#you’ve got a pulse and you are breathing

[wordsofwhimsy]

❀ꗥ～𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ～ꗥ❀

❀ꗥ～ Viltrumite!Mark Edition!～ꗥ❀

Pairing: Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x Southern Belle!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, wholesome with a side of unhinged, Mark is confused and in love

Word Count: 1,793

Synopsis: He came to Earth to conquer, but all that went out the window when you strolled by in a sundress with a parasol, ready to tend to all his wounds. He’s never known softness like this, and by the time the tea hits his tongue, it’s already over. He’d give you the whole galaxy just to hear you call him “sugar” again.

a/n: saw this ask and just couldn’t stop myself – got to work like my mf life depended on it

you can start reading the main series ❀ꗥ～Here! ～ꗥ❀

Mark wasn’t sure what had brought him here—this quiet patch of countryside far removed from the chaos he’d just caused. The land was untouched, still, and so at odds with the life he had come to know. He just needed a moment to breathe, to step away from the endless battle, even if only for a brief second.

Leaning against an old oak tree, his body aching from the brutal fighting, Mark closed his eyes, letting the weight of his Viltrumite nature settle over him. The mission was always the same, the purpose always clear. Yet, as he sat in this strange silence, something gnawed at him, a feeling he couldn’t name.

That’s when he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching, the rhythmic tap of shoes on the dirt road.

You weren’t expecting to see anyone—much less someone like him. But there he was, a tall figure in torn clothes, looking as though he’d been through hell. Bloodstains marked his chest and arms, dirt smudged across his face.

You blinked in shock. "Oh my stars!" you cried, immediately dropping your parasol in the dirt as you rushed over. "Sweetheart, are you alright?!"

You knelt beside him without a second thought, your fingers gently grazing his face as you checked for injuries. The coolness of your touch felt almost foreign to Mark as he stiffened under your hands. His entire body locked up in surprise, but you didn’t seem to notice. You were too busy worrying about him, your face twisted in concern.

His heart skipped, a strange fluttering sensation pulsing through his chest. No one had ever touched him like this—so soft, so gentle. For a moment, he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with the unexpected feeling.

"Lord have mercy, look at you," you muttered, brushing the dirt from his face. "You’re hurt somethin’ fierce. What in tarnation happened? You been in some kind of scuffle with a whole stampede?"

You continued to check over him, your fingers tracing over his arms and chest as you sought out any serious injuries. Mark winced as you brushed over a gash on his side, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he found himself frozen in place, letting you care for him as if that’s how it was always supposed to be.

"Sugar," you tutted softly, brow furrowed. "You’re more tore up than a sack of potatoes after a long fall." You let out a little sigh, your voice full of maternal warmth. "I reckon you’ve been through the wringer, haven’t you?"

He was having a hard time keeping his mind focused. Why wasn’t he pulling away? Why wasn’t he using his strength to get out of this strange situation?

You gently pressed against his ribs, checking for any broken bones. "My word," you muttered, shaking your head as you gently pressed on his shoulder. "You ain’t gonna be able to walk around here like this. Not with all these bumps and bruises."

Mark’s chest tightened with each word, and a strange pull in his stomach had him looking at you in stunned silence. His Viltrumite instincts told him to stay guarded, but your presence was doing something to him, something his body wasn’t used to. Something good.

"Can you walk, darlin’?" you asked, your voice full of concern but with a gentle command. You reached up, your hand resting on his arm, and he found himself standing with little resistance. "Come on now, we’re gonna get you outta here. I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I reckon you need some rest—and a tall glass of sweet tea."

Mark’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice, at the way you just… guided him. He didn’t even think twice about following your lead. Every step felt like it was the one he was meant to take.

You didn’t question him. You didn’t need to know his past or where he came from. All you cared about was that he was hurt, and you were going to take care of him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Mark didn’t resist. He didn’t fight. He just let you lead him forward.

"Now, don’t you worry none," you said softly as you guided him along, your hand steady on his side. "I’m gonna get you patched up proper. And once I do, we’ll have us some tea, and I’ll make sure you’re feelin’ better than a cat in a sunbeam."

Mark still couldn’t understand it, the pull of your kindness. But as he followed you to your house, feeling the warmth of your touch and hearing the calm reassurance in your voice, he realized something.

For the first time in his life, he wasn’t thinking about fighting. He wasn’t thinking about conquering. He was simply thinking about being here, with you, in this moment, and feeling… peace.

You brought him inside like you were wrangling a lost lamb, gentle but firm, guiding him through the doorway of your little white farmhouse with the chipping paint and creaky screen door. The inside was warm and golden from the afternoon sun, the faint smell of lemon and lavender drifting through the air.

You sat him down carefully on a cushioned bench in your kitchen, one hand on his shoulder to steady him, the other already rummaging through an old tin first-aid box.

“Alright, sug, now you just sit tight. I’m gonna patch you up, and you better not go faintin’ on me,” you said, pulling out a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of gauze. “You bleed on my floors, and I’m liable to fuss.”

Mark just blinked at you, stunned into silence, the faintest crease of confusion between his brows like he’d landed on an alien planet. His muscles were still tensed, but he didn’t move—just watched you like you were some kind of celestial being.

You knelt down between his knees and got to work, gently dabbing at a cut on his arm.

“Now hold still, darlin’. This might sting a smidge,” you warned before applying the antiseptic. He didn’t even flinch—Viltrumite pain tolerance and all—but you still blew on it afterward, murmuring, “There now, all better,” like you’d just fixed up a scraped knee.

Then came the side wound. You pulled his shirt up carefully, your fingers grazing over the bruises blooming across his ribs. “Heavens to Betsy, it’s like you tried to wrestle a tornado and lost,” you muttered, lips pursed. “Who did this to you, sugarplum? ’Cause I’m fixin’ to give them a piece of my mind.”

Mark didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He was too busy short-circuiting at the pet names and the way your voice wrapped around him like warm honey. Every touch made his skin hum. Every little murmur made something unfamiliar twist in his gut. He was supposed to be hardened. Cold. Focused. But your gentle fussin’ had him feeling like he was melting from the inside out.

After you’d finished bandaging him, you stood, brushed your hands off on your apron, and nodded toward the stove. “Alright now, sit yourself up proper. I’m gonna fix you a plate. You look like you haven’t eaten since the cows came home.”

He watched you move around the kitchen with ease, slicing cornbread, reheating some leftover fried chicken, piling a plate like you’d been feeding men three times his size all your life.

Then you handed him a glass of something golden and ice-cold. “Sweet tea,” you said, proud as a peacock. “Made it this mornin’. Try some. It’ll fix what ails ya.”

Mark took the glass. Cold condensation beaded along his fingers. He sipped. Blinked. Stared at the glass like it had just rewritten his understanding of the universe.

You tilted your head, hand on your hip. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense now—how is it?”

He looked at you, eyes narrowed, completely dead serious. “…This… is good.”

You blinked at him for a beat, hand still frozen on your hip. “…Well, shoot, sugar. Say it with a little conviction, why don’tcha?” A grin tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You sayin’ that like I handed you plain water instead of the nectar of the South.”

You stepped a little closer, eyeing him with mock suspicion. “You never had sweet tea before, have ya?”

He shook his head slowly, taking another sip like it was a secret he didn’t want to share too loud.

You let out a small gasp, one hand flying to your chest. “Lord above, I done found me a man who ain’t never tasted sweet tea.” You paused, smile growing. “Well, bless your poor, misguided heart—we’re gonna fix that.”

He took another sip like he was afraid it would disappear if he didn’t drink it fast enough. And somewhere between the tea and the second bite of cornbread, it hit him: he didn’t want to leave.

Not now. Not ever.

You’d fussed over him like he mattered. You’d fed him, healed him, talked to him like he was a person—not a monster, not a soldier, not a god. Just a man. And it undid something in him. Untied all the knots he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying in his chest.

