting deep inside of you while he shot his ropes of cum into your aching cunt.

as for brian, he was almost there. collecting yourself, you bobbed your head down onto his cock, mostly focusing on tonguing at his tip while your hands rubbed his balls.

after two more minutes of him fucking himself into your throat, his cock twitched and he came in your mouth. looking up at him, you stuck your tongue out to show him the mess he made before swallowing it and giving him a small smile.

as you all sat there for a moment, the pleasure seeped in and you let out a soft giggle.

god, you were so happy that they decided to keep you company.

[gen-lecter]

(Not my pic! Here’s the link for this masterpiece: https://x.com/mogtan71/status/1901757075300274391?s=46)

„Father, Forgive me“

Hello, everyone! 💋

This is my very first one-shot — so please be gentle!

I’ve always loved Levi Ackerman’s cold, dominant vibe, his character in general.

To be honest, I’m not usually into this kind of thing, but I was bored and thought… why not try something a little more specific? Something different.

You don’t see a Levi Priest AU every day — especially one that’s this unholy. So here we are.

This story is dark, explicit, and definitely NSFW. It’s got sinful tension, twisted power play, and yeah… some serious blasphemy. If that’s your thing — enjoy. If not, consider yourself warned.

Also, a very sweet “Levi” crew gave me the motivation to actually write and post this.

Go check them out — they’re amazing and deserve all the love! @nilfgaardianleviosa

@hambiichu

Thanks for checking it out — hope you like my little “I-was-bored-and-went-too-far” fantasy.

!Content Warnings!

[18+ NSFW]

• Age Gap

• Religious Themes (Catholic aesthetic, priest x sinner dynamic)

• Blasphemous Content

• Explicit Language & Humiliation

• Spanking (Hand)

• Power Imbalance

• Rough/Dominant Behavior

• Mentions of Masturbation

• Dubious Morality

• Not for the religiously sensitive – you’ve been warned

Summary:

You enter the confessional with a heart full of filth and fantasies you can’t shake.

You call him Father, but there’s nothing holy about what you feel for him — or what he’s about to do to you.

He listens.

He judges.

He punishes.

Part 1/?

Let’s go~

The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, and his white robe brushed against the cold marble floor. It was cool inside, and the sunlight poured in through the tall, sparkling mosaic windows. The dark pews of the church were slowly emptying as people filed out with quiet, rhythmic steps.

He exhaled softly and closed his eyes. He focused on the feeling of being here. On the sharp, smoky scent of the air.

It hadn’t been long since it happened—whatever it was. He could barely remember anything beyond the sensation of floating. It was like his soul had shattered, and for a brief time, he thought he had seen the light of day again. Felt the wind on his skin.

But it wasn’t the same anymore. Nothing was. Not the way he thought. Not the way he felt.

He had lost everything—family, friends, superiors, his old team. It no longer made sense, because he was no longer who he used to be. What he had felt back then had torn the blindfold from his eyes. And now, he understood the world—its meaning and its cruelty—just a little more than before.

Like a wandering soul, he had found his way into the sacred halls of the church. He was now the Father of the community. Preacher of the faithful. Here, in this village, people had found their way back to faith. They sought guidance from him. And it brought him a quiet comfort to show them the way. To hide their sins.

To make them atone.

But if he thought he had truly left behind earthly pleasures—desires, temptations—he had been wrong. So very wrong.

Because there was someone. Someone who made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. Someone who shook the foundations of his discipline. And it made him furious. That someone like you could just walk in, and disturb his peace.

He would stand before the altar to deliver Mass. And as his eyes wandered over the congregation, more often than not, they landed on you. While the others bowed their heads in reverence, you looked up at him—and ran your tongue slowly across your lips.

But he understood sin. And he wanted to help all sinners. Even you.

The bells rang, deep and solemn, and the people began to form a quiet line to receive the Holy Host. One by one, they stepped forward. He would recite the sacred words, place the wafer on their tongues, and they would retreat with a whispered “Amen.” The ritual had something meditative to it. He performed it like in a trance.

„The Holy Host,” he murmured, voice low and solemn, and another woman stepped aside.

But then, he looked up—and a jolt of something electric shot through him.

It was you.

Standing there with a grin tugging at your lips, your head tilted playfully to one side. You liked the man. There was something about him—something you couldn’t quite name. Even if he was almost twice your age. Even if you knew this was hopeless.

Still, you couldn’t help but play.

He faltered for just a moment. The expression on his usually stoic face shifted—barely, but noticeably. A few dark strands had fallen across his forehead. You were so close now, the next person already waiting behind you.

He seemed to collect himself again, his voice steady as he spoke the words. His fingers reached for one of the tasteless wafers, lifting it with reverence.

You parted your lips just slightly, warmth pooling in your stomach. There was something so deeply intimate about this moment—being fed by someone so much older, so composed, so devastatingly handsome. And yet, this was supposed to be pure. Sacred.

It didn’t feel that way.

As he placed the Host on your tongue, his slender fingers brushed against your flushed lips—already marked by faint little bite marks. And he knew why.

You saw his gaze linger. Just for a second.

And then—you let your tongue flick against his fingers.

It was brief. But it was enough.

He froze. Shocked. Silently stunned by the audacity, the temptation.

„Amen,” you whispered, your eyes locked onto his.

And then you turned without another word, disappearing into the crowd like a shadow.

Levi shook his head. The water was cold, and it splashed quietly as he washed his hands. He knew it was a sin. God, how could you defile something as pure as this ritual with thoughts like those?

Yet, as his fingers moved through the water, the image forced its way back into his mind.

His fingertips—resting against your lips.

The way he had possessed you in that fleeting moment made his chest tighten. He exhaled sharply, almost a growl, and shook his head again. He scrubbed his hands more harshly, as if the water could cleanse not just the skin but the thoughts buried underneath.

When he was done, he dragged his still-wet hands over his face, up to his temples, pressing them over his head.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He had seen war, pain, death. He had buried comrades, taken lives. And yet this—you—this was what broke his composure?

-

You walked through the day as it slowly bowed into dusk. The sun moved hand in hand with the moon, and the heavy scent of an approaching summer storm hung in the air.

You took a deep breath. Eyes lifting to the sky, your feet carried you without effort—down the small slope at the edge of the village.

There, nestled among lush meadows and golden fields, stood the old church. Idyllic. Noble. Its rust-red roof glowing almost magically in the golden hue of the setting sun. The normally pale beige walls looked like they were dipped in gold.

It felt like something sacred. Untouchable.

But the fire inside you had nothing to do with worship.

Your heart was pounding fast—loud and hard from excitement—as you kept biting your lip. You couldn’t stop yourself.

More and more often, your thoughts circled around the new priest. Around him.

And more often than not, you lay awake at night, tangled in your white sheets, fingers wandering as the name of that striking man passed over your lips.

Levi.

He made you wet—no denying it.

Those sharp, steel-gray eyes. That voice—rough and low like a storm rolling in. His hands, large and sure. And yet the thought of him touching you was absurd. Distant. He would never lay a hand on you.

And maybe that’s exactly what made you want him more.

That impossible tension. That forbidden heat. The raw magnetism of a man who exuded control, discipline, danger—and who had no idea how irresistible he was.

You couldn’t resist him.

You didn’t want to.

-

The church stood alone, glowing with promise in the deep red of the setting sky. You reached the heavy, iron-bound doors and pushed them open.

Inside—it was quiet.

You were alone.

The altar was bare, but thick candles still flickered along its edge, casting long shadows.

Light poured through the mosaic windows, painting the inside of the church with a kaleidoscope of color—like the whole place had been drowned in liquid gemstones.

The faint, lingering scent of incense from the last evening mass still hung in the air.

And it welcomed you.

The faint scent of incense from the last evening mass still lingered in the air.

You tilted your head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling—and on the massive statues looming above. Men, women, angels… all carved in stone, all looking down upon you.

Were they judging you?

Condemning you?

You bit your lip, and with quiet, careful steps, you slipped toward the confessionals. They were made of dark wood, with black glass panes and deep emerald curtains. The handles were wrought in ornate black metal, cold to the touch.

Your heart nearly burst from your chest when a voice echoed from within.

“Come in. Unburden your soul.”

That voice. You would recognize it anywhere.

Levi.

Your knees went weak.

He didn’t know who stood outside. He couldn’t. There was no way he could guess that you had come here tonight. And yet… you stepped inside.

The chamber was small, dim. As the door closed behind you, you flinched. Not that he could have seen it—divided by the dark pane of glass in the center, all he’d see were vague shadows.

You sat down slowly, breathing shallow, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

The only thing you could hear in that moment…

was your own breath.

You sat down slowly. The only sound you could hear was your own breathing.

Gradually, your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and you began to recognize the rough outline of the man sitting on the other side.

“Something’s weighing on you. You’re longing for something… searching. I can give you what you need.”

That deep, calm voice sent a chill down your spine. But you said nothing—just leaned back.

Silence settled thick between you. You lowered your head, resting it against the cold wooden panel.

“I’ve sinned, Daddy,” you whispered.

The man on the other side visibly tensed, and a long, heavy pause followed.

“(Y/N),”

You suddenly felt hot, and flinched slightly.

He knew your name.

But what really made your heart race wasn’t that—it was his voice. It was rough. Less melodic than when he spoke to his other worshippers.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sharp and warning in his tone.

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly dragging a finger from your neck down to the valley between your breasts.

Your eyes fluttered.

“I want to confess, Father.”

The man flinched again, barely keeping it together. The way you said the word—so teasing, so deliberately tempting—it sent a shiver through him.

You were dirty. And he felt it. Like cold fire crawling down his spine.

He straightened his shoulders, swallowed down the rage that had started to rise in him. Forced himself to stay composed.

“Speak to me. Share with me and with God. I can help you, (Y/N).”

You sighed softly, closed your eyes.

“I’ve been bad… I had… thoughts. Dirty thoughts.”

The man on the other side felt his collar grow tight. He loosened it, swallowing hard.

His breathing grew heavier—wasn’t it obvious?

“What kind of thoughts?” he asked, his voice now close against the partition.

You shut your eyes again and let your hand slide gently over your own breast.

“Thoughts about you, Father. About the things we’d do.”

You dropped the title from your voice, did something you weren’t supposed to—but you didn’t care.

„In those thoughts, you touched me… everywhere. I felt you inside me.”

You listened for a reaction, but he stayed silent as you confessed every sin.

„I touched myself often. And I dreamed of you, Father.”

The black-haired man exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a rough hand across his face.

It suddenly felt hot in the confessional. Something rose inside him.

You were provoking him. Testing him.

Pushing him straight to the edge.

You listened into the silence and heard your own heavy breathing.

“Father… what is my penance?”

You waited for an answer—but there was nothing. Just silence.

And when you looked closer…

The other side was empty.

But you didn’t get time to think.

The door burst open with force.

And there he stood.

If you had tried to explain to anyone the kind of fury and darkness burning in his stormy blue-gray eyes—no one would’ve believed you.

You stepped back instinctively.

But the man grabbed your arm, yanking you out with a strength that made your breath catch.

Your knees threatened to give out as you looked up at him—

And his eyes?

They pierced straight through you. Cold. Merciless.

“Forty spanks.“

You blinked, confused, sure you’d misheard.

But the man didn’t look like he was joking.

Not even a little.

You stared at him, lips parted, confused.

“F-Forty?” you asked, your voice unsure, wavering between defiance and arousal.

But Levi didn’t answer.

He let go of your arm only to grab you by the chin, forcing your eyes back up to his.

His touch wasn’t gentle—Levi never was.

His fingers were firm, demanding.

„Did I stutter?”

His low voice left no room for argument.

You felt the shiver all the way down your spine.

You wanted this.

You knew it.

He knew it.

Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his dark voice brushing your ear. „You want absolution?”

You nodded—barely. That was enough.He pushed you toward the bench.

“Then take your punishment like a good little sinner.”

You were too dazed to resist as he pulled you forward, right onto the altar, where he suddenly pressed your upper body flat against the podium. You felt his hand on your back.

Your breath grew shallow, and your heart pounded in your chest.

The cold of the podium seeped into your bare skin where your shirt had ridden up.

„What are you doing?“ you shouted into the empty church. Your voice echoed.

„You? You address me as 'Father.' This is a matter of respect.“

You fell silent. Your heart seemed to drop into your stomach as his fingers gripped the waistband of your pants. With one sharp tug, he yanked them down, leaving your backside exposed.

You flinched, instinctively trying to sit up—but there was no escaping your helpless position.

Your face burned crimson as you realized what was coming. Fear and arousal twisted together inside you, a sickening cocktail. You felt the man lean over you, his weight pressing down. His blue eyes glittered in the light of the mosaics. Then, in a low, rough voice, he spoke into your ear.

„I want you to count them.“

With your hands pinned behind your back, you lay there, staring up at the statues and paintings that now seemed to gaze down at you.

“Forty with my hand—right on that sinful little ass.“

He grabs your ass roughly.

„Right here“-„You want forgiveness? Then count every fucking one.”

„Ah!“

Then the first slap rang out—sharp and loud. The man’s warm hand collided firmly with your bare flesh. You clenched your lips shut, but the second spank landed even harder than the first. You felt its vibration deep inside you.

„I said count,“ the man ordered sternly.

You flushed, pressing your face into the red cloth where the Bible usually lay.

„T-two“ you stammered, voice trembling.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the next strike came—then another, and another, and another. His hand lingered dangerously close to your core, fingers resting too long on your burning skin. You could feel his heat where the strikes had left you aflame.

You’d provoked this man for a long time—you knew that.

But now, a question crept in: Had this been a terrible mistake?

The next strike landed, sending a violent shudder straight through you.

And you felt yourself growing wet.

Worse—you knew he could see it. The slickness between your thighs glistened under the candlelight.

The next strike landed, and this time, you couldn’t suppress it:

A loud moan escaped you.

You expected some reaction from him—anything to remind you this wasn’t meant for pleasure. That he’d realize what he was doing and stop.

„Mmmh- Father please, forgive me“

But he simply continued. With every strike, you gasped, whimpered, arched, moaned. His hand now brushed against the warmth trickling down your inner thighs. You noticed—he noticed—how some strikes grew softer, drifting closer to where you burned. Heat coiled low in his gut as your sounds echoed through the darkened church.

His gaze locked onto your body, your bare skin. He knew he should stop.

But he hadn’t even reached forty yet...