Mark Grayson, born of war and built for domination, sat in a country kitchen, bandaged and fed, listening to your soft hum as you washed dishes—and knew in his bones he would burn the world to protect this place.

You turned back to him with a little smile, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. “Feelin’ better, hon?”

Mark nodded slowly, still holding that glass of sweet tea like it was sacred. “I’m gonna marry you,” he said, quiet but certain.

You blinked. “I—pardon?”

He didn’t repeat himself. Just took another sip of tea and watched you like you’d already been claimed.

Because in his heart—you had.

[jarofstyles]

Picture blurb time! Mean dom is out to play

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Warninfs- mean dom, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, slight spit play, degrading, manhandling, hair pulling,

“Mmm, little mouth isn’t so smart now, is it?” She couldn’t respond with his fingers over her lips. Part of her didn’t want to, because it would mean he’d possible stop his rhythm. Hitting right where she needed him as she had her legs wrapped around his hips the best she could, propped up on the sink.

Had she been mouthy? Yes. It wasn’t necessarily shock because Harry knew just how much she could be a sassy little thing, but it seemed he had reached him limit today. One too many snarky comments during dinner and he had excused himself to the restroom, with a text for her to follow right after.

Her eyes were hooded as the wet thump of his hips meeting hers echoed in the bathroom, the slight squelch of how wet his manhandling had gotten her only aiding in the arousal she felt. It only amplified when his fingers came up to her lips, thumbs spreading them, smearing her lipstick over her cheeks- her teeth. He was making a mess of her.

“They’re going Y’know when you go back out there… that you’re a slut.” He said through clenched teeth, dark eyes looking down at her. “That you’ve got me t’keep you in line. You knew what was going t’happen the second time I pinched your thigh but you kept going. Because you’re a dirty…little… whore.” The words between thrusts were ended with a kiss at the end, brutal and hot. The thumb he’d used to make a mess of her lipstick with found her clit, rubbing it sloppily as he tasted her mouth, running over her teeth and sucking on the tip of her tongue.

Letting out a keening moan, she held onto him, grasping his hair with desperation as her body was jolted with his thrusts. He was teaching her a lesson, and he was giving it to her good. Her body was buzzing with the way he treated her, how he touched her, how he spoke.

“S’a shame, really.” He panted, pulling back with her saliva on his chin. “That I have to fuck you stupid to get you to shut up. Just wanted my sweet girl for this one night… but if you don’t get my cock, you show me how much of a brat you are.” He loved it, actually, and they both knew it. “So now you’re going to take my cum in your cunt, like you were made t’do, and go back out there with a smile on your face. You’re gonna let them see your face stained… fuck, with that lipstick.” He felt his cock pulse inside of her, speeding his thrusts up.

“And they’re going to know what we did in here. You’ll sit next t’me like a good girl, with my load drippin’ out of that puffy pussy, and if you’re good you’ll get some more when we get home.” He looked down to see her cunt clinging to his shaft, letting out a curse before looking back into her glazed over eyes. “Do you understand?”

Immediately she nodded, breathing heavily as she tried to kiss him again. “I understand. I- I love you.”

The grin grew on his face as he allowed the kiss, only to grip her hair and tug her back with her yelp. “Love you too, little fuckin’ brat.”

[katsu28]

hiiiii... first off, i wanted to say that i love your work so so much. i'm usually a silent viewer but i wanted to come out and tell you that your work is absolutely stunning. secondly, i was wondering if you were still taking requests from that prompt list in the pinned post. i was thinking 3,26 and 24 for the absolute comeback lando made during jeddah. if not, all good. do not feel pressured at all to write this ❤️

i appreciate u so much thank u!!! <33

3. hiding face in neck, 24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + 26. kissing the top of their head. lando norris x reader, 1.2k. request something from here :)

Tenth on the grid isn’t near where Lando wanted to be for tomorrow’s race. Crashing out of qualifying definitely isn’t what he wanted either, not for him, but especially not for the team. 

Jeddah is a tricky track, so full of tight corners and narrow straights that it could’ve happened to anyone. It just so happened that he was the unlucky one this time around. 

He’s already beating himself up even before he gets out of the car. Fucking idiot, were his exact words on the radio, echoing through your headphones in the guest area of the McLaren garage, marking the exact moment your heart sank for him. It had already nearly jumped out of your chest as soon as you saw his car wobble, nearly stopped when he slammed into the barrier coming out of a turn. 

A little later, after the session ends and Verstappen has taken pole, you finally find Lando. His feet drag along the floor, helmet dangling from his fingertips as he trudges into the garage looking far from happy. 

His eyes find you immediately after he sets his gear down and you smile at him with what you hope is reassurance masking your concern, waiting for him to make his way over to where you are. He buries himself into your arms as best he can with the box wall between you, hiding his face in your neck like it’ll let him hide from the world. 

Things like this are inevitable in every driver’s career, but Lando has always taken the setbacks rather hard. Always blaming himself, getting in his head about all the what ifs and could’ve beens. You can’t solve his problems for him, but you can help in other ways. 

You squeeze him tightly, as if all your worries and his disappointment could melt away the closer you hold him. He’s here, he’s okay.

“M’okay, baby,” Lando mumbles, words muffled against your skin. Your fingers comb through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, palm splaying across warm skin just so you can feel his pulse under your touch. Lando pulls away just a bit, enough to speak clearly. “I’m fine, I promise. No damage—to me, at least. Car’s fucked.” 

“The team can fix it. They will fix it,” You insist, bringing one hand up to cup his face. Your thumb strokes over his rosy cheek, eyes boring into his with such firmness you want him to feel it too. “Everything will be fine tomorrow.” 

“Promise?” 

You can’t promise him anything—not really—but you nod anyway, sealing when you hope isn't an empty promise with a kiss. “I promise, Lan.” 

-------

You swear you haven't blinked since lights out. 

Your eyes have been glued to the screen above you the entire race, headphones clutched to your ears so you can hear exactly what's going on with Lando. You’ve even got the F1 app open on your phone to track live timings so you don't miss a thing from the depths of the garage. 

With every overtake, every gained position, your heart pounds a little faster. You’re even sweating a little bit, which would be odd given that you’re not actually the one in the car. But when your boyfriend is racing for his life out on track with only a handful of laps to go, you’re a ball of nerves. 

You mutter encouragement under your breath the whole time like Lando can hear you, fingers crossed so tightly it’s starting to hurt as the laps tick down to the final one. Anything is possible until he flies by that checkered flag. 

Lando crosses the line fourth. 

He’d put up a phenomenal drive, fighting his way past seven very impressive opponents, managing his tires, keeping up the pace. In your eyes, he’s a winner all the time, but especially now. With what happened yesterday, a P4 comeback is sure to put some confidence back in him. 

You find him chatting with Oscar after his post-race media duties, completely unaware of your appearance as you start to creep towards him from behind.

Oscar does notice, but doesn’t say anything when he spots you over his teammate’s shoulder, just tries his best to hide his grin so as to not blow your mission. 

Lando's still going on and on about tire degradation when you pounce on him from behind.

“Fucking hell!” He screeches, nearly keeling over backwards before he manages to get his hands under your thighs for support. At the excited kiss you smack to his cheek, he lets out a loud exhale. “Baby, don’t do that! I thought I was being mugged!” 

“In the middle of the paddock? Seriously?” You giggle, both feet back on the ground. You smile at the younger boy across from you. “Hi, Oscar! Mega drive today, congrats on the win.” 

Oscar’s cheeks tinge pink and he grins, rocks back on his heels a little. “Glad you thought so.”

“Alright, mate, don’t you have your own girlfriend to bother?” Lando huffs dramatically, hooking an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes playfully at his change in demeanor. “Go on, get out of here, kid.” 

“See you on the plane, old man,” Oscar shoots back, sidestepping the halfhearted swipe Lando takes at him. He holds his fist out towards you for a bump. “Great to see you again.”

“Likewise. Say hi to Lily for me.” You wait for Oscar to disappear into the team hub before turning your attention on your boyfriend, hands on your hips, brows raised. “Why are you like this?” 

“Me? Baby, he was seconds away from giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. I’m telling you, Oscar definitely has a crush on you.” 

“He has a girlfriend, Lando. You’ve met Lily, you’ve seen them together. He’s head over heels for her, and you’re being ridiculous.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s stop talking about him now.” 

You drape your arms around his neck, tilting your chin up at him with a smile. “You’re lucky I find your weirdness attractive.” 

“Luckiest guy in the world, I always say,” He hums, beaming back at you. “So, what’d you think of the race?” 

“You did amazing today, Lan,” You say, nearly squeezing the life out of him with your hug. He pushes in closer to hear you over the bustle of the paddock and you do the same, putting your lips right against his ear for your next whispered praise. “I’m so proud of you, d’you know that? I'll always be proud of you, wherever you finish, whatever you do.” 

“Yeah, I know,” He says bashfully, grinning ear to ear. His arms wrap tighter around you. “Thanks to you. My lucky charm.” 

“Nuh uh, that’s all you, baby,” You reply with a shake of your head. Lando can only smile bigger, kissing the top of your head four times in succession, four lucky kisses for his lucky charm. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ugh, beyond. I need a fucking shower,” He groans, tipping his head towards the night sky. His gaze snaps back to you just as fast, this time with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wanna join?” 

“Way to ruin the heartfelt moment, you horndog.” 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing!” 

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[seitmai]

Many thoughts

A smile touched your face when the hand on your hip gripped you tighter. Carefully turning to face the man beside you who still had his eyes closed, you took the opportunity to run your fingers through his long dark hair. Your smile widened when he leaned into your touch. Asleep or awake, he always sought it out. And this was a person who didn't let most people touch him.  But I can because he’s my man. 

Period 😌

“Morning, my treasure.” The affectionate pet name was one you'd never grow tired of. It did make you giggle the first time he called you that. He had lots of money, more than you could ever fathom, and could buy all the treasures he could ever desire, yet he thought you were treasure. His most precious thing. 

Urgh what a great backstory for the nickname 🥰

“Slept very well. I had very good dreams.” His nose brushed your forehead before his lips touched it. You were happy to hear that. “In fact, I can show you exactly what I dreamt about if you’d like.”

Oop 👀

Bucky didn't ask for much. One of the only things he requested when you began your journey together was that you’d sit and have meals with him. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was a time for the two of you to talk about anything and everything, though he preferred to focus on the present and the future instead of the past. You understood. You didn't like dwelling on the past either since your life was much happier now. 

I think that's a fair request and also nice thing to built a routine together

He arched an eyebrow, looking cool as ever. “What if I want you for breakfast?” He brought his lips to yours, not giving you a chance to argue that you hadn't brushed your teeth. He didn't care about things like that. “You wouldn't let me starve, would you?”

I think we all know the answer to that 😌

“How could I not want you? Even if I resisted, your skills of seduction are dangerous.” You gasped when a massive thigh pushed between your legs. “Moya Sladkaya, you think I’m seductive?” he purred, making you shiver as the sound vibrated through your body. “Yes and you know you are.” You bit your lip as his thigh shifted, gliding along your heat. It was tempting to ride it. “Your voice, your eyes, your mouth, your body. Partially why you became my sugar daddy.”

Fair 🤷🏻‍♀️🤭

He growled as he suddenly rolled on top of you. “I'm your boyfriend,” he corrected you, holding your gaze. He looked hungry. “Who happened to wipe out your debt the way a sugar daddy would.”

Nice coincidence 🤭

The gentle scrape of his teeth over your neck set your blood on fire. “If I’m insatiable, it’s your fault. One look at you and I was a goner,” he whispered, a hand moving possessively between your bodies. His thumb brushed your nipple into a taut peak, your back arching to seek out more of him. “You brought beauty and joy back to my world. You saved me, you know that?” Unexpected tears burned behind your lids. He lived in a world of gray for so long. The least you could do after everything was bring him some light. “You saved me, too,” you breathed. He got to be your hero. You got to be his treasure. A fair trade in his eyes.

🥰🥰🥰

You gasped when he nipped at your racing pulse. “Don’t do that. Don't compliment me. This isn’t about me.” Both of you had a tendency to deflect praise at times, but it was something you were working on. And while he didn’t view himself as a hero, he did save you in his own way. 

That's cute that they both do it 🥺🥰

“Don’t get cocky,” you groaned, feeling the evidence of his arousal press against you. Thick. Hard. You shuddered with the need for him to just take you. “Actually, you have every right to be cocky. You’ve ruined me.” He brought his face up to yours, close enough that he breathed against your lips. “I haven't ruined you yet.” His promise had you trembling, wishing he’d tear you apart without a second thought.

Heavy on the yet 🤭

He watched your blissful expression with dark eyes and a devilish smirk. “That’s what I dreamt about.” His rumbling words had your thighs trembling. “You underneath me, taking every inch of my cock, begging to come.”

Yeah I dream the same thing, weird 🤭😅

Butterflies filled your stomach. It wasn’t a proposal, but it still felt like he was asking in a way. “Do you mean in this bed? As long as we can have our meals here and do movie nights. Oh, and a way to clean the sheets because they’ll be filthy.” His eyes crinkled again as he chuckled. How did a laugh sound both wholesome and seductive? That was the power of Bucky Barnes. “And sex to keep us in shape,” he said, pulling the sheet more over you. “Sounds perfect, even if I don’t deserve it.”

A perfect life 🥰

Your heart swelled. He was so gone for you. “I’m not asking you to let me go,” you said, turning his head back to you until his eyes opened. “I’m your treasure, remember? Yours to keep.” The hard edges to his face softened once again. “C’mere,” he breathed.

🥰🥰🥰

You met him halfway when he leaned in, his lips only on yours for a second when the doorbell rang. You were about to ask if he was expecting company, but he didn’t have to with the way his body tensed. He turned away from you, his phone in hand to check the camera at the front door. Security was important to him. “What the hell?”

Beside a rude interruption I have a bad feeling about this 👀

Diamonds and Steel - Intro

Pairing: Retired Hitman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky treats you to a getaway, but peace won't last for long.

Word Count: Over 3.3k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected v. sex (wrap it before you tap it), possessive behavior, established relationship, dirty talk, talk of violence and nightmares, world building, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: So, I wrote this intro months ago. I feel like this Bucky would get along with our alpha. Thanks @targaryenvampireslayer for letting me (s)cream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The sun shining in from the balcony door woke you slowly. You weren't sure what time it was as you squinted against the brightness with a small stretch, the spacious bedroom becoming brighter with each passing second. You had only been in the villa for a day, but it was your new favorite place. Thanks in large part to the person who brought you here. 

A smile touched your face when the hand on your hip gripped you tighter. Carefully turning to face the man beside you who still had his eyes closed, you took the opportunity to run your fingers through his long dark hair. Your smile widened when he leaned into your touch. Asleep or awake, he always sought it out. And this was a person who didn't let most people touch him. 

But I can because he’s my man. 

Bucky Barnes, a man who was intimidating even laying down. Tall with wide shoulders, built like a warrior with a few scars to prove it. You moved a finger through his nearly trimmed beard and almost wished he'd open his steely eyes so you could gaze into them. He unnerved many with his stare, but he always looked at you as if you were the reason he saw the light of day. Burying your face in his neck with a sigh, it gave you a sense of peace when he pulled you closer to him on instinct. 

“Morning, my treasure.” The affectionate pet name was one you'd never grow tired of. It did make you giggle the first time he called you that. He had lots of money, more than you could ever fathom, and could buy all the treasures he could ever desire, yet he thought you were treasure. His most precious thing. 

“Morning,” you whispered, shifting so your body could melt into his more. 

He moaned appreciatively as your hips moved closer. “How did you sleep?” He tipped your chin up so he could look at you, the sleep fading quickly from his eyes. It didn't matter that he just woke up, he looked as handsome as ever and knocked the wind right out of you. It was highly doubtful you looked beautiful having just woken up, but he’d say looked perfect if you asked. 