[shrewfern]

things about all the young dudes i really like (my atyd annotations so far)

note: i was going to post this when i was done reading it, but it’ll be while before i finish. i’ve been reading it for about a day now (spread over the past two-three weeks; i don’t have a whole lot of free time </33), and i’m on chapter “fourth year: january”. also, i’m reading atyd on a pdf file, so i can’t see the chapters numerically. any chapters named specifically will be done by year and title. <3

remus cannot read

james is tone deaf (relatable)

sirius can raise one eyebrow

james cannot. to compensate, he wiggles them.

“that sirius black grin.”

remus being excited to be thirteen, fourteen, so on…

for their birthdays, the marauders get the whole gryffindor table to sing “happy birthday”.

“birthdays are family occasions.” –narcissisa black (carrying a slumpy regulus black) to sirius black, before promptly intimidating the elder black brother to have lunch with them.

regulus being absolutely criminally offended that james touched sirius’ shoulder.

james running his hand through his hair.

james and peter nominating a “ban on bowie until the end of the year”.

remus’ gay awakening was from watching a david bowie concert on the world’s shittiest tv.

i had to keep my jaw from dropping when sirius said walburga's making him marry his cousin.

lily uses a ‘muggle-expression’. james doesn’t understand it, remus does.

james and sirius trying to tape their hands to the table while wrapping christmas presents.

after walburga (boooo tomato tomato) kidnaps sirius during christmas break, regulus sends james and remus an owl saying sirius is home and do not try to contact him.

MR AND MRS POTTER GOT THE MARAUDERS MATCHING QUILL SETS!!!!!

james yells “come in!!!!!” to mary, marlene, and lily (who are outside the door) in a room bound with a silencing spell. 

‘“One day you’ll all read Hogwarts: A History, and I can finally rest.” Sirius sighed…’

^AND HE DID!!!

remus’ favorite flavor of chips is salt and vinegar (me to!!).

‘remu’.

‘goulash’ (‘gilgamesh’).

foreshadowing with the epic of gilgamesh.

i love the implications that no one in the black family wants to be there.

ALPHARD BLACK IS GAY.

domestic sirius black!! give remus that toast!!!

‘the two m’s.’

remus, with zero context, to lily: it’s a trunk full of umbrellas.

‘telling-bone’.

sirius likes his albums alphabetically organized.

‘remoony’

‘He [Remus] didn’t want someone as cool as Ferox thinking he was a wuss.’

remus doesn’t like cats.

‘Sirius had been listening to “Black Dog” on repeat for weeks now.’

THE SHADE thrown at peter is BOMBASTIC. /pos /ihatepeterpettigrew

‘stupid o’clock’.

when talking about something important, james relates it to quidditch.

‘lumpy elephant dung’ 💀💀💀

mary is me irl.

‘James handled the invitations – which as far as Remus had seen involved shouting at various students telling them they’d better be there or else.’

good writing, feels very natural.

‘“...marry Prince Charles if you want to…”’ –remus lupin

^ as a royal family watcher, i damn near flipped my lid at this (i love you, diana!!!!!).

andromeda saying that she doesn’t think nymphadora will marry anyone at the table…

marauders should build a treehouse. not related, just a silly thought.

marlene is also me irl.

sirius point blank refused to sign marlene’s petition to remove the whomping willow (‘“it has the right to be here as anyone else!”’).

james being nice to peter got me fuming.

sirius intentionally does poorly in astronomy to piss off his parents.

ok i’m reading marlene’s break-down chapter (third year) and she IS ACTUALLY ME.

NOT SIRIUS TELLING REMUS IN TOTALLY PLATONIC CONTEXT ‘Have I told you lately how much I love you?’ 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 (third year, marlene chapter)

madame pomfrey being the nicest person alive! i wish we got to see more of her in the actual books.

the conversation between remus and ferox in “third year: greyback” mirrors that between remus and harry in the prisoner of azkaban.

‘one emotional crisis at a time.’ me every day.

gang remus >>

lanky weedy remus is real and he lives inside your walls.

first fourth year chapter’s off to a good angsty start!

‘[remus’] laces didn’t match, red on left, yellow on the right. He’d thought that looked really cool back in July, but now it looked a bit silly.’ 

^me who wears two different colored shoes 👀👀👀

sirius pronouncing ‘cigarette’ with a french accent.

i want to be sirius or remus so badly aAJBSHSDGBSKBJ i love them both sm sdfkjgbsjkblsgnjskbgsbgjkjjbkbkjbkfkdjkbgdkjbgjk.

oh, no, not the chicken sandwich being symbolic.

‘one might assume that a hungry werewolf would fancy a chicken sandwich…’

james trying to court lily (year four) got me grinnin frfr.

lily hates being called ‘ginger’ bc the kids in elementary school picked on her for it (i would too. it’s nothing personal; i just see a ginger and i gotta bring out my flame thrower.)

mcgonagall telling the commentators to stay on-topic during quidditch match.

^this is something i love in the official books, too!

‘“please mr. moony, step into our office,”’ james says, inviting remus into his bed (not like that, you shitface!!!)

sirius doesn’t like sticky things.

‘“we seem to have some pranksters in our midst,”’ *everyone immediately looks at the marauders*

as a great gatsby enthusiast, i greatly enjoyed “year four: christmas”.

^THE GREAT GATSBY IS NOT A ROMANCE!!! well, it kinda is but NOT IN A GOOD WAY!! it’s more of a dramatic tragedy imo.

^sorry. i see anything great gatsby related and i just pop off.

^I SHOuld have been in the theatre with remus!! he would’ve loved the great gatsby if i was there! we would’ve squawked about what a narcissistic bitch daisy is and how fucking gay nick and jordan are!! and i could’ve explained the social parallels and the symbolism and why daisy is a WHORE and love vs deperation vs obsession vs want and why i would absolutely KICK f. scott fitzgerald’s ass if i ever met him. and the green light. THE GREEN LIGHT. ugh remus why aren’t you real we could’ve had such a good time…

^i get even crazier about the greatest showman.

remus freaking the fuck out after being told to calm down.

‘Since Dumbledore’s visit to the Potters Sirius’s hatred for anything remotely Slytherin had increased tenfold.’ as a slytherin and the #1 sirius simp, i do not like this sentence.

[jimjamjomjum]

At least she’s nice to me at church!

[chateautae]

hi 🥺

[ssruis]

Going through a straight up comical amount of irritating situations to get the stupid 4* guaranteed ticket from the welcome to sekai campaign. It Will Be Mine.

[steviescrystals]

MY LIFE IS NOT REAL WHAT IS GOING ON

[yanderenightmare]

Yandere Days of the Week

♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, drugging, alcohol/poisoning, vomiting/forced/emeto, abuse of power, plotting murder, waterboarding-ish, squirting, implied bottle-fucking

♡ FEM reader

♡ INSPO: this by the lovely @yanderedrabbles

Monday is your strict boss.

He’s always breathing down your neck around the office, checking if you come in on time, laying into you when you’re anything but perfectly on the dot—not even allowing you to get settled into your cubicle before dumping a workload onto your desk on top of the one you already have, coming back with a fresh one right after lunch again.

You know you’re probably just being sensitive, but you feel as though he singles you out. Barking at you to redo things, even after you’d gone through the extra measure of running it by a coworker who’d given you the thumbs up. You don’t know, it sort of feels as if he has it out for you.

Being yelled at is already bad enough, not to mention how he’ll demand you work late to make up for the slack. And yet, that’s not even the worst part! 

No, the absolute worst part is that he’ll insist on staying behind, too—to supervise you. 

It’s utterly nerve-wracking. ‘Cause he isn’t only your boss, he’s also sort of… well… really hot. Always dressed sharply in a tailored pin-striped suit and those sharp-tipped newly-polished shoes—hair slick with a fresh barbershop cut and a chiseled face to match.

He smells good, too. And it all just makes it extra awkward for you. Especially when you stay late together, alone. He’ll remove his tie and jacket, then button up his collar and roll up his sleeves—flexing those burly arms of his and that fat wristwatch that’s worth more than your entire life savings. 

That neat hair of his will start to fall apart as the late hours take their toll, getting disheveled and only sexier for it—and the way he’ll drag his ring-clad fingers through it with a groan, looking at you with such a fierce glare, you actually have to calm your breath and suppress the urge to rub your thighs together.

But although his voice is definitely something you could dream about, you could do without it when he talks down to you, always admonishing you, grumbling about what a poor employee you are, how you only give him more work to do, how he should be compensated for it. 

You’re certain he’s going to fire you soon.

And it turns out soon is even sooner than you’d thought or hoped.

This is it, you think, once he calls you into his office. He’s finally going to do it. You’re going to have to find a new job now—without a good recommendation to help you out, no less. Knowing him and how much he despises you, he’ll probably give you a really poor review on top of it all—he might even call around to make sure no one ever hires you again. 

You’re almost about to cry.

“You’re about the worst employee I’ve ever had,” he states, sitting behind his desk with you standing before him, twiddling your fingers while looking sorrowfully down at your heels, hoping he’d have enough mercy to at least make it quick. “But since firing people is fucking impossible nowadays, I’m just gonna haf’to relocate you somewhere else you won’t be damn useless.” 

You look up at that. Tears held back in surprise. 

Wait, so… he’s not firing you?

He sighs, looking through your employee files, making the changes, “And given it’s the only job open right now, starting today, you’ll be my new personal assistant.”

Gathering everything, he brandishes the documents with his signature, then looks up at you while sliding the pen and papers over.

“Think you can handle that?”

Stunned, you only briefly think about how you’re overqualified to be a personal assistant, but at the same time, you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care, blinded with relief that you hadn’t been sacked.

You just nod your head all prettily, signing just as quickly while vowing, “I’ll try my best, sir.”

He becomes significantly nicer after that—always praising you for a job well done and giving you pretty gifts on top of your paycheck, which, funny enough, is nearly double what it used to be, all the while telling you how lost he’d be without you there keeping his life together. 

You can’t help but let it all go to your head, completely forgetting that you had bigger plans than being an assistant.

He brings you everywhere he goes now. Out of the building on business meetings, out of the country on business trips. Expensive dinners, fancy hotel rooms, big yachts and galas. You can’t complain—too busy picking your jaw up from the floor—too busy to notice his leer and how he plans to keep you by his side for the rest of his life—too busy to understand that when he stays work late, he doesn’t mean doing paperwork.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Enji, Aizawa, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Nanami, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Toji, Higuruma, Kusakabe ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin, Sae ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Muzan, Sanemi ♡ HxH – Chrollo

Tuesday is your old classmate who just moved in across the hall. 

It’s a funny coincidence, you both agree, as neither of you lives in your hometown anymore—what a small world, huh?

You’ll meet each other in the mornings when you both set out for work and small talk on your way down the stairs, then up the stairs when coming home again. It’s impressive how often it happens.

He’s always asking for the two of you to catch up—always inviting you over for dinner to talk about old times and what you’ve gotten up to since. 

You never know what to say… You don’t feel like the two of you were all that close during school, so you’ve turned him down each time, hoping if you ask him for a rain check enough times, he’ll eventually just forget.

But after coming home, tired after a grueling Monday and an even harder Tuesday, on top of realizing you didn’t have anything stocked up in the fridge, you end up agreeing to his home-cooked meal when he offers in favor of ordering takeout.

He lights up at once, “Great!”

It’s a bit of an overreaction, you think. But hey, he just moved here—maybe he hasn’t made any friends yet. It’s not easy being in a new place—he’s probably dying for some company. 

Shoot, now you feel a little bad for not having agreed earlier. You remember how it had been yourself when all you ever did was go to work every day—not knowing what else to get up to in the city. Maybe you could give him a hand, tell him about a few places—just to help him get on his feet.

“Yeah, just let me shower and change, and I’ll come over,” you say, unlocking your apartment. 

“Sure thing! See you soon!” he cheers, watching you go with a big beaming smile on his face, only turning around to unlock his own place when you’d closed your door.

He’s a little strange, you can’t help but think—or maybe he’s just that eager. Thinking about it, you don’t remember much about him from college. Honestly, he’s one of those faces that just sort of end up blending into the background. He never made any impact in class or at any parties or other gatherings. You don’t know, he was always rather quiet. You don’t remember him having any friends either. 

But whatever, people change, and he seems nice enough—maybe he was just more concerned with his average. Fucks knows you weren’t.

You shower quickly, not bothering to wash your hair or put on anything too nice. It’s only a Tuesday, after all—it should be casual. A bralette, boxers, baggy T-shirt, shorts, and slippers later, and you pop out the door and knock on his.

He’s quick to answer. “Hey! Come in, come in—it’s almost done!”

“Cool, thanks,” you say. “Smells good.”

He ushers you to take a seat at the tiny kitchen table he has. Similar to yours, actually—these apartments aren’t all that big. Still, his place is poorly furnished. But then again, he only moved in a little while ago, so you won’t judge.

He rushes over with dinner shortly. Spaghetti, meatballs, and red sauce. A classic. You’re not complaining. However, you could have done without the candles and moody lighting. It’s the kind of thing you’d expect from a corny date, but you decide to ignore it.

“Wine?” he offers despite it being only Tuesday. 

You know you probably shouldn’t, but the start of the week has been hard, and you honestly wouldn’t mind the good night's sleep that follows a few glasses of red or anything that would make the affair go over a little more smoothly.

“Sure, why not.”

And yet, it’s still a little awkward. You don’t know what to talk about—you just end up droning on about work, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Then you remember what you’d thought about earlier and start talking about some of the places and things he should check out now that he lives here. You try asking him about his work and why he decided to move here, but he doesn’t seem very interested in talking about himself.

After finishing, it isn’t long before you feel drowsy. You blame it on the wine at first—starting to think it was time you thank him for the hospitality and excuse yourself. But as soon as you get up, you’re already falling over.

No worries, though. He’s been waiting and ready to catch you for a while.

“It took you some time to agree to come—I was afraid you’d never say yes, but I’m glad you finally did… I was about to take other drastic measures…”

You’re so sleepy it’s suddenly impossible to grasp what he’s saying—as well as have any sort of grasp on the situation while you’re being carried bridal style away from the living room, through a door into a very dark room.

“I bet you don’t remember me that well, huh?” he continues as he lays you down on something soft, something that swallows your body in a way you can’t really decide if it feels nice or not. 

He keeps talking while you try to figure it out, “Hm, that’s fine. I remember you very well.”

You connect one and two associations and come to conclude the thing beneath you is a bed. It ripples and dips with the added weight once your neighbor crawls over you. Your body doesn’t yet recognize being alarmed, but something behind the fuzz that’s taken over your mind still has enough common sense to make you feel as if something’s not right.