“I slept well,” you answered. You had good dreams, including one of the two of you sitting on soft white sand and watching the waves crash in the glittering ocean. You could go anywhere in the world you wanted now thanks to him. “Did you?”

Bucky warned you when you entered your relationship with him that he sometimes had trouble sleeping. Bouts of insomnia and occasional nightmares. You witnessed one first-hand near the beginning when he woke up in a cold sweat, his hand clenched like he was holding a weapon and empty eyes like he couldn't see what was right in front of him. He didn't like to talk about his past and could only tell you later on that all he saw were bullets and blood. 

His haunted gaze broke your heart. 

“Slept very well. I had very good dreams.” His nose brushed your forehead before his lips touched it. You were happy to hear that. “In fact, I can show you exactly what I dreamt about if you’d like.”

Need slammed into you at the implication, your palms itching to feel his hardened body as he held you closer. You wanted to trace the scars, the tattoos. Every inch of him. “Sure you don't want breakfast first?”

Bucky didn't ask for much. One of the only things he requested when you began your journey together was that you’d sit and have meals with him. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was a time for the two of you to talk about anything and everything, though he preferred to focus on the present and the future instead of the past. You understood. You didn't like dwelling on the past either since your life was much happier now. 

He arched an eyebrow, looking cool as ever. “What if I want you for breakfast?” He brought his lips to yours, not giving you a chance to argue that you hadn't brushed your teeth. He didn't care about things like that. “You wouldn't let me starve, would you?”

The low heat from his voice seared through your core, wrapping around you like the satin sheet that covered you both. It was the only thing covering you in fact, your clothes strewn across the floor the night before. He had you keep the diamond pendant on, a gift he had given you when you arrived at the villa. It was beautiful.

The diamond to his steel.

“As if you’d ever starve. Your appetite for me is borderline gluttonous,” you teased. Guilt flickered in his eyes before you put a hand to his cheek, his expression shifting back to normal. “Hey, I didn't mean that in a bad way. I love that you want me.”

Oh, did Bucky want you. His face buried between your thighs, his cock spearing you open. If he didn't have you in bed, he had you against a wall or bent over the nearest surface. Not a day went by that he didn't give you at least one orgasm, like he was making up for lost time apart before you even knew each other. It didn't make sense to you some days that a man as gorgeous and worldly as him could have anyone he wanted, but chose you. 

“And I love you wanting me,” he said. You didn't just want him. You ached for him, inside and out. How could one man hold such power over you? To be fair, the balance of power was equal in some ways since you affected him the same way.

“How could I not want you? Even if I resisted, your skills of seduction are dangerous.”

You gasped when a massive thigh pushed between your legs. “Moya Sladkaya, you think I’m seductive?” he purred, making you shiver as the sound vibrated through your body.

“Yes and you know you are.” You bit your lip as his thigh shifted, gliding along your heat. It was tempting to ride it. “Your voice, your eyes, your mouth, your body. Partially why you became my sugar daddy.”

He growled as he suddenly rolled on top of you. “I'm your boyfriend,” he corrected you, holding your gaze. He looked hungry. “Who happened to wipe out your debt the way a sugar daddy would.”

“That’s still crazy to me,” you remarked. 

“That I wiped out your debt or that I’m your boyfriend?”

You twirled a bit of his hair around your finger. “Both,” you whispered. Living a debt free life was something you hadn't thought possible until he showed up. Now you had a life without the stress of bills and work, and also one where you felt loved and cared for. He gave you that and more. “But it’s crazy in the best possible way.”

“So it’s a good thing I'm crazy about you,” he smirked.

“Crazy about me?” You put a hand to his forehead. “Hmm. I think you should have your head examined.”

Bucky took your hand and brought it to his mouth, his expression blank. “No one needs to look inside my head,” he said, his eyes warm again as he kissed your palm. It seemed to push out whatever memory undoubtedly crept into his mind. “Because if someone could, they’d see all the dirty things I've done to you and no one else needs to see that.”

You giggled as he nudged your legs apart. “Yes, you’ve done a lot of dirty things to me,” you teased, your eyes slipping shut as he peppered kisses along your jaw and neck. Just two days ago he had you naked in his lap with your arms tied behind your back while he fed you dessert. And then he had you for dessert. “You’re insatiable.”

The gentle scrape of his teeth over your neck set your blood on fire. “If I’m insatiable, it’s your fault. One look at you and I was a goner,” he whispered, a hand moving possessively between your bodies. His thumb brushed your nipple into a taut peak, your back arching to seek out more of him. “You brought beauty and joy back to my world. You saved me, you know that?”

Unexpected tears burned behind your lids. He lived in a world of gray for so long. The least you could do after everything was bring him some light. “You saved me, too,” you breathed. He got to be your hero. You got to be his treasure. A fair trade in his eyes.

You gasped when he nipped at your racing pulse. “Don’t do that. Don't compliment me. This isn’t about me.” Both of you had a tendency to deflect praise at times, but it was something you were working on. And while he didn’t view himself as a hero, he did save you in his own way. 

“You’re a good man,” you said softly, fiercely. He didn't think he was because of some of the things he had done, because of the blood on his hands, but he wasn’t a bad person. “I mean it, Bucky.”

He sighed, scraping his beard against your skin affectionately. “I know you do.” He took his time sliding his hand down your torso, your breath leaving your lungs at the same slow speed. “But I want to compliment you, so take what I give you.”

You'd be sure to compliment him again later. “Not the only thing you’ll tell me to take, is it?” You giggled when he growled again. Getting under his skin was a lot of fun. “We both know I take you so well. Just like I take every drop you spill into me, no matter which hole you choose.”

He made a sound between a moan and a growl. You didn't think your dirty talk was the best by any means, but he loved it. “And you call me insatiable,” he said, his fingers exquisitely gentle as they found your wetness. “Always wet and ready for me, eager for me to fill all of your holes.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you groaned, feeling the evidence of his arousal press against you. Thick. Hard. You shuddered with the need for him to just take you. “Actually, you have every right to be cocky. You’ve ruined me.”

He brought his face up to yours, close enough that he breathed against your lips. “I haven't ruined you yet.” His promise had you trembling, wishing he’d tear you apart without a second thought. 

You leaned up and pressed your lips to his, heat curling in your stomach as he slipped a calloused finger inside you. Your hands moved to his arms, his muscles rippling as he pumped it deep. Your sensitive walls clenched as he added another, a delicious tease of what was to come. How did your need for him continue to grow with each day that passed?

Bucky broke the kiss, your breathing heavy as he continued to toy with you. “After breakfast, I want your cunt pulsing on my tongue,” he whispered as he broke the kiss, a thrill shooting from your head to your toes. You’d be content to spend the rest of your life sitting on his face if you could get away with it.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, pleasure mounting as his fingers curled. You tried to hold back the familiar cresting waves, wanting his cock inside you when you let it wash over you. “Make love to me. Fuck me. Just get your cock in me.”

Slowly removing his fingers, your hole clenching around nothing, he smirked as he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean. The stark hunger in his gaze at the taste of you nearly made you orgasm. “Well, since you’re so desperate for me,” he teased, gripping the base of his cock and lining the head against your hole. 

“I’m desperate?” Your voice cracked when he slid into you in one deep thrust. Your fingers dug into his biceps, adjusting to the size of him as he looked into your eyes. He was searching for any discomfort or pain. There was none there. Your body would always welcome him home. 

“Yes. Desperate.” You couldn't deny that when Bucky moved his hips. Deep, long strokes, the drag of his cock making you feel almost mindless. No one before him made you desperate. No one else ever would. “Wet. Tight. Beautiful. Perfect.”

You gasped, rolling your hips up to meet his. “I’m not-” He cut you off with a kiss, silencing your protest that you weren't perfect. You were anything but. Like everyone, you had flaws. Imperfections. It was like he didn't see them or they didn't exist in his eyes. 

“Yes, you fucking are,” he growled, making you cry out when he thrust hard. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he crushed your chests together, your heart matching the rhythm of his. You held onto him like you never wanted to let him go. “My perfect treasure.”

Heat engulfed you as he reached between you and slid his fingers along your clit. Your hips bucked, your arousal climbing and taking you higher. The handsome man above you canting his hips and groaning as you keened had your body begging for release. 

“Bucky, please. I need to come,” you whined. You didn't need his permission, but you still begged for it. 

He watched your blissful expression with dark eyes and a devilish smirk. “That’s what I dreamt about.” His rumbling words had your thighs trembling. “You underneath me, taking every inch of my cock, begging to come.”

A hand worked its way to his hair and gripped it, trying to ground yourself from the sensations rushing through you. The edges of your vision blurred as your body wound tighter, ready to give yourself over to the pleasure only he could provide. “Please, Bucky,” you said. At least you thought you said it. The waves were ready to sweep you away. 

“Come for me.” His husky voice wasn't one to be denied. “Make my dream come true.”

Your head fell back, your walls fluttering around his cock as you went over the precipice. Blood roared in your ears, but you could still hear him moan your name as you spiraled out of control. His body followed your lead, pumping his hips a few more times before he came with a deep moan. Feeling him flood your insides and seeing ecstasy fill his gorgeous eyes made you grip him like a vice all over again. 

Bucky pulled you close when he gently collapsed on the bed, staying inside you as long as he could. Your body fit against his like you were designed just for him and you couldn't help but smile as you caught your breath. He smiled, too. A gorgeous, carefree smile. 

“Dream come true?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat when his smile widened and eyes crinkled. 

“Even better,” he whispered, cupping your cheek and skimming his lips against yours in a soft kiss. “Can we just stay like this?

You rubbed your cheek against his hand as the hazy cloud lifted. “If that’s what you want.”

“I meant forever,” he half teased, his hand reaching for yours to trace your bare finger.

Butterflies filled your stomach. It wasn’t a proposal, but it still felt like he was asking in a way. “Do you mean in this bed? As long as we can have our meals here and do movie nights. Oh, and a way to clean the sheets because they’ll be filthy.”

His eyes crinkled again as he chuckled. How did a laugh sound both wholesome and seductive? That was the power of Bucky Barnes. “And sex to keep us in shape,” he said, pulling the sheet more over you. “Sounds perfect, even if I don’t deserve it.”

You tilted your head, gazing at the man who turned your world upside down as the happiness slowly slipped from his face. Like how your body ached for his, your heart ached for him, too. “You do deserve this. You're not a bad man, Bucky.” He needed to hear it again. You'd tell him as many times as it took until it sank in. 

His jaw twitched, his eyes holding a hint of regret. “I’ve killed people,” he reminded you in an even tone.

“I know,” you whispered. You accepted that it was part of his past and who he was. You accepted him. “That doesn’t make you unworthy of me.”

His eyes closed, his hold on you firmer. “It would almost be easier if you condemned me, but I’m a selfish man who wouldn’t be able to let you go.”

Your heart swelled. He was so gone for you. “I’m not asking you to let me go,” you said, turning his head back to you until his eyes opened. “I’m your treasure, remember? Yours to keep.”

The hard edges to his face softened once again. “C’mere,” he breathed. You met him halfway when he leaned in, his lips only on yours for a second when the doorbell rang. You were about to ask if he was expecting company, but he didn’t have to with the way his body tensed. He turned away from you, his phone in hand to check the camera at the front door. Security was important to him. “What the hell?”

“Who is it?” You sat up, not bothering to cover yourself as he got up and threw something on. You couldn’t even appreciate the view since his entire demeanor changed. “And should I go with you?”

His jaw twitched again. “Delivery guy dropped something off and left. Hang back a little,” he answered before he grabbed you a robe. He’d preferred you close as opposed to being in the bedroom alone. “I don’t want anyone seeing you if they’re still nearby.”

“Lots of people see me,” you tried to joke. You stopped smiling when he swung his head your way. He took your safety very seriously. “I’ll hang back.”

Taking your hand, he headed to the front of the villa. Your legs shook a bit, but you blamed that on the orgasm he gave you and not fear. He stopped you before you could reach the door, giving you a quick, hard kiss. It left you breathless when he pulled away. “Stay right here,” he whispered, your heart pounding as he grabbed one of his many hidden guns. 

Weapons everywhere, a habit he’d never break.

You couldn’t see his expression when he went out to retrieve whatever was dropped off, but you understood his paranoia since he lived a dangerous life before. Not a lot of people knew where you were going on this vacation and he clearly wasn't expecting a delivery. “What is it?” you asked once he put the gun away and went back to you. A smile touched your lips when you saw the arrangement of various red flowers. “Those are beautiful.”

“They’re addressed to you.” He plucked the card from the holder to show you, his mouth set in a grim line. “But I didn’t order these.”

Dread filled you as you took the card from him and turned it over. Your name was the only thing written on it, minus a small stamp in the corner you hadn’t seen before: a heart and dagger. “Well, if you didn’t get me these, who did?”

“Someone from my past,” he said so quietly he almost missed it. 

Your eyes widened. “Why would someone from your past send me flowers?” As far as you knew he didn't keep in touch with most of his old associates. “And how do they know we’re here?”

You stopped breathing when you saw his eyes. Cold. Deadly. “That’s what I'm going to find out.”

So much for staying in bed today.

OOH. What do we think so far? I wonder who from Bucky's past is going to pop up and why. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fushigurokogane]

𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝖥𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋 ── ★₊˚.⋆⁺₊

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: megumi fushiguro x fem!reader warnings: NSFW / 18+ ONLY — Explicit sexual content, rough sex, degradation, spanking, choking (light), NASTY and DOMINANT Megumi, overstimulation, possessive behavior, semi-public sex (bathroom quickie at a party), dirty talk, use of explicit language (cock, pussy, etc.), creampie, mirror sex, mild dumbification, nickname kink (doll, princess, babygirl, darling), aftercare. author's note: Please read responsibly and know your boundaries. 💋

The party was a blur of pulsing lights and sweaty bodies, but none of it mattered—not with the way Megumi had been watching you all night. That sharp-eyed, jaw-clenched stare from across the room every time someone got too close. Every time you smiled too pretty at someone else. Every time you leaned over just a little too far, knowing damn well your dress barely covered anything.

You’d been playing with fire. And now you were gonna burn for it.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and the second it locked, Megumi had you caged against the wall.

“Oh, now you wanna run?” His voice was low, dangerous, hand already wrapping around your throat—not tight, just enough to remind you who the fuck was in control. “You’ve been teasing me all night, doll. You think I wasn’t watching you act like a filthy little slut out there?”

“Megumi—”

“Uh-uh.” His other hand yanked your dress up, bunching it around your waist. “You don’t talk unless I tell you to, babygirl. Got it?”

You nodded, breath stuttering, pussy already soaking through your panties.

“Of course it’s fucking soaked,” he muttered, dragging the thin fabric down your thighs. “This greedy little pussy just lives to get filled, doesn’t it? You really couldn’t wait until we got home?”

He spun you around, pressing your chest to the counter, your ass out, fully exposed to him in the mirror. The way he looked at you—hungry, dark-eyed, possessive—made you clench around nothing.

“Goddamn,” he growled, smacking your ass once, hard. “Look at you. Bent over like a perfect little fucktoy. You wanted this, didn’t you, princess? Wanted me to ruin you right here where someone could walk in?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, voice wrecked already.

Another slap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

You heard the jingle of his belt, the low hiss of him spitting into his palm. Then the hot, thick weight of his cock dragged along your folds, teasing your dripping entrance.

“Look at you,” he murmured, pressing the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. “So fuckin’ needy. So desperate. You don’t even deserve it, do you?”

“No,” you whispered, clenching around nothing. “Please—please, I need it.”