“I just had to follow after you, you know?” he keeps rambling, but you’re only barely able to listen. “I just needed some time to save up the money and all, but I was right behind you. And made sure I’d get this apartment right next to yours.”

He looks at your pretty face—all spaced out—stroking your cheek all slow and delicately.

He sighs, “Heh, I know they say that if you love someone, you should let them go—but I just couldn’t find it in me.”

His hand travels further down—eyes following the trail. Down, down, down, until reaching the hem of your shirt.

“I had a crush on you since day one, you know?” he confesses while pulling your tee up over your bra, exposing your pretty chest to him. He licks his lips, breath shuddering, and yet he keeps preaching despite it, “All three years. I wanted to tell you, but you were always surrounded by those pesky friends of yours. It was impossible to catch you alone.”

He feels your skin with a gentle touch as if in reverence. Still, now that you’re getting used to the effects of whatever it is he’s drugged you with, you’re lucid enough to feel the treacherous hard-on he has rubbing against you. 

“Unlike me…” He stills for a moment, and something dark takes over. “I was always alone.”

Beyond uncomfortable, beyond alarmed, you’re fully terrified now. You want to scream, but you can’t find the strength to move, even just a finger. Completely limb, and yet not numb, but sensitive to all his awful touches.

“But that’s all in the past.” He smiles. “Now that I finally have you all to myself.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Tenko ♡ JJK – Yuuta ♡ HQ – Yamaguchi ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Nirei

Wednesday is the cheerful clerk who works at your local grocery store. 

You like doing your grocery shopping on Hump day. It only makes sense, after all—you’ve made it through the first half of the week and deserve to spoil yourself a little! 

He’s only just a bit older than you and yet still plays the older and wiser card—all in good fun, though, making a few comments about your lifestyle, jokingly telling you that “Candies are strictly  for the weekend, you know?” A brow quirked while looking at you slyly.

And you’ll return his banter, giggling while saying, “A little fun never killed no one.”

It’s an innocent flirt the two of you share—neither of you really expects anything in return. He’s just a really friendly guy—always coming over to help you in the store. Tall as he is, he reaches the top shelf, barely needing to stretch his arm. Sometimes, he’ll even take a look at your shopping list and help you gather everything, bag your items, and then carry them out to your car as if the two of you are the people around and the store isn’t filled with dozens of other shoppers in bigger need of his assistance.

He mostly only sees you on Wednesday, but he knows your entire life story and your day-to-day schedule the way the two of you end up talking. Usually, people would be wary of sharing things with strangers, but you trust him with so much exactly because he is a stranger—treating him no different from a confidant. No one knows you as intimately as him. He knows all your little habits—from what you eat on a daily basis to what brand of soap you use, even what type of tampons and pads you like. 

He doesn’t appreciate you eating things outside of the groceries the two of you pick together. He fucking hates it, actually—it makes it feel like you’re cheating on him. Every time you eat out, order in, go to a bar or cafe, even a fucking candy store is like a stab to his back and heart all at the same time. It drives him crazy—he might just burn all those places down to the ground. 

But he never lets any of that show when you’re in the store. It’s not your fault after all that there are so many temptations out in the world. You just need a little help saying no.

You don’t have to worry though. After he becomes your boyfriend, he’ll be that help for you. 

Yeah, all you have to do is stay home and he’ll make sure you get what you need. He won’t let you indulge as much as you do now, of course, but he won’t be too strict either, so don’t fret. 

He’ll make sure you get all the right nutrients to lead a long, happy, healthy life—get your body ripe and ready to start a family. 

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Daichi, Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Yukimiya, Aiku ♡ WB – Suo, Umemiya, Togame

Thursday is your is your random-ass friend who’ll drop by unannounced. It’s never anything crazy, though—no, just a fun hang-out to get a little headstart on the weekend. He’ll bring a joint or maybe some gummies—he likes to keep you guessing. And the two of you will watch cartoons or shitty reality TV, play a round or a dozen of Mario Cart or the like—giggling over each other’s commentary.

He’s chill, laidback, a fan of both comfortable silences and making good conversation. A really good friend.

Yeah, a really good friend who likes sticking his tongue down your throat when you’re knocked out from all the laced drugs he keeps passing you. 

“God, you’re so clueless,” he moans when bearing over your passed-out body where you lie all comfortably oblivious on the couch. “Just a naive cutie pie who’s gonna get her gullible little pussy used.”

You make him so hard—you have no idea how he licks your face and kisses your eyelids. Drunk of the power he has over you and feeling all but unhinged because of it. 

He feels your limp tongue with his fingers, playing with it while grinding against your thigh. Breaths thick with lust—eyes half-mast, getting overstimulated by all the nasty things he’s going to do to you and how you will never ever find out about any of it.

“You know I fuck you raw every time I come over? That’s right, every single time,” he laughs and shudders in delight, whispering the truth into your ear despite knowing you’re in no state to hear it. 

“Mh, I use this body like my own personal sex doll. There’s not a spot left I haven’t touched.” He tugs down your top and takes both your tits in his hand, squeezing them as if they belong to him because, in his mind, in these special precious moments he shares with you, there’s not a part of you that doesn’t belong to him and there’s not a part of you he can’t do whatever he wishes with.

And so, he sucks and licks your pretty tits too and keeps raving, “You’re all mine, every single part of you—I own it all.”

He pulls up your skirt and strokes your cunt through your panties, sliding his fingertip through the slit as if he’s teasing you even though you’re going to stay just as unresponsive no matter what. But in his mind, he imagines it wants him—that your pussy desperately craves him without you knowing—that it’s a secret the two of them share with each other and that they're somehow in cahoots on keeping you oblivious.

“You’re always so tight and wet—it takes everything in me not to cum inside, but we wouldn’t want you figuring things out and ruining our fun, now would we?” he rambles, finally sliding your panties to the side so that he could slip his digits within, pumping you sweetly while you sleep oh-so-soundly and blissfully unaware, getting you good and ready to take his cock in the next minute.

“Yeah, it’s gonna stay our fun little secret forever.” 

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Karasu, Shido ♡ WB – Togame

Friday is the bartender at your go-to club. 

He’s seen you in every state of drunkenness possible—from tipsy, plastered, sloppily drunk to flat-out shit-faced. You’re a bit of an alcoholic, you know that? Once you start, you can’t seem to stop yourself. If someone puts a drink in front of your face, you dont even think before grabbing it—all laughs and zero critical thinking.

Of course, the way he overserves you, you’re bound to get fucked up.

“Wanna go home…”

He holds your drowsy body against his chest, keeping you upright.

“My shift’s done, and my place is right above here, so you don’t gotta worry,” he says, soothing you as you cling to his side, utterly unable to stand on your own two feet, flinching at the flashing strobe lights and wincing from the blaring party music—feeling as if there’s a seismic eight earthquake raging on inside your poor head.

“Where’ my friends?” your words are so slurred, they’re barely audible. 

But he hears you, chuckling before cooing at you, “Let’s get you someplace comfortable, and then we’ll contact your friends, okay? Sound good?”

You burble a few incoherent sounds before uttering out a weak, “Okay…”

“Alright then, baby, don’t worry, I got you,” he purrs in return, getting a better grip around your body as he leads you out of the club, into the elevator, and up to his flat.

“I feel sick…” you mumble, whimpering.

And he coos, “I know, baby, it’s okay, I’ll help you.”

He leads you to his bathroom, setting you down on your knees in front of the toilet. You don’t think much of it when he lifts up your little party dress and tugs it off over your head—feeling as if he’s just making you comfortable. Yeah, he's just taking care of you.

“Let’s empty that system of trash, yeah?” 

He gets down on his own knees just behind you, cradling you as he gathers your hair back with both hands—gripping it a little too tightly in a single fist before being just as rough, sticking two of his thick digits deep into the back of your throat. 

You immediately gag and throw up. 

And he hums, sounding pleased while praising you, “That’s a good girl—get it all out.” 

He doesn’t pull his digits out despite you struggling, trying to wrench away—no, he just uses his bigger body to keep you pressed and hunched over the toilet bowl while finger-fucking the back of your throat—smiling sadistically while at it.

“Come on now, baby, I know you got more in there. Let it out.”

He keeps you there for half an hour, making you dry gag and spit, mascara streaming down your pretty face as he feels your smaller body convulse under his weight. Fuck, it’s enough to make his cock pre.

“Good girl,” he purrs, petting your hair and placing a kiss on your temple, all while you shudder and sniffle. “Let’s get you washed up, hm?” 

He reclaims his harsh grip on your hair, just as tightfisted, using it to make you crawl across the tiles until reaching the tub. He takes his place behind you—trapping you between his legs, thighs, and crotch, keeping you locked against the porcelain edge while he fetches the showerhead and immediately sprays your face with the cold at full force. 

“Open up, baby, let’s wash your mouth out.”

You yelp, whining, but he finds your protesting more amusing. Finding your nose with his other hand, he pinches it shut. Making you gape and gasp for breath through the water stream. 

But he doesn’t leave it at that. No. The shower head is about the same size as your fist and proving to be just small enough to allow him to force it into your mouth—all but waterboarding you.

He has to chuckle at your fussing—you’re so weak he barely has to put in any effort keeping you in place—he nearly busts in his pants feeling it. But the best part is how when he lets go of your nose, the water starts coming up and out your nostrils.

He let’s go before you drown, of course. Snuff isn’t on the menu tonight. He’s been stalking you for far too long—he can’t just waste it with foreplay.

You collapse on the floor, shivering and coughing—head a spinning mess, still wasted, riddled with shock yet stifled by exhaustion to do anything but lie there, trembling against the wet tiles.

“No, no, no, baby, you can't fall asleep yet. The party’s still far from over,” he admonishes, giving your cheek a few small slaps before grabbing your upper arm and pulling you up. “Yeah, come here—I’m far from finished with you...”

He carries you out of the bathroom and drops you on his bed. 

“God, you’re fucking dumb,” he grabs your face, pinching your lips while giving it an ugly kiss. “Did your mommy never tell you not to go home with strangers, huh?”

Leaving you there, he goes off to find your purse.

“Let’s let your friends know you’re home safe, hm.”

You try getting up while he’s gone, crawling around in the bedsheet like a worm, but not managing to get anywhere. 

He watches you and scoffs while typing up a message, hitting send to your most recent group chat. It only takes a minute before all the dumb bitches you call friends send hearts in return, saying how fun tonight was.

They have no idea what they’re missing out on.

He saunters back to you. Enjoying every second of watching you squirm. Thank fuck for alcohol, and god bless dumb party girls.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” He grins while grabbing your ankles and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “You’re not going anywhere, baby—you’re staying right here with me where I can have my fun with you.” 

His hands go up and down your soft skin, thinking of all the pretty marks he’s going to leave on you before curling his fingers around your slutty string panties.

The lace is all wet from his earlier actions as he tugs it down your thighs and legs, tossing it over his shoulder before spreading your legs and pulling you even closer. 

“Aw, you got your pussy all clean-shaven for me?” he awes with a smirk, “What a good girl you are.”

He’d planned on having a bit more fun with you before giving in to his urges, but seeing your pretty little cunt so ready to be fucked, he couldn't be asked to wait any longer, needing to fuck you like he’d been wanting to ever since he first spotted you in the club so many TGIFs ago.

“You sure like to party, don’t you?” he rasps while buckling up his belt and zipping himself down, letting his pants drop before grabbing his painfully hard cock. “Always at the club shaking this pretty little ass of yours—just a dumb party animal, huh?” He just knows your little cunt’s going to squeeze him tight like a trap—he isn’t even going to give you a finger test before bullying himself inside.

“Yeah, you like having fun—you havin’ fun now, babe?” he bows down, biting your cheek while putting his head to your entrance, pressing inside despite the resistance. 

He was right—you are fucking tight, taking his cock just the way he thought you would.

“Fucking slut,” he groans as he starts thrusting, hugging your thighs tight. “Begging to get gangbanged out on that fucking dance floor—dancin’ like a fucking stripper for free and for all to see.”

Fuck, how he’s going to ruin you—give you a necklace of hickies all around your throat as he fucks you into a mess, then press a beer bottle inside you once he’s done—keep his cum in you all night long.

“You deserve to be used. And I’m gonna use yah for all you’re worth.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks, Shinso ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya ♡ HQ – Kuro, Sakusa, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Karasu, Shido, Aiku ♡ DS – Sanemi ♡ WB – Kaji, Togame

Saturday is a gym-bro. There isn’t a day he doesn’t go. Yep, not even Saturday.

You try to go as often as you can muster. But no, you don’t go every day, especially during the weekend—and that gives him a good reason to come up to when you do—teasing you about how he missed you last time. Acting all smug and cocky when asking you what bad habits you got up to on Friday that made you skip out.

He makes you feel sheepish standing next to him as he all but bullies you for being an itty-bitty weakling. 

He’s not exactly being fair. It’s not as if you’re especially weak compared to everyone else. It’s just that absolutely everyone’s an itty-bitty weakling standing next to him. The guy’s pure muscle and taller than most of the equipment, for crying out loud!

One time, he’d demonstrated his strength by daring you to hang from his bicep. And sure enough, he could lift you like you were nothing. Using you like a dumbbell—which is what he’ll sometimes call you.

You’re pretty sure he’s flirting with you. It’s flattering, but honestly, you think guys like him are a bit too much. His leg has the same girth as your thigh, and so does his neck—not to mention how you think he has enough strength in his hand alone to pulverize your skull in one simple squeeze.

Besides, he’s way too full of himself. You get being proud about health and fitness, but holy shit, does he never shut up? He’s always bragging about how much he benches and how many reps he does every day—and on top of everything, he seems to always be watching and studying you, commenting about your form, and mansplaining how you can get better.

He gets on your nerves. 

But then again, the guy does seem to know what he’s talking about. And after several weeks of neither seeing nor feeling much results, you finally decide to let him help you out.

And he does. Taking you through all the motions, from warm-ups to really pushing yourself, and now, the cool-down stretches. 

Though… you can’t exactly say there’s much cooling down involved in the way he has you full-feverish, sweating more than you did during the actual workout. In the locker room, suspended against his swole chest with his arms locked around your thighs, folding you clean in half, fingers locked behind your neck as he bounces you on his thick length. And fuck, even his fucking dick is riddled with muscles and veins—feeling as if he’s fucking you with an arm the way he’s stretching you out and punching your guts to mush.

“You holdin’ out, dumbbell?” he mocks, knowing you’re a mess. “Tap out any time, yeah?” 

Fuck him, you think—as if you can move your arms in this position—as if you can even speak or make any sound except full-on panting like a bitch and drooling like one too.