“That’s right.” His voice was dark silk. “You beg for my cock, doll. You earn it.”

You were just about to sob for it when he finally slammed into you, all the way in one brutal thrust. You cried out, biting your lip to keep from screaming as he stretched you wide, the filthy sound of skin on skin echoing off the tile. He didn’t wait—his pace was ruthless, each thrust pounding into your soaking pussy like he was trying to fuck the attitude right out of you.

“This pussy,” he gritted out between thrusts, “was made for me.”

You nodded helplessly, tears pricking your eyes from how full you were, how good it felt, how fucking deep he was hitting.

“Say it,” he growled, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back so you were forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Say who owns this pussy.”

“You—fuck—you do, Megumi!”

“That’s right. I fuckin’ own you, darling.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, tight circles that made you choke on your moans.

“You’re gonna cum for me, like the pathetic little cockdrunk slut you are. You hear me, babygirl?”

“Please—Megumi, I’m—”

“Do it. Cum on my cock, now.”

And you did. You shattered around him, body convulsing, vision going white-hot as your orgasm tore through you. But he didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through it, pace unrelenting, overstimulating your clit until your legs buckled.

“Too much—” you whimpered.

“Oh no, doll,” he breathed into your ear, voice dark and twisted with desire. “You don’t get to tap out yet. You wanted to be a little brat at that party? You’re gonna take every fucking drop I give you.”

He lifted one of your legs onto the counter for a deeper angle, thrusting even harder. Your pussy was spasming, drooling around his cock, slick soaking both your thighs as he chased his own high.

“You feel that?” he grunted. “Feel how tight you’re squeezing me? Fuck, you’re gonna milk my cock dry, princess.”

He slammed in deep one last time, holding you there as he spilled inside you, hips twitching, low moans spilling from his lips as hot cum filled your cunt.

Neither of you moved for a second—your body limp and trembling, his chest heaving against your back.

Finally, he pulled out with a wet, obscene sound, and you whimpered at the emptiness, cum dripping down your thighs.

Megumi kissed your shoulder, hands suddenly gentle as he fixed your dress and wiped between your legs with a paper towel, murmuring soft praises now.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your temple. “Took it like a good little slut.”

You turned to face him, dazed, still floating. He smirked, brushing hair from your face.

“Next time you wanna tease me in public, princess… just know how that ends.”

[aajjks]

The Boy (IV)

synopsis. All he ever wanted was someone to love.

pairing: yandere!brahms doll jungkook x fem!nanny reader. ft. Cha eunwoo.

genre: 18+ horror, smut, angst and yandere.

warnings. 18+ YÁNDÈRÈ, dàrk thèmès, dïstúrbíng thèmès, mèntïóns ôf à dàrk pàst, yn ïs só dàmn hórny, dóll, erríe thèmès, únsèttlíng thèmès, híghly sèxúàl thèmès, nèèdy, shàmlèss ýn, tsúndèrè èúnwòò.

wc: idek it’s long tho

fic note. Please keep in mind that this fanfiction is the exact copy of the movie from the same name “the boy” (2016) so if you find any similarities, that’s on purpose. Also viewer discretion is highly advised.

note. Chapter 4 is here please share your thoughts honestly if it’s a little shitty I apologize but it took me a lot of days to finish this, but it’s gonna get so much more juicier. I promise let’s get into this and please share feedback because it really keeps me going and ENJOY!

taglist. @tatumrileyslover @slut4jeon @strawberryberrygirl @starl0ver4 @darkcyclecreator @taekritimin123@erisuna @devilslittlehelper @introvertedsin @jadaocon1 @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @wowersblog@jincapableoflove @whothefuckisthishoe @avawants2havefun @sophipp1 @moonfloweronmars @crisle19 @ctrlsht@mrsjohnnysuh @ennvfv @kpopsmutty69 [open for more]

•••

You wake up, and it’s like the morning should feel normal, right?

But your body is still pulsing with yesterday’s chaos, still aching with that craving.

The doll, though, that little bastard, is still sitting there in the corner, staring at you. You blink, wiping sleep from your eyes, and sigh.

“Why do I even care?” you whisper to no one.

But, for some reason, it feels like there’s something alive in this house. Something watching.

You swing your legs off the bed, feeling that pull, the one that makes you want to collapse back under the sheets.

But the day’s already waiting, and you know you’ve got a damn job to do.

The rules. God, those rules linger in your mind like some haunting melody you can’t get rid of.

First things first, you need to go tend to him.

You stand up, glancing at the mirror, your reflection caught in that weird light. The feeling of being watched is heavier today.

God, was it always this bad?

You walk down the stairs, your steps feeling heavier than usual. Every creak of the floorboards makes you jump.

But, just as you reach the living room, there he is.

Eunwoo. Eating his breakfast. As if nothing happened. “Good morning,” you say, your voice sounding too loud.

He barely looks up from his plate, a small grunt escaping him.

It’s like he’s pretending you’re not even there.

You stare at him for a moment, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.

“You’re gonna ignore me again?” No response.

You almost want to scream.

Then, you look at the clock. It’s almost time to do the doll’s routine.

Your mind drifts again. And the moment you think of him, the rush of longing hits you like a wave.

You start walking toward the room where the doll waits, but your steps falter when you hear something faint.

A whisper?

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully.

“Stay.”

The voice comes from the doll. Or, that’s what you think.

You shiver, but it’s not out of fear. It’s something else. Something dark.

As you walk toward the room, the tension is unbearable.

You open the door and— There he is. Just sitting, his glassy eyes fixed in place.

You can almost feel his gaze, even though he’s not really alive.

“Stay.”

You hear it again, but it’s so soft. So insistent.

You let out a shaky breath, walking in closer, kneeling in front of him.

You talk to him like he’s real. You have to.

“I’m here, JK,” you say. “I’m here.”

But deep down, there’s something gnawing at you. Something so unsettling. The silence is deafening.

You swallow, your eyes darting nervously to the door.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you whisper. “You’ve been so patient with me.”

But then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the quiet.

Eunwoo.

He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Are you really talking to that thing like it’s a person?” You blink, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

But instead of feeling ashamed, your desire only grows.

He’s standing there, as cold as ever, and yet, there’s something off about the way he’s looking at you.

Your thoughts spiral.

“I don’t care if it’s not real, Eunwoo,” you snap, not caring that your voice shakes. “I just want something to look at me like that.”

His expression doesn’t change. He’s still cold, unaffected.

But it pisses you off.

You stand up, your body suddenly tense.

“You know, you could at least acknowledge me, instead of just staring at that doll like it’s your damn king.”

He raises an eyebrow. “JK doesn’t need you. He’s better off without you.”

The words sting, but they only fuel your frustration.

“Is that so?” You take a step closer. “Because, from where I’m standing, you’ve got the whole ‘ignoring me’ thing down.”

His eyes flicker for just a second.

Then he speaks again, his voice so detached, it could cut through anything. “You’re supposed to be taking care of him, not complaining to me.”

You smirk, feeling a mix of anger and something else. “You’re not even worth complaining to. You know that, right?”

His gaze hardens.

“You think I care?” His voice drops lower, colder. “The only thing I care about is whether you’re following the damn rules.”

You stare at him for a moment, the tension suffocating. Your heart beats in your chest.

“Then why are you still here?” you ask, almost breathless.

He doesn’t answer, but you know it’s because he doesn’t care.

You turn away, feeling the frustration and the heat rise.

“Fine,” you mutter. “I’ll follow the damn rules. But don’t think I’m doing this for you.”

And just as you start to walk out, you hear it again. A whisper.

“Stay.”

This time, it’s the doll. The doll speaking.

It almost makes you gasp.

You look at Eunwoo, but his eyes are focused on something else.

The doll’s voice lingers in your mind.

You feel the pull again. And it’s stronger than ever.

•••

The afternoon is quiet.

Too quiet.

You’re sitting at the dining table, eating your buldak noodles like you’re trying to savor every bite, but honestly? You’re not tasting a damn thing.