One more hit, and you’re spraying—and he insists on fucking you just as hard through it. Straight pounding your wet cunt until he’s sure you’re empty before dropping you back down on your own two feet.

But just because you’ve cum like a shower doesn’t mean he’s done. No, far from it, as he rushes you up against the lockers next and continues where he left off. 

The cool metal feels good against your cheek, so good you don’t even mind how he’s pressing you flat and free of air—keeping your neck in a chokehold and your hair in his other fist while fucking into you from behind.

“Trust me, this is way better exercise for someone like you,” he grunts with a grin, feeling you go limp. Your knees shot and your whole body listless, kept up solely by his strength like a puppet on strings.

He rasps out a laugh, “I’ll be your personal trainer, free of charge—just meet me after my reps, and I’ll put you to work and make sure you go home feeling proud.”

Yeah, sure, if you don’t pass out before then.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Kunigami, Shido, Baro, Aiku ♡ DS – Akaza ♡ WB – Togame

Sunday is the religious guy who always comes and knocks on your door to share his faith. 

You don’t share his views, but you’d invited him in for lemonade and pastries once. 

You don’t know exactly why. You usually just say no thank you and close the door, but that time, well, you’d just finished making cupcakes, and the house smelled like a bakery—it seemed like a waste not to have company.

Sundays were usually so anticlimactic you never really knew what to make of them. But after that, you came to really enjoy spending them baking, always trying out new fun recipes. And before you even knew it, since he always came knocking on your door on Sundays to enlighten you bout God, it quickly became a thing of ritual for you to invite him in.

You’d always thought strictly religious people such as him were more… how do you say… fanatic? Or, at the very least, be somewhat passionate about talking about their God. But he doesn’t seem to be very interested in telling you about that at all. No, he seems much more invested in you and how you’ve been since last time.

Oh well, you think—maybe he’s more accepting of people having different life views and isn’t deadset on changing minds after all. Maybe that was never his agenda—maybe he’s simply a good samaritan going door to door to see if he’s needed or wanted. That is what religion is all about, after all.

Little do you know, though… he’s not really a religious guy at all… 

No, he’s actually a serial killer who’d been hunting for his next victim. 

He thought you were just perfect, exactly his type—pretty and kind and dumb, just like prey should be. Oh, but then, you became a little too perfect, didn’t you? Inviting him in with such big doe eyes, despite living all alone, feeding him cupcakes, and telling him tales about your life as if he isn’t a total stranger. You might as well be begging him to make you his victim.

But he can’t waste perfection. 

And so, instead of abducting you and frolicking in your screams as he cuts you up into a dozen pieces, he abducts you and frolics in your screams as he sucks your pussy into a dozen orgasms.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Hawks, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Geto, Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Lev, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Tomiyama

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[meinii]

“lads boys with a clingy partner”

hi bunnies sorry for not posting🥹 happy easter to all the ones who celebrate!

content: fluff, mentions of nightmares

୨୧･｡｡･♡･∴･♡･｡｡･୨୧

Sylus

the morning air in onychinus is cold, but not cold enough to keep you from crawling onto Sylus’ lap while he’s trying to go through files. he sits on the velvet couch, his black blazer draped over his shoulders, one hand holding a holopad and the other gripping a steaming mug. you’re practically glued to him, arms around his waist, cheek against his chest

he exhales sharply, but it’s not annoyance—it’s more like the sound of someone trying very hard not to indulge you too fast

“i can’t feel my legs,” he mutters, not even looking down “you’ve been clinging to me for the past forty minutes”

“you love it,” you murmur into his shirt, fingers playing with the fabric “i’m your favorite parasite”

he finally looks down, crimson eyes glinting in amusement “if i had a favorite parasite, you’d be it, yes”

his hand moves from the mug to your back, fingers tracing lazy circles against your spine. he doesn’t push you away. of course he doesn’t. Sylus complains, but he never actually means it. you’ve figured that out by now

“you could’ve kicked me off,” you tease

“i could’ve,” he says dryly “but i’m indulging your clinginess. it’s charming. pathetic, but charming”

you pout up at him “mean.”

“accurate.”

but he softens, just a little, when you don’t move. when your breathing evens out against him, and your fingers curl slightly like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go

his voice drops to a murmur “what’s gotten into you?”

“nothing,” you say “just wanna stay close”

he hums “you’ve been like this all week”

you don’t respond right away. instead, you tug his blazer tighter around the both of you and nuzzle in

after a beat, Sylus speaks again, quieter this time

“did you have another nightmare?”

you hesitate, then nod

he sets the holopad aside with a sigh and cups your face, guiding your head up until you meet his gaze

“you need to tell me these things,” he says “i can’t drag them out of you while you cling to me like an octopus”

“i’m not an octopus”

“you’re worse. you’re cute. and you know i can’t say no when you’re like this”

you blink up at him “so you do like it.”

he narrows his eyes “i didn’t say that.”

you smirk “you implied it.”

he kisses you before you can get cocky. just once, light and brief, but enough to silence your teasing

“you can cling to me all you want,” he murmurs, his voice low “just don’t keep things from me”

“i wasn’t trying to hide it,” you say softly “just didn’t wanna make you worry”

he lets out a soft chuckle, barely audible “i worry when you don’t cling to me”

you blink “you do?”

“mmh” he leans back, tugging you closer, settling you against him like you’re meant to be there “you’re always holding onto me like you’re afraid i’ll vanish. if you stop… i’ll know something’s wrong”

you bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest

“besides,” he adds, lips brushing your hair, “i’ve grown fond of being your emotional support villain”

you snort “you’re more like an emotional support dragon”

“same thing”

you shift slightly, enough to peek up at him through your lashes “so you won’t get tired of me being clingy?”

he smirks, brushing your hair back “not unless you start following me into the shower”

“i’ve done that before”

“and i had to bribe you out with chocolate”

you grin, smug “you bought my favorite kind”

he rolls his eyes “you’re impossible.”

but then he presses a long, quiet kiss to your temple, and when you melt into him again, he doesn’t complain. doesn’t even pretend to

because the truth is—Sylus likes it. likes you. every stubborn, clingy, affectionate part

and if holding you close is the price for your peace of mind, he’ll let you stay right there for as long as you need

Zayne

Zayne doesn’t look up right away when you wrap your arms around him from behind. he’s seated at his desk, posture perfect, pen gliding across a patient chart with that same practiced precision. his hair falls slightly over his glasses, and the gentle ticking of his desk clock fills the silence of the office

you rest your cheek between his shoulder blades, eyes closed, arms locked snugly around his torso like you might float away if you let go

“you know this is the third time you’ve interrupted me in the last hour,” he says, not turning around “you’ve brought me tea, asked if i liked the scent of your shampoo, and now… this.”

you hum softly “you didn’t answer about the shampoo”

“lavender,” he mutters “i took note the second you walked in”

a small smile curves your lips. he did notice

Zayne sets the pen down at last and exhales, head tilting slightly toward you “i take it you’re feeling clingy again”

“is that a problem?”

he doesn’t respond right away. instead, he reaches for your hand and gently tugs you around to his side. you let him guide you, limbs loose and obedient as he pulls you onto his lap. one of his arms wraps around your waist, the other settles over your hand where it rests on his chest

“if it were a problem,” he says softly “i wouldn’t be holding you right now”

you sigh contentedly and tuck your face into his neck “i missed you”

“i saw you this morning”

“still missed you”

Zayne’s lips curve into the faintest smile “you’ve been unusually attached lately”

you shift slightly “do you want me to stop?”

he’s quiet for a second, then murmurs

“no. not really.”

you lift your head, surprised “really?”

he sighs again, but this time it’s the fond kind—the tired, helpless kind that only comes out when he’s too in love to argue “i’ve been waking up with your arm draped across my chest every night for the past week. i can’t reach for my alarm without peeling you off me. and somehow, i don’t mind”

you look at him with wide eyes “so you like it?”

“i didn’t say that” he adjusts his glasses with one hand “but if you stopped, i’d probably assume you were hiding something”

you frown slightly “i’m not hiding anything”

“then why the sudden surge in affection?”

you hesitate, then quietly say “you’ve been working more hours lately. i just… i don’t want to feel like i’m losing time with you”

his expression softens instantly

“i’m sorry,” he says “i should’ve noticed sooner”

you shake your head “i get it. your patients need you”

“and so do you.”

Zayne leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. his eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, are soft now. tired, yes—but open in a way only you ever get to see

“tell me when you feel like this,” he says gently “don’t just cling. i can handle honesty better than surprise cuddles in the middle of surgery prep”

you laugh under your breath “you did scold me that time”

“because you nearly knocked over an IV stand”

you nuzzle closer “worth it”

he shakes his head but doesn’t push you away. instead, he shifts the chair slightly, pulling a blanket from the side cabinet and draping it over both of you

“i have three more files to go through,” he says “but if you promise not to fall asleep and drool on my tie again, you can stay right here.”

you blink “again?!”

“you think i keep spare ties in my desk for fashion?”

you grin “you secretly love it.”

“i am a man of science,” Zayne replies, deadpan “i don’t love being drooled on”

but he kisses your cheek anyway. warm. soft. and when you rest your head against his chest again, his arms tighten just a little

he lets you stay for the rest of the evening, finishing his files one by one while you curl in his lap like a content cat. and every so often, he pauses—just to run his fingers through your hair, or to press a kiss to your temple, like he needs the reminder too

Caleb

Caleb’s halfway through refueling his aircraft when he hears rapid footsteps behind him—light, familiar ones that don’t belong to any mechanic on the tarmac. he doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s you

“don’t say anything,” you huff, wrapping your arms tight around his waist from behind “just… stand there”

he chuckles under his breath, lowering the nozzle and tilting his head back slightly “that bad of a day, huh?”

“no,” you mumble against his back “i just missed you”

he grins, lips twitching at the corners as he sets the nozzle down and lets his hands rest over yours “you saw me this morning”

“doesn’t count. you left before i was awake”

“technically, i kissed your forehead before i left,” he says, voice playful “that counts for something”

you hug him tighter “i want a do-over”

Caleb turns slowly in your arms, the scent of jet fuel clinging faintly to his jacket. his eyes, that soft violet hue you’ve always loved, lock on yours with warmth and just a hint of mischief

“you’re clingy today” he says with a knowing smile

“is that a problem?”

he leans in a little, brows raised “have i ever said no to you clinging?”

you look up at him, teasing “you get smug about it”

“because i like it,” he says, pulling you in without hesitation “i like that you want to be close. that you run straight to me when you’re feeling needy”

you bury your face in his jacket “i’m not needy”

“you literally followed me to the plane, mid-shift, and clung to me like a baby koala”

you pout “are you calling me a koala now?”

he laughs and lifts you slightly off the ground in a warm, secure hug, spinning you in a slow circle despite the busy hangar

“a very cute koala,” he murmurs “with a death grip”

you hum contentedly, resting your chin on his shoulder “i just didn’t feel like being alone today”

he immediately softens at that, arms wrapping tighter around you

“you never have to be.”

“but you’re always working”

“so are you,” he says, brushing your hair back gently “and yet, here you are, glued to me in the middle of a military-grade launch pad. not exactly subtle”

“you love it”

“of course i do”

his voice lowers a little, quieter against the sound of nearby aircraft and voices

“i think about you all the time when i’m flying,” he confesses “when i hit turbulence, when the sky goes quiet, when the alarms go off in my headset… you’re the one i think of. and then when i land, i hope you’re here”

you blink, caught off guard by how soft he’s being “you do?”

he nods, gaze never leaving yours “every time”

you smile into his chest “then maybe i should start hiding in your cockpit”

he snorts “you’d get arrested”

“you’d bail me out”

“yeah,” he says without hesitation “i would.”

you stay there for a while, wrapped in him, ignoring the curious glances of nearby engineers. Caleb doesn’t care. he never does. even when his superiors are around, even when he’s supposed to be the strict Colonel on duty—when it comes to you, his arms are always open

“how long until you take off?” you ask, voice small

“forty minutes”

you tug on his jacket sleeve “stay with me ‘til then?”

he doesn’t even hesitate “you got it.”

he guides you over to the edge of the hangar, where the sun hits the floor in golden beams. you sit together, shoulder to shoulder, legs stretched out, your head resting against his. the world keeps moving—pilots shouting, aircraft humming—but in that little moment, everything feels still

Caleb intertwines your fingers with his

“you can be clingy all you want,” he murmurs “i signed up for that the moment i fell in love with you”

you squeeze his hand “what if i’m clingy forever?”

he grins “then i guess you’re stuck with me forever too.”

Rafayel

Rafayel’s house is bathed in warm light, the windows cracked open just enough to let in the city breeze. classical music plays softly from hidden speakers, the scent of white tea and citrus lingering in the air. he’s lounging on his favorite cream-colored couch, wearing a silk robe loosely tied over a half-buttoned shirt, swirling a glass of wine in one hand while reading something on his holo-tablet

and you? you’re practically draped over him like a second robe

“you’re heavy,” he drawls, though there’s absolutely zero heat in his voice “are you attempting to fuse with me?”

you bury your face into his chest “maybe”

he sighs—dramatically, as always—and sets his tablet aside “is this how it’s going to be now? i can’t even sip my wine without being used as a human mattress?”

you peek up at him, pouting “don’t act like you don’t love it”

he raises a perfectly shaped brow, eyes flicking down to where your legs are tangled with his

“i love many things. vintage wines, rare artifacts, silk pillows… and, unfortunately for me, you”

you grin, not the least bit offended “so i can stay here?”

he exhales, then tilts your chin up with one finger “i would sooner burn this apartment to the ground than move you”

you blink “…romantic”

“i try”

you stay quiet for a moment, tracing absent shapes on his chest through his shirt. he watches you for a beat, then softly asks “what’s this about, dove?”

you glance away “i just missed you.”

he hums “you saw me two hours ago.”

“i still missed you.”

his hand finds your hair, long fingers combing through it gently “you’ve been a bit… clingier than usual”

you wince “too much?”

he snorts “please. if i didn’t enjoy it, do you think you’d still be breathing right now?”

you laugh, muffled against him

he brushes a kiss to the top of your head “i’m not complaining, darling. i’m simply curious. your usual clinginess is adorable—this level borders on concerning”

you don’t answer right away, just sink further into his embrace like the answer’s hidden somewhere in his heartbeat

he softens, all teasing gone from his voice “talk to me”

“i had a dream,” you finally say “that you left”

he frowns “left how?”

“just… disappeared. no note, no goodbye. i woke up and you weren’t there, and it felt so real”

Rafayel is silent for a moment. then, he slides his glass onto the side table and pulls you into his lap properly, wrapping his arms around you with rare, unguarded tenderness

“i’m not going anywhere,” he says “you’d have to banish me yourself. even then, i’d find my way back”

“what if you got bored of me?”

he scoffs “impossible. you’re chaos in a pretty package. and you cling to me like ivy. how could i ever get bored?”

“some people don’t like clingy”

“those people have no taste”

you laugh again, and Rafayel leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your forehead. his lips linger there, his breath warm and steady

“do you know how many people want my attention?” he murmurs “and how few actually have it?”

you nod slowly “a lot. and almost none.”

he smiles “exactly. you’re not just the exception. you’re the rule-breaker. you cling, and i let you. you pout, and i cave. you crawl into my lap during my very important wine therapy session, and instead of throwing you off—I hold you tighter”

you blink “…that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said”

“don’t get used to it”

“too late”

he chuckles and lets his head fall back against the couch, arms still snug around you. you curl up there, completely content, as the music shifts to something slower, more intimate

“stay here tonight,” he says softly “cling all you want. hell, cling in your sleep. drool on my robe. claim me like a pillow. i’ll allow it.”

“you’re spoiling me”

“no,” he says, kissing your temple again “i’m keeping you.”

Xavier

Xavier’s apartment is dim and quiet, lit mostly by the flicker of neon lights outside the window. the soft hum of rain hits the glass, steady and calming. he’s stretched out on the couch in an oversized hoodie, one arm draped behind his head, the other flipping lazily through a book he’s already read twice. every few pages, his eyes flick down to the weight pressed against his side

you.

curled up against him like a second blanket, arms wrapped around his torso, cheek smushed into his chest. you haven’t said much, just let out a satisfied sigh every now and then like you’re recharging on physical contact alone

“you’ve been stuck to me all night” he murmurs, voice quiet but amused

“i know,” you mumble “i’m comfy”

he glances down at you “clingy today, huh?”

“a little.”

he closes the book with one hand and sets it aside “you were clingy this morning. and this afternoon. and when i tried to go take a shower”

you lift your head slightly “you still went”

“yeah. with you sitting on the sink counter like some judgmental little gremlin watching my every move”

“someone had to make sure you didn’t slip”

he huffs a laugh, but it’s warm. he reaches over and brushes your hair out of your face with the tips of his fingers, his touch careful—almost hesitant, like he still can’t believe you let him do this. like he still feels lucky every time

“you gonna tell me what’s going on?” he asks softly

you blink “what do you mean?”

“this level of clinginess usually has a reason. not that i mind,” he adds quickly “just… you’re usually a little more subtle”

you hesitate, then bury your face back into his hoodie. it smells like clean laundry and something distinctly him—cold metal, warm skin, and comfort

“i just missed you” you say into the fabric

“you saw me yesterday.”

“i know. i still missed you.”

Xavier is quiet for a moment. you can feel the way his chest rises and falls under your cheek, steady and calm

“okay” he says

you blink “okay?”

“yeah” his arm wraps around you, pulling you a little closer “if you missed me, then this is where you belong.”

you tilt your head up to look at him “you’re really letting me get away with this?”

he smirks “getting away with it implies i’d ever stop you”

“you’ve definitely tried before”

“yeah, and every time you look at me like i just kicked a puppy”

“you hate it when i do that”

“obviously,” he mutters “you weaponize your pretty face”

“you love my face”

he rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft flush on his cheeks “unfortunately.”

you smile and cuddle back into him. the rain continues tapping against the window, and the sound of his heartbeat fills your ears, steady and grounding. he runs his fingers gently up and down your spine, over the fabric of your hoodie, the rhythm almost hypnotic

“you can be clingy whenever you want,” he murmurs “just give me a heads-up if you plan to fuse with my ribcage”

you snort “no promises”

“figured”

you both go quiet again for a while. he shifts a little to reach for the remote, flipping the TV on low—just soft background noise, some slow documentary you’re not really watching. the screen casts a gentle glow over both of you, and his thumb traces little circles on your arm

“you know,” he says after a moment “i used to think i needed a lot of space”

“you still do”

“yeah. but… i don’t mind when it’s you taking it”

your heart stutters “you mean that?”

“i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t” he pauses “you make it easier. being around you doesn’t feel like noise. it feels like… quiet. the kind of quiet i don’t want to end”

you stay silent, overwhelmed for a second. then you shift up just enough to press a kiss to his jaw. his skin is warm, and you feel him freeze, then relax under the touch

“i love you, Xavier”

he doesn’t say it back right away—but you’ve learned not to expect it from him every time. not because he doesn’t feel it, but because he shows it more than he says it. and right now, he’s holding you like the world could fall apart and he wouldn’t notice as long as you were still in his arms

“…i know,” he murmurs eventually “and i love you, too. now stop moving. you’re warm”

you smile, eyes closing “fine. i’ll stay. forever.”

“good,” he whispers “i was hoping you would.”

[goofygubegubler]

𝑺𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒃𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅

Spencer throws out a comment so uncharacteristically bold that even Morgan is speechless.

wc: 768 | F!Reader (established relationship) | cw: VERY suggestive

A/N: I’m honestly blown away by all the love on my first fic—thank you so much! I’ve got more in the works, including blurbs and maybe even a few one-shots. My asks are open, so feel free to send requests or just chat! Hope you enjoy this one—it's short and oh so sweet <3

Your desk was a mess—files spread out, coffee half-drunk, and a notepad filled with half-legible scribbles. Across from you, Spencer was deep in his own pile of paperwork, meticulously writing everything out by hand, as usual. Despite having access to every digital tool imaginable, he still swore by pen and paper, claiming it helped him retain information better. It was kinda endearing, in a stubborn, old-man way.

You were in the middle of reviewing a case file, flipping through pages while absentmindedly tapping your pen against your desk, when you heard Morgan stroll over to Spencer’s desk.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Morgan said, dropping his coffee onto Spencer's desk with a thud. “You mean to tell me you, the guy who once used the word ‘cloacal kiss’ in casual conversation, has nothing to say about his own mating habits?”

Your fingers hovered over your mouse as you scrolled through your playlist on your monitor, hesitating between switching to something instrumental or letting the indie rock keep playing. Oh boy. Here we go.

Spencer barely looked up, flipping a page in his file. “Because, unlike you, I don’t feel the need to turn my personal life into locker room talk.”

Morgan grinned. "I’m just saying, man, if all that reading has you treating sex like a final exam, I got some study guides for you."

Spencer finally lifted his head, blinking at him like he was the dumbest person alive. “Morgan, your definition of 'expertise' is having a lot of experience. Mine is actually understanding the mechanics of what you’re talking about.”

Morgan scoffed. “That’s not even—listen, Savannah and I are solid, okay? And I’m just saying, for a guy who overexplains everything, you sure get real quiet about this topic.”

Spencer gave him a flat look, putting his pen down. "Morgan, sex isn’t complicated. It’s just applied physics with a little bit of chemistry—and if done correctly, some very impressive biology."

JJ, who had apparently been listening in, snorted. "That might be the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said—and that’s saying something."

Morgan threw up his hands. "See? This is what I’m talking about! The man could turn seduction into a science fair project."

Morgan pointed at Spencer, then at you, then back at Spencer, clearly trying to form a comeback. Before he could, Spencer sighed and said, "Morgan, what do you want me to say? Yes, I have sex. Yes, I enjoy it. No, I’m not about to give you a play-by-play."

Morgan opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, searching for something—anything—that wouldn't result in him taking yet another loss. Finally, he let out a deep sigh, grabbed his coffee, and pointed a finger at Spencer. "We're not done."

Spencer just smiled, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Morgan, I hate to break it to you, but we were done the moment you started this conversation."

You were still working, or at least making a half-hearted attempt at it, but you weren’t exactly subtle. Your grip on the pen had tightened, your page-flipping slowed, and the barely-contained smirk on your face was giving you away completely. Spencer noticed—of course, he did. His sharp eyes flicked toward you, and the way his lips curled just slightly told you he knew you were listening.

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Don’t act like you didn’t hear that."

You huffed, shaking your head as you clicked play on your music.

The first few soft notes of "Juno" by Sabrina Carpenter filtered through your headphones.

But your mind was already elsewhere—lingering on the way Spencer had leaned back so casually, how he hadn’t hesitated once, how damn sure of himself he had been. You bit your lip, heat crawling up your spine. You liked the way he’d said it—like he knew exactly what effect he had on you, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. Like he enjoyed it. Like he was claiming something, not just stating a fact. And that was the part that really got to you. You liked being seen, being wanted, being talked about like you were something worth studying, something worth knowing inside and out.

But you were at work. And work meant focus, control, and professionalism. You exhaled, straightening in your chair and forcing your attention back to the case file in front of you. Even as you tried to push it aside, the heat still curled in your stomach, his voice replaying in your head like a song you couldn’t shake.

And then, as if on cue, Sabrina Carpenter’s voice cut through the moment:

 "Sorry if you feel objectified."

[kairospy]

AU:

Neil doesn’t meet the foxes, he’s instead caught by the FBI

He helps them catch his father and bring down his empire.

One day he’s brought in to Andrew’s lecture as a guest speaker

The Q&A at the end:

Student: Have you ever killed someone?

Neil: There’s two FBI agents at the door who advised me against answering that specific question. There’s your answer.

Student: What’s the best way to get fake documents?

Neil: I’m legally required to say “don’t”.

Student: What’s the most illegal thing you’ve ever done?

Neil: See, that’s a trick question, because if I answer it becomes the most illegal thing I’ve admitted to.

Student: What’s the hardest lie youve ever had to tell?

Neil: “Sure, I’d love to do a Q&A with a bunch of people who are weirdly obsessed with my father and decided to study crimes because they don’t have the balls to commit them.”

Student: Are you afraid your father’s people will come after you?

Neil *at the end of his fucking rope*: No, I feel completely safe. That’s why I’ve got armed federal agents waiting outside.

Student: How’d you get caught?

Neil: First of all, rude. Second, the FBI made a very compelling argument

Student: …which one

Neil: “cooperate or find out exactly how many laws you’ve broken” - said by a guy holding a very thick file. Direct. Effective. Hard to argue while zip-tied to a chair.

Student: What’s something you miss about your old life?

Neil: being able to leave a room without seven cops and a judge asking where I’m going.

Student: If you could do it all over again, would you?

Neil: I’d rather set myself on fire. I know you don’t understand that reference, but trust me when I say it’s funny.

Student: how many identities have you had?

Neil: Simultaneously or in total?

Student: …total?

Neil: enough that I had to check my ID before answering roll call

Student: what’s the worst crime you’ve ever committed?

Neil: do you want me to answer this as Neil Josten or Nathaniel Wesninski? The distinction matters.

Student: Have you ever made someone disappear?

Neil *looking over his shoulder at Browning*: goodness gracious no

Student: How many languages do you speak?

Neil: enough to talk my way out of things… mostly into them, though

Student: Why did you agree to talk to us?

Neil: it was this or community service

He’s as unhelpful as possible.

His entire goal is to waste everyone’s time while making it just interesting enough that no one can call him out on it.

And Andrew? He’s watching. He’s enthralled. He’s interested, and isn’t that odd.

The professor looks like she regrets her entire career. Half the class is too stunned to speak. Browning is wondering if the punishment for beating up the most valuable witness the FBI has in custody would be worth it. (It would)

Anyway long story short. 5 minutes in Andrew’s in love

[superiorsturgeon]

out of curiosity, why do you like sturgeons so much?

A chance to info dump about my favorite fish…?!

I grew up in the Great Lakes area of North America, where fishing is pretty popular but everyone knows that fish populations aren’t anything like “the good old days” when people took out huge numbers of fish while messing up their spawning sites. I got pretty into fishing when I found out that I could catch bluegill in the surrounding farm ponds, and once in a while my family took me to an isolated fishing cabin for vacation, but for years I never encountered a wild fish bigger than a kilogram or two.

BUT THEN…

I found out about sturgeon! They were HUGE fish that had once lived in the rivers and lakes all around my home, and better yet, fish almost exactly like modern sturgeon had existed all the way back in the Cretaceous period alongside the dinosaurs, and they STILL EXIST TODAY!!! The fact that small numbers of these huge dinosaur fish still existed made them seem almost like a real-life lake monster/cryptid, except that we had proof of their existence!

Furthermore, there’s just nothing else like them. Sturgeon get big. Like, REALLY big. The record for the largest sturgeon was almost 11 meters/24 feet long, which is colossal for freshwater animals. They have armor plates of bone running down their sides, and at the same time they don’t have bony skeletons. They also have a crazy mouth structure, which allows them to actually pop their jaws out like a tube and suck up food. And on top of all of this, the adults are absolute tanks. I’ve seen skin nearly 8mm thick, and it’s so tough that people make leather out of it, and they occasionally lose fins or even entire gill plates and just keep on swimming! (I found out about that last one when I tried to wrestle a big female out of a river and my hand went straight into her gills. She didn’t seem that bothered by it!)

For a long time I filed sturgeon along with Alligator Gar, Giant Mekong catfish, and Yangtze paddlefish as a semi-legendary fish that may still exist, but I was never going to see except possibly in an aquarium, until I enrolled in graduate school. For those unfamiliar with grad school in the US, it typically involves both high-level classes as well as an independent research project the student designs and carries out with help from an experienced professor. When my mentor asked what kind of thing I wanted to study, I tossed out “sturgeon” as one such possibility, expecting to hear that I would probably have to limit myself to more common/accessible species.

I was blown away when she said “Actually, I think I know a guy…”

For the next several years, I got to ride along collecting wild adult sturgeon, gathering eggs, and raising the baby fish in a lab and in a hatchery. I was holding something that I had thought of as a semi-mythical lake/river monster in my own hands! I got to see a river choked with giants as big as 2 meters long, and I got to hold a 5-centimeters mottled baby whose armored scutes were still sharp and possessed the little arrowhead shape and big black pectoral fins that remind me of Mickey Mouse ears! In the video below you can even see a little heartbeat! (Don’t worry, this little guy was returned to the tank soon after to recover from his anesthesia!)

Sadly, I didn’t find anything super groundbreaking in my research, but my experience DID land me a job working in sturgeon aquaculture! If you’ve ever had caviar that wasn’t poached, it probably came from a sturgeon farm, and if you want to see a lot of big fish up close, this is a good place to do it! I probably personally handled more individual sturgeon than there are wild fish in several sturgeon species. In addition, while the wild broodstock I mentioned above might reach 2 meters and over 50kg, the sturgeon I dealt with at the farm would easily double that, and there were a LOT of them! I got to see sturgeon behavior that had never been recorded in field guides, and even a few crazy one-in-a-million mutations like the infamous “ghost” sturgeon!