Your mind is still stuck on Eunwoo and the way he completely dismissed you this morning.

“You think I care?” That’s what he said.

Like you were just some problem he had to deal with. Like you weren’t even worth acknowledging.

You chew another mouthful, letting the spice burn your throat as your frustration swells.

You glance at the doll sitting across from you—staring blankly, as always.

You’ve been talking to it so much, it feels almost natural now.

“I bet you wouldn’t ignore me,” you mutter under your breath. “You’d at least look at me if I did something…”

You trail off, staring at the doll’s lifeless eyes. But, oddly, it feels like it’s staring back.

“I’m talking to a fucking doll.” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head, trying to make sense of it all.

The steam from your noodles rises in front of you, but it doesn’t clear the heaviness in the air. The silence between you and the doll is stifling.

“You’re probably the only one who doesn’t judge me,” you say quietly, almost to yourself.

But even the doll can’t answer.

You feel your anger pulse again, that same damn frustration bubbling up. The noodles are too spicy, but you can’t stop eating them.

It’s like the heat from the food is a mirror of the heat inside you.

Every bite just brings the burn of that rejection closer.

“God, what the hell is wrong with me?” you mumble between bites.

You glance down at the doll again, your eyes narrowing.

“Why does it feel like you get me, huh?” It’s just sitting there. Silent. Unmoved.

But you swear you feel like it’s listening. “Why does Eunwoo get to be all cold and unbothered, while I’m stuck here playing house with a fucking doll?”

You roll your eyes, but the frustration just keeps growing. The noodles aren’t helping.

Your fingers grip the chopsticks tighter, your frustration spilling out into the air around you.

“I hate that he doesn’t even care. Like… why the hell am I doing all this?”

The doll doesn’t say anything, of course. It never does.

But it’s almost like you’re waiting for it to say something.

Anything.

You take another bite, swallowing it down with a grunt.

And then..

“Stay.”

You freeze, noodles halfway to your mouth. The voice isn’t loud, but it’s clear. Too clear.

It’s the doll. It said the word again.

“Stay.”

You set your chopsticks down, a chill creeping over your skin. You thought you’d imagined it last time, but now? Now, it’s almost real.

You glance at the doll, and the air feels colder.

“What the fuck?” you whisper, heart pounding.

It can’t… it can’t be real. Right?

You look down at the doll, eyes widening.

Did it really just say that?

The room feels too still. You start to panic, breathing faster as you pick up your chopsticks again. But you can’t get the words out of your head.

“Stay.”

Your hand trembles, but you try to ignore it. You keep eating, trying to shake it off.

“It’s nothing,” you tell yourself. “It’s just… the silence messing with my head.”

But you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. Like you’re being watched.

The doll doesn’t move. It doesn’t blink. But for some reason, it feels like it’s waiting.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you mutter under your breath, pushing your noodles around.

You hear it again, that voice. Soft. Low.

“Stay.”

It’s not in your head this time. It’s real. You heard it. You can’t pretend anymore.

“No… no, no, no,” you whisper, your heart racing. “It’s just the house. It’s just too quiet. I’m just, just stressed out.”

You try to stand, but your legs feel weak.

It’s like the whole house is holding its breath. Like the walls are closing in.

You blink rapidly, trying to stay calm. But your chest is tight, and you feel a strange pull, like you have to stay.

You sit back down, not sure why, but something is urging you to stay near the doll. To pay attention to it.

You start to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “You’re not real, right? You can’t really… talk.”

But the doll says nothing. It’s only the silence that answers.

And yet, somehow, that silence feels more real than anything else in this house.

•••

You finish washing the dishes, feeling slightly more at ease because— well, your kitchen doesn’t look like a battlefield anymore.

But the weirdness? The unease? That stays.

The doll’s voice still rings in your ears, and you can’t shake the chill it gave you. “Stay.”

You roll your eyes at yourself, trying to shake it off.

“It’s nothing. Nothing but a creepy little toy with some serious boundary issues,” you mutter, heading back to your bedroom.

You throw your phone on the bed as you kick the door shut behind you, and immediately, your mind starts racing again. What the hell was that voice? The doll’s supposed to be inanimate, right?

Like… right?

You grab your phone, tap Alina’s name, and send her a message before you can stop yourself:

You: Girl, I’m losing my mind. I need you to talk some sense into me. Are dolls supposed to talk? Or am I just officially gone?

You watch the message bubble for a few seconds. Then, finally:

Alina: Yo, what happened? You’re in the middle of some weird creepy vibes or some shit? Should I get the holy water or a shaman?

You laugh out loud at her response.

You: Holy water, girl? Please, I wish it were that simple, you text back, pacing the room. I’m talking to a doll. No, worse. I’m listening to a doll talk back to me! It said ‘stay’ like three times today and I swear it’s not me imagining it!

You wait for her reply, half expecting her to hit you with something like, Girl, just chill. It’s all in your head.’ But instead, she goes full Alina mode.

Alina: Wait, you’ve been cuddling with it or something? Is it, like, some weird fetish shit? I swear, you get involved in the strangest stuff, girl.

You: NO, NO, it’s not a fetish! It’s a fucking doll! you reply, rolling your eyes at yourself as you sit on your bed.

Alina: Well, does it feel like a doll? Like, do you actually feel… things?

You: Alina, what are you even asking right now? you send back, rubbing your temples.

Alina: Just trying to clarify. If you’re gonna be talking to your creepy little friend, at least tell me if it has a pulse, okay?

You snort.

You: Alina, you’re out of control.

Alina’s texts start coming faster now, like she’s just gone full conspiracy theory mode:

Alina: Okay, but wait; is it the kind of doll that talks back only when no one’s looking?

You: I don’t know! It’s just a dumb porcelain thing that someone put on my lap, and now I’m apparently its babysitter!” you text, annoyed but still kind of laughing. “And don’t even get me started on Eunwoo.

Alina: Eunwoo?? You’re still obsessed with that guy? Is he the reason you’re hanging with the creepy-ass porcelain one instead?

You: He’s just… ugh, he’s cold as fuck. He rejects me every time I try to flirt. But, I’m pretty sure he knows I’m obsessed with him, so now I’m just making it worse by hanging around with this doll that won’t even fucking shut up.

You stop, feeling stupid. Did you really just confess all that to Alina?

Alina: Wait, hold up. Are you telling me you’re about to go full I’m-not-a-crazy-person-but-actually-I’m-talking-to-a-doll-now mode because of Eunwoo?!

You laugh bitterly, collapsing back on the bed.

You: I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore. It’s like… the doll’s the only one that listens. At least it says things like ‘stay’ and ‘pretty.

Alina: Yo, that’s mad weird. But also lowkey hot. Wait, so is the doll, like, trying to flirt with you now?

You freeze for a second.

You: What?

Alina: Because, you know, you’re giving it way too much attention for it to NOT be into you. Like… do you think it’s trying to get in your head?

You bite your lip. That… actually makes sense.

Is the doll playing you?

You: Okay, no. No, no, no. It’s a fucking doll. But at this point, I can’t even tell what’s real anymore.

You text back, frustrated and trying to distract yourself by scrolling through your phone.

Alina: So, what, now you’re doing full-on therapy sessions with it? ‘Cause, I gotta say, this is a new level of weird even for you, girl.

You laugh, but it’s not really a happy laugh.

You: I’m just talking to it, Alina. It’s like I have no one else to vent to. And now, Eunwoo’s all cold and shut off, so it’s like I have… I don’t know… the doll?

Alina: Damn. So, the doll gets all your attention now? What’s next, is it gonna start following you around the house? You said it talks, right? Does it ask for kisses too?

You pause for a moment, your stomach dropping. Did the doll… did it want you to kiss it?

You: Wait, hold on! you text back, I’m literally so paranoid right now. What if it does want me to kiss it? Like… it keeps asking me to stay and saying I’m pretty.