I even got the opportunity to cook my own sturgeon meat (Yeah, I basically turned into the Touden siblings from Dungeon Meshi except for sturgeon instead of RPG monsters). I got pretty good at making smoked sturgeon, but the meat is also good on the grill or baked, and people have been cooking them in various ways for centuries.

My favorite part of the job was physically wrestling the big fish! Sturgeon are easier to grab than other fish with the right know-how, but a human-sized fish often has its own plans for the day and won’t always cooperate. I was pretty good at moving the adults by the time I left that job, but it was still a wild rodeo every time!

Even more exciting was how we spawned each new generation of sturgeon. In the wild, they form massive spawning runs in big rivers that in the past would be enough to tip small boats, but in a lab or farm we have to use other means. I’ll spare you the details, but I am one of a small number of people who have surgically extracted eggs from a live sturgeon and sutured them back up to swim another day.

The tldr of this essay is that sturgeon are a big, crazy-unique fish that have been around a long time, and I’ve spent a lot of my career handling and working with them. There’s just nothing like them for a fish nerd and they’re damn cool!

(Clip art not mine, I think @sturgeonposting drew or shared it!)

[pathologicalreid]

safe space | s.r.

in which Jack Hotchner comes to your classroom after spotting Mr. Scratch on school grounds

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: flangst content warnings: takes place during early season 12, mr scratch/peter lewis, kindergarten teacher!reader, mom!reader, wife!reader, the spencer reid dilf agenda, nondescript illness, lying to your spouse word count: 1.9k a/n: this just popped into my head while i was watching season 12 AND @lilacsandlavenderhaze has a request in for kindergarten teacher!reader angst AND i wanted to give lia reading material for her train ride so we are killing three birds with one stone

You’d just turned your monitor off when you heard a knock at your door. Initially, you assumed it was Janet, a member of the custodial staff, coming to see if you had left for the day, but as you approached the door, you didn’t see anyone through the small window.

Your footsteps faltered, hesitating to open the door because you weren’t sure what you’d find on the other side, you were certainly surprised to find Jack Hotchner standing outside of your door. Frowning, you stepped to the side as he shoved into your classroom, “Jack? What’s wrong?”

Sometimes, Jack would sit in your classroom while you finished work, and you’d take him home to help out his dad and aunt, but as far as you knew, the BAU was in town, and Hotch didn’t need any extra help today. “He’s here,” Jack said ominously, his tone enough of a warning to prompt you to close your classroom door.

“Who’s here?” You asked, clicking the door shut and turning back to him. He was nervous, clutching the straps of his backpack like it was a lifeline.

Wide-eyed, Jack peeked out the windows next to your door, “Peter Lewis.”

Instinctively, you locked your classroom door, before standing in front of Jack, “Honey, how do you know who that is?”

He gulped, probably wondering if he’d get in trouble for knowing something he shouldn’t have, but in this case, his knowledge might have protected him. “I saw my dad’s files out on the kitchen table, I recognize his face.”

Technically, Peter Lewis wasn’t a name you were supposed to recognize, and yet, you’d heard the name from Spencer’s lips countless times in the last year. Even more so since he managed to escape from prison, “Where did you see him?”

“Outside by the busses,” he told you, following you through your classroom until you made it back to your desk, searching for your cell phone. “Are you gonna call Uncle Spencer?”

You shook your head, scrolling through your contacts until you came across one Aaron Hotchner, “I’m calling your dad.” Blood drained from your face as realization dawned on you, “Jack, do you know where Henry is?”

He tapped on your desk anxiously; the fidgeting was the only movement that clued you into his nervousness. Jack’s facial expression was completely stoic, and you wondered, not for the first time, if it was genetic. “He went home early,” He told you, “His dad picked him up.”

Nodding to yourself as you clicked the call button on your phone and held it up to your ear, grateful that you didn’t need to be a haven for multiple BAU kids. You’d had both boys as students in kindergarten, but Henry was in second grade and Jack was in fifth now.

“Hello?” A familiar voice came in through the phone, instinctively, you reached out a hand and smoothed Jack’s hair back.

You smiled sadly at Jack, you didn’t call Hotch often, and when you did, it was seldom good news. “Hey, Hotch,” you greeted him, “I’ve got Jack here in my classroom, and I think we have a bit of a situation.”

Explaining the events of the afternoon to Hotch, you heard him packing up to leave work on the other line—the click of his briefcase, the placement of pens in a mug. “Can you put me on speakerphone?” He asked. Of course, you obliged, letting Jack take the phone in his hands, “Hey buddy, you did the right thing by going to Mrs. Reid’s classroom.”

“I saw him in your folders,” Jack said, trying to explain himself.

There was a fine line that needed to be walked when it came to what you all decided to tell your children. In this case, Jack’s snooping might have been what kept him safe. It made your chest ache, and it made you anxious to get home to your own kids. “I know, it’s okay. I’m gonna leave work and come pick you up…” His voice trailed off for a moment, “Can you give the phone back to Mrs. Reid?”

Jack handed the phone to you, and you smiled softly at him, “Hey, why don’t you take a seat in one of the bean bag chairs?” You gestured to your classroom’s comfy corner and brought the phone back up to your ear, “Hey.”

“Would you mind staying at the school with him? Just until I can get there, I just have to make sure I let Dave know that I’m leaving,” he informed you.

You swallowed thickly, it was a wonder that you were more nervous than Jack was right now, but maybe that was a blessing in disguise. “Yeah, that’s fine, Hotch. I’ll be here for as long as you guys need,” you assured him, watching as Jack dutifully opened his backpack and pulled out a binder.

Hotch released a sigh of relief, “Thank you, Y/N.”

After hanging up the phone, you went over to your snack cabinet and pulled out a package of goldfish crackers, bringing them over to Jack and holding them out for him to take. They were his favorite when he was in your class, and you hoped they still were. Maybe he was just humoring you when he took them gratefully, “Do you want something to drink?”

“Just water is fine,” he answered, focused on the pages on his lap.

You hesitated, “Are you sure?” You wandered over to your desk and opened the small fridge that you stashed beneath it, “I have some yogurt drinks… I have apple juice. Does your dad usually let you have juice?”

Holding out the juice box like an offering, you let him see it before he answered, “Sometimes.”

“Well, I think he’ll forgive me today,” you admitted, acknowledging the extenuating circumstances. You kept the juice boxes in your classroom in case of a low blood sugar, but you worried about giving him too much sugar without his dad’s permission. Then again, Jack could probably handle more sugar than your toddlers could.

He thanks you again, this time for the juice box, and sets it on the small side table with his opened bag of goldfish.

You noticed his drawings in the binder, he was in the process of coloring in a bunch of spaceships, but it wasn’t his precise coloring that you took note of, it was the fact that he was coloring in lines that he had drawn himself. Quickly, you texted your nanny to let her know that you’d be a little late getting home before sitting down in the bean bag next to him. “Those are really well done, Jack.”

“Thanks,” he murmured, focused on getting the straw into his juice box.

Deciding to try again, you wiped your clammy palms on your skirt, “Is that what you want to do when you grow up?” You asked him, peeking over at the papers again, “Design spaceships.”

Jack shrugged in response as he took a sip from his juice, “I’m not sure.”

Nodding in understanding, you let him sit and continue his drawing, smiling when he periodically snacked on a goldfish. You wondered if Hotch had the same fear as you. That one day, one of your kids would come up to you and proclaim that they wanted to be an FBI agent just like their dad. You wanted the best for your kids, and you wanted them to follow their own dreams, but not at the cost that the FBI took.

You both startled when a knock came at your door, you gently touched the side of Jack’s chair, “It’s probably just your dad,” you reassured him, “I’ll go look.”

Setting down your snack, you warily approached your classroom door, releasing a sigh of relief when you saw Hotch on the other side. “Hey,” you said, opening the door for him, “Jack, he’s here.”

He started shoving his things in his backpack, minding his juice and snack on the table as he tossed the bag over his shoulders. “Hi, dad,” he greeted.

“Hey, bud,” Hotch greeted with a small wave before he turned to you, “I didn’t say anything to anyone before I left, and I was wondering if you could refrain from mentioning anything to Reid.”

You shifted uncomfortably on your feet, “I don’t keep secrets from my husband, Hotch,” you told him, shrugging slightly as you did.

Hotch nodded, “Could you just… delay it by a day, then? Just until I’m able to sort some things out.”

Meeting his gaze, you recognized the fear in them; it was the same fear you saw in Spencer’s eyes every time an UnSub got a little too close to the team. The look you saw when you and the kids were put into protective custody. With that in mind, your head bobbed, “Sure thing, Hotch.”

A day, you could do a day, you assured yourself as the three of you said your goodbyes, leaving you to relock your door and return to your desk. You took a seat, resting your chin in your hands as you eyed a photo on your desk. It was from last Christmas when you and Spencer took the kids to meet Santa. They were all grinning at the camera, even your youngest, who usually bore a scowl.

Closing your eyes, you tried to convince yourself to get up and head home when your phone started ringing. You sighed at the sight of the Caller ID: Spencer.

Swiping the screen, you brought it up to your ear, “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked you immediately, “You sound upset.”

You sniffled, “No, it’s fine. I just…” you searched your mind for a fib, “There’s something going around the school. A stomach bug or something.”

In the background of the call, you heard the dinging of elevators, familiar BAU sounds, “Yeah, it sounds like Henry’s picked something up, so JJ’s headed home early. I’m worried Jack might’ve gotten it too, Hotch left in kind of a hurry not too long ago.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you nodded to yourself, “Uh, yeah. I’m just about to head home myself.”

“Well, with the team down two, Rossi decided we should just call it a day, so I’m actually on my way out too,” he told you. “I was wondering if you wanted to try to take the kids to that new playground out by Falls Church, but if you’re not feeling well, I can just take them and let you rest.”

You laughed weakly, more at the situation than anything, “I’d love to, and the kids will like it too.” At the very least, they’d sleep well tonight after playing their energy away.

He hummed over the phone, “Perfect, I’ll see you when I get home?” He asked, acknowledging that you had a shorter commute than him and would likely beat him home.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, standing up and gathering your things with your phone wedged between your shoulder and cheek. “Hey, Spence?”

“Yes, lovely?” He chirped in response, clearly in a much better mood than you.

You sighed, “I love you.”

He was silent for a moment, “Are you sure you’re alright? Is something wrong?”

Shaking his head even though he couldn’t see, you answered, “I just really, really love you.”

“Well,” he responded, his grin apparent in his tone, “I really, really love you too.”

[4ttack-ur-heart]

Dr. Zayne will handle it.

Pairings: Zayne x afab! Reader

Summary: Zayne finds out your gyno appointment is going to be with a male doctor and he’s less than happy about it.

Warnings: not really any just Zayne being jealous yet respectful, idk if I wrote him ooc or not… but it’s a learning experience lol.

Ps- it’s a lil shorter than what I normally write but I have so many ideas brewing.

————

Zayne’s fingers type quickly on his laptop, a warm cup of tea steeping next to him. His glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose with the lenses reflecting reports and patient files. He had promised only an hour of working in his home office while you stayed with him.

He could hear your voice in the main room arguing with whomever you spoke with. After your tone sharpened slightly, he decided to close his computer, remove his glasses, and see what was happening.

“No, I’ve been waiting for this appointment for two months! There has to be something else you can do.” You plead with frustration.

Zayne raises a brow, wondering what kind of appointment has you so stirred up. He watches as you angrily huff and say goodbye before ending the call. Your phone is tossed to the couch carelessly and you rub your face in your hands.

He carefully comes up behind you, his large hands covering your shoulders and the pads of his thumbs gently massage the tissue.

“Is everything okay, dear?” Concern is evident in his voice.

You nod and turn around to face him. “Yeah, just my stupid gynecologist.”

Zayne remains quiet, obviously waiting for you to continue.

“I’ve been trying to see this specific doctor because the association recommended her, but they just called me and said they overbooked her for this month and she won't be able to see me."

“Why does the association even have a recommended gynecologist?”

His questions hung in the air for a few moments while you scooped up your phone from the couch.

“I guess Dr. Lina is the best in her field. Kinda like how you’re the best cardiologist- most hunters try to see you instead of anyone else for heart issues. I guess it’s the same for her, and since a lot of hunters are women, the association trusts her to handle any issues for us.”

Zayne hums in understanding and places a tender kiss on your temple, his hand stroking your back to relax you. “So, what are you required to do now?”

You let out a sigh, “They can either reschedule me a month from my original appointment or I have to see the other gynecologist that the association recommended… who’s a guy.”

He tenses up and his hand stops moving.

Zayne maintained a high level of professionalism in his interactions with female patients. He recognized that the primary objective of doctors, including himself, is to assist individuals in need. Nevertheless, he experienced a sense of jealousy at the chance of another man observing you in a vulnerable situation.

“And are you comfortable with that?” His voice grows more cold and tense.

You pull your lip that you were chewing on from between your teeth, “Not really… that’s why I was waiting for Dr. Lina. If I’m not cleared soon, then I’ll have to be put on desk duty until I am.”

The foreboding future of being limited to desk duty when you weren't even physically injured was sure to make you go crazy. It was one of the most frustrating things about being a hunter- forget the wanderers, no, it was staying on top of all the appointments to ensure you were completely healthy. Dental appointments, eye exams, physicals, and now gynecology.

“I’ll miss my deadline if I wait for her,” frowning, you collapse onto the sofa in defeat. “Hello desk duty for the next month.”

You glance up at Zayne, searching for a hint of his thoughts on the situation, but he simply exhales through his nose, a silent acknowledgment of your frustration. He settles beside you, and you allow yourself to rest against his chest, feeling the cool steadiness of him. As you roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all, you pull out your phone to dial the clinic once more. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne’s gaze is intently fixed on the screen, curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“I’ll just book with that other doctor,” you say dejectedly.

Zayne's hand clamps down on your wrist with a surprising intensity, preventing you from dialing the number. Shock floods your senses, and as your gaze meets his, you can't help but notice the piercing coldness in his green eyes. The tension in the air thickens, making it clear that this moment is more weighted than you had anticipated.

“Zayne?”

You look back to his hand locked onto your wrist. Little white snowflakes flurry from his arm, and from that, you can tell the doctor is having an internal battle with his emotions.

“Forgive me for my impracticality, but I don’t think I’m comfortable with you seeing a male gynecologist.” You don’t fail to notice the way his voice was now lowered and a chill ran through your body.

The flurry of snowflakes burst from his hand in quicker movements at your words and he quickly lets go of you.

“My, my, is Dr. Zayne… jealous?”

“I don’t see why I cannot clear you for this, I am your primary doctor after all.”

Aww, your snowman was jealous. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“Zayne, honey,” you lock your fingers with his, noting the way the snowflakes start to calm down. “As much as I would prefer you to do it over anyone else, the association wants someone specialized in that field.”

Zayne furrows his brow, a wave of frustration washing over him. He knows deep down that he lacks the authority to grant you the necessary clearance, and the thought that another man will see you exposed, no matter how justified it may be for medical reasons, angers him even more. The tension in the room thickens as he rises abruptly from the sofa, his movements are almost forceful as he unintentionally nudges you aside in his haste, caught between concern for your well-being and the turmoil within himself.

“Don’t make the appointment.”

And with that, he leaves the room.

"Zayne!" You call out, but the sound of his office door shutting was all you received in response.

—————-

About an hour ticks by and you never leave the couch, instead just opting to watch some soap opera to pass the time with a throw blanket covering your body as the rain pelts against the windows.

You could faintly hear Zayne's muffled voice speaking to someone over the phone. You didn't want to disturb him, understanding how difficult it is for him to express his emotions. If he needed some time alone, you would give him that space.

By the time the door opens, the main character is already in tears again for the umpteenth time. He stands over you and you turn off the show.

In the stillness, you can sense his struggle to meet your gaze, while your eyes remain locked on his, filled with concern and curiousness.

Finally, he clears his throat.

“You have an appointment with Dr. Lina at 8 a.m. on Monday. Please do not be late.”

Shock washes over your features and your mouth parts open.

“What? Zayne, how did you-”

“Being at the top of your field has its advantages.”

You're silent, not knowing what to say, just overall confused. It would’ve taken you another month to see her and now you’re seeing her in three days?

“One of my colleagues is Dr. Lina's cousin. I explained to him your situation and he talked to her. I guess she was delighted to find out that the one and only Dr. Zayne’s girlfriend wanted to see her- so she pushed back one of her appointments.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Without another thought, you move off the couch and wrap your arms around his neck. Zayne reciprocates the hug and cradles your head to his chest.

“Thank you.”

Zayne's hand continues to stroke your hair, a bit hesitant as he chooses his next words carefully. "Darling, I want to apologize for my behavior earlier."

You pull away with furrowed eyebrows as he meets your eyes.

"You were right, it seems I was a bit jealous." His hand brushes back a stray lock of your hair. "If you were required to go see another male doctor, I should have been more understanding of that. It wasn't right nor professional for me to intervene without your consent-"

"Zayne." Your sharp tone cuts off his apology. "You don’t need to apologize for anything. I understand how difficult it is for you to confront your emotions. Honestly, I couldn’t be more relieved. I had already told you that I wasn’t comfortable seeing a male doctor for this, so you being jealous and taking action like that is kind of sexy."

"You think that was sexy?" Zayne smirks as if humored by the situation. "Really."

You shrug and nod your head, "I mean, yeah. You being all protective like that and realizing you're jealous is something I don't get to see every day. Maybe I should make you jealous more often..."

He lets out a low growl and pulls you back to his chest, lips brushing against your hairline as he inhales your shampoo.

"It would be wise not to push it," He warns. "Besides, I’d much rather owe Dr. Lina a favor than you forced to be uncomfortable.” His thumb brushes over your ear.

“What’s the favor?”

“That I see one of her children. With the discovery of his new evol, I guess his heart had some abnormal fluctuations.”

You frown at his answer. A child with heart problems already?

Zayne notices your change in demeanor and he tilts your chin up to look at him.

“Don’t fret over it darling, I’m seeing him tomorrow and she had already given me a brief rundown on his condition. It sounds like it’s just the body getting used to the abundance of power. It's common in children.”

You nod, relieved. If anyone can figure it out, it’s your boyfriend.

The rest of the night was spent cuddling on the couch and snacking on sweets while the cliche drama played in the background.

———-

Your appointment with Dr. Lina went very smoothly and she said you were in perfect health.

By the next week, you were approved to continue out in the field and the heavy weight was lifted off your shoulders.

Zayne was very relieved to find out his hypothesis was correct with Linda’s son, Ivan. As it turns out Ivan’s evol was super speed and the fluctuations in his heart were just him needing to burn off the energy.

You were glad it all worked out, thanks to your Dr. Zayne.

[caramelkoo]

be still my heart — jjk [one]

the one in which you get a sex dream about the grouchy hockey player you work for.

genre : childhood best friends to frenemies to lovers, physical therapist!reader x hockey player!jungkook, slow burn, smut, fluff, angst

word count : 5.2k

chapter warnings : strong language, mature, slight smut (because im a tease), reader’s name is Destiny, jungkook is a bit grumpy towards her (she makes him nervous leave my boy alone), fat shaming (not by any of the main characters), oc had daddy issues, mentions of allergy. that’s about it, please let me know if i missed something.

a/n : here it isssssss drumrolls please because im so excited for this. jungkook as a hockey player??? *deep breaths* enjoy my lovely people. you’re so so loved. asks, reblogs and likes are much appreciated. kisses <3

read part two here

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“Babe, you know you're not going to win right? Don't be wasting your breath.” Bella challenges.

You’re sitting on the chair in your office going through the personnel file of the players. Verifying their names with their contact numbers and photographs which, you’re not going to lie, look like mugshots. Jeez, does smiling a little bit cost them? Anyways, once you’re done you close the file and look up at your assistant bickering with her boyfriend. Phone pressed against her ear. 

You mime hanging up the call and she lifts her index finger, indicating for you to wait. She throws in words like hmmm, yeah, you don’t know what you’re saying, yeah i love you too. Once she’s done, she drops the phone on the glass table in front of you and leans back in her chair. 

“He thinks I will let him get away with anything just because I love him”  

You chuckle, “What’s going on?” 

“You know, I’ve been wanting a cat for so long I even made a pinterest board for that. Last Sunday he surprised me with one and when I told him that I lowkey manifested it, he was not having it. I even showed him the mood board and I NEVER show it to anyone. Evil eye is real.” she all but cries out. 

That’s Bella for you. Highly spiritual and a firm believer of the universe. She claims that everything happens for a reason. She’s like a little ball of sunshine. Ever since you joined the Ice Dominators’ hockey team as a physical therapist, she’s been assisting you and you couldn’t be more thankful seeing the lack of female workers here. Seriously, there's no other female worker here except yourself and Bella which is so diabolical to you.

And it’s not like the men on the hockey team are a bunch of misogynist jerks. On the contrary, they act like they’ve known you for years. It didn't take you long to feel like home here. They are obedient, friendly and pretty nice. Few of them are married with kids while the rest of them remain single. They’re not like a bunch of teenagers, they know what they’re doing.

Except one, what’s his name? Jeon Jungkook. You would describe that man as crude and closed off to a pathological degree. You still remember when you asked him to come to your office so you can look at any possible previous injuries, he lied to your fucking face. Claiming he doesn’t have any when you could clearly see him hobbling sometimes just a tiny bit when he walked away. Years and years of dedication towards your studies have made you capable enough to catch that it is an old injury.

Despite your better judgment, you blamed it on the fact that his team lost the game that day. Poor guy was having a bad day and took it out on you. Big deal. 

“Earth to Destiny” Bella waves a hand close to your face and you shake your head as you look at her.

“Leave the poor man alone” You plead and then ask, “Any details about the new player? I’ll have to add it in the file” 

“Not yet, as far as I know they’re still contemplating the guy named Park Jimin or something”

That gets you real quick. Park Jimin. The name feels like acid on your tongue .The last game being unsatisfactorily resulted in the federation trading one of the players. It was cruel but was done for the better. Bound to happen sooner or later. You had expected it but what you had not expected was you both sharing a same room, sharing the same air.

“Alright then. We’ll cross that bridge when it’s—”

Knock, knock

“Miss Kim, sorry to interrupt but the manager is asking for you” Taehyung’s head pokes through the door.

You stand, picking up the file and sliding it into the tableside drawer, running a free hand over your scrubs. Bella does the same as she plucks her phone from the table and puts it inside her back pocket.

You look at him. “Sure Tae, thank you for informing”

He flashes you a quick, pretty smile before leaving. Bella turns to you with a worried look on her face.

“What do you think it is for?”

You bite your lip. “I have no idea. I wanna say it's about the new player but who knows?”

You hope it is and as unfortunate as it is for you to discuss him, you will have to hold your own. You know better than to be invited into the manager’s office. Though, judging by the temperament of him you would not predict anything. Last time when he called you, it was about Jeon Jerk, asking you to be more serious about your job as if it was your fault the man spared you the necessary details.

The asshole asked YOU to do your job better by virtue of HIS player not being sweet enough to listen. Maybe, there is indeed a misogynistic asshole going around and it’s the manager. No wonder women don’t volunteer to work for him.

Since, You love your job —god knows you wanna keep doing it— you kept quiet and took every jab he threw at you.

“Wait, Do I have time to pray? Should I pray?” she’s clearly panicking and you pat her on the shoulder.

“Just hope my job is still intact” you say, warily reaching for your purse. You both head out.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

“Miss Kim, have a seat” James nods at the chair before him.

Once you’re settled, he continues, “I asked for you to join me here regarding the upcoming game. Care to fill in about the status of injury assessment?"

You clear your throat, “Absolutely, I was planning on getting on that today” 

“Well, I would love for you to do it soon as you know we have a new player in the team with us now”

You jerk, leaning forward. “We do?”

“Yes, and if you can please hurry with the assessment I would be grateful. You can do that right? Not too much of a work for you, eh?” 

Someone give him a medal from the way he's trying to hide the venom in his voice.

“Sure I can” you give him a firm nod. 

James Adams is an entitled, self centered asshole who thinks he’s above everyone else just because of his position. You reckon he does anything for the team besides talking bullshit. He kind of reminds you of your dad who also has the nasty habit of thinking the world of himself.

You’re all about self love but when that self love turns into chronically demeaning everybody in their close proximity, it boils your blood. This man in front of you is no better than your father. What's that saying? Out of the frying pan into the fire.

So you say nothing further and excuse yourself. You would have barfed in his face if you stayed there a second longer. Actually that's not a very bad idea. Bella is standing outside waiting for you as you close the door behind yourself.

“What did he say?” 

You bark, “Bunch of horseshit” 

“Typical” 

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Jungkook 

There is a buzzing noise somewhere around Jungkook. Fuck, his head hurts. He frantically searches for his phone, still not opening his eyes. When he finds it, he slides his thumb on the screen and picks up the call. 

“Dude, how big do you want your coffin to be?” He loves his best friend but right now he would rather be sleeping than listen to him bark in his own ear. 

He finally squints his eyes open, “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Have you looked at the time?” says Taehyung.

“What time- FUCK!!!” he shrieks as he looks at the clock.

Somebody kill him right now. No wait, he’s gonna die either way so why bother. If he didn’t scream loud enough before, he does now. He all but jumps off the bed when he sees the blondie on the other side sleeping like she fucking owns it, wearing nothing but a thong. She must have heard him malfunctioning because soon she stirs, groaning as she slowly wakes up like a Disney princess. Who the heck is she and how did she get in here? Then it comes to him.

“Please Jungkook just take me to your room and fuck me. Show me what those hockey hands are capable of.” 

He wants to swallow a fistful of iron nails. Speaking straight from his shoulders, he has made plenty of bad decisions throughout his career and this is not his first time bringing a puck bunny up to his room but it has never come to this. Missing his hockey practice because he was too exhausted to get his sweet ass up and run to the academy. 

Taehyung screams from the other side of the line, “Are you there? Hello?” 

Shit, he forgot he was on a call. 

“I’ll be there soon. Cover for me until then.” With that he presses the red circular button and ends the call with him muttering some curses.

He glances back at the blondie, “Why are you not gone yet?” 

She’s looking at him with those fuck me eyes she had last night but right now when he’s well aware of the fact that he’s in hot water, they don’t do shit to him. Coach will have his head on a platter today for sure. Honestly, they wouldn’t have done shit to him if it was not for the great deal of alcohol last night.

“I thought of you as a morning sex person” she twirls a strand of hair with her finger, sitting up now. Her tits hang free and he can see his hickeys decorating her chest.

He wants to laugh. She’s not even close to his type. His type is the woman in blue scrubs with her brunette hair slicked back in a ponytail. His type is the woman who looks like she could be watching grass grow rather than to look at him. His type is the woman who walks into a room and lights it up. His type is the woman who is too bright for him and his mundane personality, who has a face worth millions. His type is Kim Destiny. 

“No need to waste your precious time thinking about me. You can go” 

He places his phone back on the table and saunters over to the bathroom, not bothering looking back at her. He has boundaries and he intends to keep it that way.

He quickly goes through his routine of taking a shower, making a cup of coffee, sliding into a pair of sweatpants and the Ice Dominator’s jersey with his name on the back. Not in that order, of course.

The girl is thankfully gone by the time he finishes. Once he’s done with his coffee he picks up the car keys and a protein bar from the kitchen counter and heads to the academy hoping his limbs remain intact by the time he’s home.

The Academy is bustling as usual with players keeping themselves busy with hockey and their gym sessions. He heads straight for the rink not even bothering to change into the uniform. He needs to see for himself that everybody is still on the ice. Everything comes after that.

Surprisingly, he sees not a single guy when he reaches there. His heartbeat stops.

“Hey Pixie, where are the boys? Did they already leave?” he asks the brunette kid who looks like he just saw a ghost. Or it’s just Jungkook who he saw.

He shakes his head, “They’re all in the gym. The doc called them earlier, said she had something important to get done with them” 

Jungkook gives him a quick thanks and walks towards the gym. What could be so important that she had to call the boys mid practice? Is someone hurt? Is she hurt? His heart leaps in hid throat as he runs. Fuck, please let him be wrong.

The first thing that he sees as he enters the room full of equipment are his teammates. Taehyung and Yoongi are in the corner lifting weights, Namjoon is using the treadmill as he runs on it. The rest of the boys are all scattered around doing their own thing. He still can’t find Destiny anywhere but her assistant, Bella, is talking to Namjoon while holding a file so he lets out a sigh, relieved that nobody is in fact hurt and in need of help. 

“Do you wanna get a tattoo on the peni— oh look who’s here. Jeon Jungkook as I live and breathe.”

Taehyung drops the weight on the ground before walking up to him. He’s dressed in a black tee and sports shorts. The man looks good in everything. Bet he’d look in a sack too. 

“Whoa!! Why do you look like you wanna kill somebody or wanna get killed? Is everything okay?” 

Jungkook lets his face relax, focusing more on the eyebrows which had gone tensed due to his unnecessary anxiety. “Yeah, all’s good. The practice ended early?” 

“The practice ended just on time. It’s you who’s late” he pats my shoulder. 

He runs his fingers through his hair and walks towards the bench, dropping his bag on it. Taehyung follows him ignoring Yoongi who’s calling him back for the weightlifting. 

“Doc wanted to assess our injuries for the last time before our game if you’re curious which, I know you are. You’re always curious about her” 

He winks at Jungkook and he punches him on the chest. Taehyung laughs as he rubs the spot.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” 

Bella’s voice echoes across the room, “Jeon, you’re up next” 

He takes out his water bottle, takes a swig and stands. A wince leaves him as he gets a flashback of the last time he had to face her. It didn’t go very well and he’s sure she hates him now. He would too. After all, he not only talked to her rudely but also lied through his teeth about his injury. It’s pretty old so he had not felt the need to mention it. 

He sees a guy coming out of the office just before he’s about to enter. He has brown hair long enough to reach the nape of his neck. Even from where Jungkook’s standing, he can say the man doesn’t reach above his shoulders. Who the fuck is he? Oh wait, he must be the new player that got traded down here. The guy must have sensed him making a hole through his head by the way he’s staring because he’s begins walking towards him with a bright grin.

“Hey man, you must be Jeon Jungkook? Heard a lot about you. I’m Park Jimin” He holds out his hand, asking Jungkook to shake it and he gives it a firm handshake. Word to the wise : never give someone a weak handshake. His grandfather has been asking him to do that ever since he was 15, said it doesn’t leave a strong impression and he’s be lying if he says he was wrong.

He offers Jimin a nod, “Nice to meet you. Excited to get on the rink with you.” 

He takes his hand back. “Oh the feeling is mutual but—”

“Jungkook, please join me inside” 

Destiny’s voice cuts him off as she looks over to both of them with an eerie expression on her face. Her eyes bounce between them, resting a second longer on Jimin. Does she know him? Do they have a history? Wait, are they a thing? Even if they are, why does it bother him? Jungkook couldn’t care less about the pretty physical therapist who wears her blue scrubs like armor and white crocs with strawberries on them.

He gives Jimin another nod and follows her into the office. Although, he’s not sure if a massage table and a stool resting beside it counts as an office. The room which she works in is much better. This one is just for examinations and massage therapy so he guesses it doesn’t need that much of an upgrade.

She gestures towards the table, “Please sit”

He says nothing and settles himself up, clearing his throat.

“Look I know we got off on the wrong foot last time and it could have gone so much better, but we can still start over right?”

Destiny takes a deep breath, filling her chest with air. She’s wearing her hair in a bun today. It sits at the top of her head and some strands are set loose cascading down her face. God, she’s pretty.

He looks down and back up at her. “Sure”

Her face shows her annoyance with the one word response. He doesn't blame her. He'd be pissed too.

She’s quiet for a moment, “Why don’t you tell me about your knee injury to start with?”

“What are you talking about?”

She sighs, “You know what I’m talking about Jungkook. Please don’t make me work for it. It’s my job to know about your past and present injuries, if any. The manager has already given me crap about it”

He freezes. His hackles rising and his relaxed face long gone.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing”

He levels her with a stern face, “What.did.he.say?”

She’s not obligated to answer him. Hell, she could just slap him in the face and leave but he needs to know what went down with that son of a bitch. When and if she decides to let him in the details and it turns out something wicked, he’s gonna hunt that man down and make his life miserable.

Much to his surprise, she takes a step back and starts talking. "He called me in his office today and," she halts,

"Well let's just say there were some words thrown around which clearly meant he thinks of me as a feather brained bitch"

He might look unbothered from outside but the indignation inside him could just about burn the whole city down. He tries to keep calm and pries some more.

His jaw clenches. "What else?"

Destiny shakes her head, shuffling on her feet. “Jungkook it’s really not that seriou—”

“It is serious. You work for us, you tolerate our asses and in return if we fail to give you the respect which, you deserve by the way cause it’s the bare minimum, we might as well save everyone’s time and money by giving all of this up.”

“Why do you care?” she shakes her head.

He takes a step forward, “Because you— Because you work for us, Destiny. You look out for our bodies, our injuries, our fuckups. Is that not enough?”

She barely reaches his shoulders. It’s cute how she has to crane her neck up in order to look him in the eye. She keeps looking at him for a long minute, searching his face.

“You think I don’t know that? Do you really think I don’t have what it takes to ask for my own dignity?”

He takes a long step back. This conversation was as unforeseen as they come. The room gets filled with heavy silence and he can hear Destiny’s heavy breath. He can tell she’s trying to calm herself as if his words have blindsided her.

Needless to say she’s a tad bit taken aback. Jungkook would be too if someone who never bothered to speak a word to him and when he did, there was nothing pleasant about his tone suddenly started to care.

But that’s where she’s wrong, nothing about his care or concern for her is sudden. He still remembers the day she accidentally drank the almond smoothie Bella brought not knowing the fact that she’s allergic to it. She’d started choking the second it went down her throat. He also remembers how Yoongi injected the epipen against her thigh as she came back to life.

Meanwhile, he stood behind shaking in his goddamn boots. Too scared to let her out of his sight and too pathetic to hold her close. Yeah, he’s not proud of that.

He sighs, “You know that’s not what I meant—”

Namjoon walks inside with a hand towel around his neck “Doc, you about done? The boys are being incorrigible over there. If you don’t hurry, one of them is gonna call a tattoo artist and get their dick tattooed. Right here”

The room falls silent.

“Jesus” she looks over to where the guys are bickering about something, propping her hands on her hips. “Yeah, give me a minute.”

“Sure” and with that he walks away.

She picks up a blue file from the stool, not looking at him. Why is she not looking at him?

“If you don’t want to tell me about your injury right now, that’s fine. Since, I know it’s pretty old and It’s unlikely that you’re gonna get affected by it in the upcoming games, there’s no need to worry. However, I would still suggest you be careful. Anything can happen out there and your knee is in a vulnerable position. Don’t pick unnecessary fights, don’t let the opponent know your weak link.”

She glances at him, dropping the file back to where it was.

“You can go”

Without a preamble, he heads outside, passing Taehyung. He hears him cracking a joke about penis tattoos and piercings with his girlfriend’s name on it. Destiny cracks up and Jungkook wonders if she would have done the same, had he been the one cracking the joke. Only, he doesn’t crack jokes. Not around her at least. It’s not like he's some grumpy bastard who wants nothing to do with anybody around him and thinks of him as omniscient.

There’s just something about Destiny which puts him at loss of words. Knotting his tongue it in such a way where he can’t get an expression out. Only look at her and god, does he look at her. He's not stupid. He knows it’s a crush but she’s like a mirage to him. She’s unreachable, forbidden and so fucking beautiful.

Does he want to make her his? Yes, Is he going to risk his career and hers over it? Absolutely not. So, he makes use of the only right nobody can take away from him. Not even her. Admire her from afar. Fantasize more about tasting her, licking her slender neck and worshipping the ground that she walks on and one day if she lets him, Jungkook will do anything to turn all of that into reality.

He finds Yoongi seated on of the benches, scrolling on his phone.

Facing him, Jungkook speaks in a low voice. "Do you have any idea where James is?"

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Destiny

Never have you ever wanted to run away as much as you did when you saw Jimin in front of yourself, standing all tall and proud. You had wished it to be a dream, wished you just had a nightmare about him joining the same team you happen to work with but reality is a goddamn bitch and it bites hard when it does. He had grown out his hair longer but he still has the same smile, same eyes and the same charm he used on you back then. Park Jimin is a man people don’t ever forget once they see him. He has an aura which traps everyone so hard they can never escape. How do you know? You have been a victim yourself.

You meticulously go through the consequences and eventualities of being in the same room as him again. You seeing him everyday and him reminding you of every single detail you have tried so hard forgetting about, the boys finding out about you both and putting you through the wringer or worse, him. The possibilities are endless and you feel the sudden urge to square everything with him.

Contrary to what you had thought, he reacted pretty normally when he saw you as if somebody had already told him about you. You had expected him to get shocked or at the very least pretend to be shocked.

Having said that, he just gave you a single nod as if you're someone he passes by every morning at the park. Are you this forgettable? Are you someone people just brush aside like that? Your father’s words echo in your ears like loud drums,

“You know, nobody will love you if you keep looking like this. Eat less”

“Girl, do you ever stop eating? Every time I see you, you're stuffing something in that mouth of yours!!”

“Don’t come running back at me when no guy gives a shit about you”

You were 10 and he was an asshole. He still is.

Thanks to him, you now have a tendency to cook when you're stressed over anything. It brings you comfort and diverts your mind from the excessive overthinking. You would go bald if it puts the voices into silent mode.

After already wasting half of your life speculating what to eat, counting calories and whatnot, you came to the terms that you can’t actually operate that way and began eating whatever the fuck you wanted. Yet still, you need to go a long way in order to fully love yourself and your body. It's a journey and you're moving ahead step by step. One day at a time.

One would even say you're hot. You have received compliments from several people over the course of time except you don’t have a thigh gap, your arms jiggle and you also happen to have a love handle. You would have adored them if it wasn’t for your dad making you feel shitty about having them.

A knock on your door stops you midway as you're kneading the dough. Biscuit runs over to you, jumping on the counter.

“Coming”

The knock comes back again, this time slightly louder.

“Oh my god wait I’m coming”

The door swings open and you gasp. “Mina?”

She passes by you, dragging her suitcase along with her.

“Hey bestie”

You close the door and follow her further into the hall. “What’s going on? What’s with the suitcase?”

Your best friend’s sudden arrival must have caught you by slight surprise but your cat is rather pleased to see her. Traitor. She starts clawing at her feet excitedly.

“What a good girl you are? Yes, you are” Mina coos at her and then glances up at you from where she has biscuit nestled in her lap,

“I need a place to live for a few days because my shitty boss kept rejecting all my articles and I really wanna bring her something worth the front page. Apparently, writing about the famous coffee shop around the corner and their secret ingredient being maple syrup wasn’t good enough.”

You round the counter and continue kneading the dough for your strawberry pie. It’s not unlikely for Mina to show up unannounced. In fact, she has done that plenty of times but the suitcase was never involved. This one is new.

“So you decided to barge in here without even asking?” You tease.

She flashes you a dramatic look. “Look at us, Destiny. Aren’t we the same girls who giggled about living together after college? With matching slippers and movie marathons?”

“Okay okay you dramatic bitch. How long are you here for?”

Biscuit runs to do her business and she gets up, setting her suitcase to the side.

She sighs, “Not sure. As long as it takes me to come up with a new topic to write about–HEY— why don’t I just write on the hockey team you work with? What are they called? Ice…ice”

“Ice Dominators” you fill in for her.

She slaps her thigh. “That’s the one”

You shrug, “I mean you can, but you’ll have to call in on the coach first. He operates everything inside and outside the team”

Coach Ian is too nice to turn her request down. He’s one of the most genuine people in the federation. Maybe this is why the team is so strong and united. He respects every single boy and receives it tenfold. It's a mutual thing.

“Shit, How come I didn’t think about that” she bites her lip, her enthusiasm replaced by nervousness.

“Don’t worry. He won’t make you work for it. Ian is as nice as they come” you assure.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out. As you watch, she opens your fridge, taking out the box of frozen blueberries and pops one into her mouth.

“Do you want me to give you a hand?” she mumbles while chewing.

You point towards the bathroom, “Go and take a shower, right now. You stinky”

You duck the blueberry she throws your way, laughing as you do. Giving your cheek one last kiss, she excuses herself.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

Warm hands roam over your thigh, squeezing them. You muffle your moan with your palm and take every thrust. 

“Yeah, you like that? You like how I’m pounding into this ass right now?” 

You gasp. 

“Such a good girl” he praises.

The man behind you presses a kiss to your naked shoulder as he rasps in your ears, “Were you walking around all day dripping for me?” 

He pulls his cock out and thrusts again. You meet him with equal passion and hunger. 

“Tell me” 

You nod. 

“I need your words, Destiny” 

You cry out, “Yes Oh god, Yes. I wanted you in me so bad” 

He cups your pussy and rubs your clit with his palm until you're rolling your eyes to the back of your head and squirming. Thrust after thrust he brings you to your sweet release while talking dirty things in your ear. You're about to melt into a puddle of goo. He’s got you totally at his mercy. 

“So beautiful like this. Taking my cock so well huh?” 

“Ahh it feels so good, right there. Just right there, don’t stop” 

He bites down your shoulder, “Come for me and let everyone outside hear the name you’re screaming, you dirty whore” 

Your heartbeat picks up as you squeeze him with the tight ring of muscle, orgasm crashing over. 

“FUCK. Oh my god Jungkook!!”

Your eyes fling open and you sit up so fast your head starts spinning. Everything around you is pitch black. Wait, where am you? 

Mina is at your side in an instant, “Destiny, are you okay babe?”

You look around and release a sigh of relief. You run your fingers through your hair, ruffling them. 

“Yeah um… I’m fine. It was just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.” 

Except it wasn’t. It was one hell of a dream where you were getting fucked into oblivion by your player. You're not even going to lie and say that you didn’t like it. C’mon you're a woman of needs, it’s just that, him fulfilling those needs was not on the cards for you even if it wasn't real.

You check the time on your phone and wince at the bright light flashing up at you. It’s 2:45 am and you just had a back breaking sex dream about a man who you want nothing to do with. Who, as beautiful as he is, annoys the hell out of you with those one word replies and grumpy face. An edgy feeling threatens to rise.

Oh god it’s going to be awkward now. It’s only normal to walk on eggshells around someone people have these sort of dreams about. You have read your fair share of books where the female character gets a sex dream about a man and then they don’t talk to each other for the rest of their lives. Okay, that's a bit of a stretch but it might as well not be.

Yeah, you admit you guys don’t talk to each other a lot as it is, or are longtime best friends tiptoeing around their feelings, but you're afraid you're gonna have to ignore him forever for the sake of your own sanity. 

I’m so fucked. You think.

tags - @httpjeonlicious @lovingkoalaface @rpwprpwprpwprw