Alina: Okay, I’m honestly dying. Just please, please, please don’t get sucked into the ‘doll wants you’ cult. I swear if you send me a picture of you kissing it, I will throw up on the spot.

You laugh hysterically at her reply, but the laughter dies in your throat as you remember the doll’s cold, hollow stare.

•••

The evening falls quiet, the usual hum of the house fading into that calm, eerie silence you’ve grown so used to.

You’re sprawled on the couch, one leg thrown over the armrest, as you mindlessly flick your finger on your phone screen.

You’ve got Temple Run 2 open.

NOSTALGIA!!!!

No idea why you’re so obsessed with this damn game. It’s mindless and stupid but maybe that’s exactly what you need right now.

You keep failing, but the loops are just so satisfying, and the soundtrack ugh, it’s somehow so nostalgic.

“What’re you doing?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as you hear his voiceEunwoo, standing there, suddenly too close.

You glance over, blinking in surprise.

He’s looking at your phone. Of course, he’s noticed your utter lack of skill at this game, too.

“Just playing some Temple Run,” you shrug, barely looking at him.

His eyes narrow. “You’re playing Temple Run?”

You roll your eyes dramatically, tapping your phone again. “Yeah, Eunwoo. Temple Run. Ever heard of it?”

He steps closer, and then unbelievably he plops down right next to you on the couch.

Not a single care in the world. The sudden proximity makes you feel all sorts of things you can’t quite explain, but you try to focus on the game.

“I could teach you how to play, if you want,” you say with a teasing smile, knowing full well that you’re about to have way too much fun with this.

Eunwoo doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he’s squinting at your phone like it’s a foreign object.

“I know how to play games.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you?”

He grabs the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a split second and your heart skips.

He swipes the screen, but instead of jumping or sliding, he just runs right into a wall.

“Really?” you laugh, covering your mouth. “That’s your big move?”

He doesn’t respond. He just stares at the screen, frowning in confusion.

“What the hell was that? You’re supposed to swipe left to dodge obstacles. Swipe. Like this,”

you show him, your finger dancing over the screen with exaggerated movements.

He watches you, but when you look over at him, you see a small and by small, barely noticeable smirk tug at his lips.

“I’m just getting started,” he says in that deep voice of his, but the tiny smile is there again.

You can’t believe it. Is he actually smiling?

You’re about to say something, but you catch the slightest glint in his eyesjust for a second and you don’t know why, but it makes your stomach flip.

“You need to be more aggressive,” you tease, leaning in closer than necessary as you guide his fingers with your own, letting him feel the motions on the screen.

His gaze flickers down to your hands, and for a split second, you feel the intensity between you two.

It’s not just the game anymore. Your heart is racing, your skin tingling.

Oh yeah, you want me so bad.

“Aggressive, huh?” he mutters, still not meeting your eyes but there’s a definite playfulness there.

You give him an exaggerated sigh, leaning back against the couch as you pull the phone away.

“Okay, here, let me show you how it’s done, Mr. I Know How To Play Games.”

You tap your phone again, failing the next round on purpose just to mess with him, but then you glance over at him. “See, that’s how you die in the game.”

Eunwoo’s smirk grows ever so slightly. “Maybe I let you win.”

You raise a brow. “Uh huh. Sure you did.”

He’s quiet for a second, and you can’t help but notice how his usual cold demeanor is slipping just a little—

there’s something softer here, something unexpected.

And then, as if realizing how much fun he’s been having, he suddenly straightens up, putting the phone back in your hands.

“I’m done playing games. Not literally. Just…” He looks at you for a moment longer than usual. “I have to go check on… something.”

You blink. “Right. Sure. Whatever.”

Before you can say anything else, he stands up quickly, the moment of connection broken.

You stare at him, feeling strangely off like, just when you thought there might’ve been something, he shuts it down.

The door slams, and you’re left there, phone in hand, your head buzzing from the briefest interaction.

You barely even notice that the doll’s still sitting in front of you on the table, staring at you, its empty eyes almost mocking you now.

But for some reason, you don’t mind. At least someone or something, is paying attention.

•••

You can feel it— the tension from earlier still buzzing between you and Eunwoo.

He’s barely acknowledged it, but you feel it. It’s there, crackling in the air like static.

After the whole Temple Run disaster,

Eunwoo stands up abruptly, taking your phone from your hands without so much as a word.

“I’m gonna cook,” he mutters. “Stir-fry. You can stay out here if you want.”

You freeze for a second, contemplating. “What if I want to stay with you?”

He doesn’t even turn around, but there’s a tiny, almost unnoticeable flicker in his expression.

The corner of his lips twitch like he’s about to say something, but then he just shrugs and walks toward the kitchen, disappearing around the corner.

Your stomach churns but not from hunger, but from something else entirely.

“Alright, bet,” you whisper to yourself, rolling off the couch and following him.

The kitchen is small, cozy in its own way, but with him in it, it suddenly feels too small.

You stand by the doorway, watching him pull out the ingredients for stir-fry with a practiced ease.

He looks so… good doing it.

You lean casually against the counter, crossing your arms, trying to look casual.

“You know, I’m really good at cooking too,” you say, giving him a side-eye.

He doesn’t look at you. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you nod, leaning forward just a little, keeping that seductive energy going. “I make a mean stir-fry. I could show you.”

Still no reaction from him. But his movements slow for a brief second as he slices the vegetables, his fingers curling around the knife just a little tighter.

You know you’ve got him intrigued at least, that’s what you want to believe.

“I’m good,” he says, voice clipped.

“Are you?” You step closer, just enough for him to feel your presence. “I mean, I don’t know. You seem pretty… intense about this. You need a hand?”

He finally looks up at you, eyes narrowing. “You want to help or are you just trying to get in my way?”

You smirk, a mischievous glint lighting up your eyes. “I’m just here to keep you company. It’s not every day I get to watch a pro chef at work.”

He sighs, like you’re annoying him, but there’s a hint of something else there. Maybe it’s that cold smirk of his starting to crack just a little.

“I’m not a pro. I’m just making dinner.”

You can’t help yourself. You step forward again, your body pressing into the space between him and the counter, your breath warm against the back of his neck.

“I can help with more than dinner, you know…”

The words hang in the air, and you feel the slightest shift in him. His breath catches for a second, then he turns, taking a step back. His eyes flicker over you, slow and deliberate, and you can almost feel the heat radiating off him.

“You really think you can just waltz in here, make some innuendo, and I’ll be what, entertained?”

His voice is low, quiet—

but there’s something in it.

Something dangerous.

You can’t stop now, though. It’s like a game. “I’m just offering,” you say, leaning in closer, your lips almost brushing his ear.

“But it looks like you’re already enjoying the company. I’m just here to spice things up a little.”

He finally steps back, hands going to the stove to focus on the stir-fry. “You should stick to the game,” he says, eyes hardening.

“Stay out of my kitchen.”

You laugh, though it’s almost more of a guttural sound of frustration than amusement. “What, you can’t handle a little flirtation?”

Eunwoo stays silent, his gaze unwavering as he stirs the food. But then, out of nowhere, he says, “I’m not here for games.”

You tilt your head, wondering what he means by that. “What are you here for, then?”

He turns to look at you, those sharp eyes locking onto yours. “Dinner. Nothing more.”

You watch him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Dinner, huh?

The way he looks at you, his face unreadable, but his posture tight, the tension between you two thick as ever.

For a second, you’re both stuck in this unspoken challenge.

You can feel your breath quicken, heart racing in a way that has nothing to do with the food he’s cooking.

But suddenly, it’s like something snaps in him. Without warning, he turns, walking toward you with a dangerous slowness, and your body stiffens, bracing for whatever’s coming next.

“I’m warning you,” he murmurs, his lips barely a whisper against your ear, sending a chill down your spine. “Stop pushing.”

And then, just as quickly as he was close, he steps back, resuming his position by the stove.

You stand there, body still humming, feeling the raw power of the moment.

You were so close. Just a breath away.

But maybe you’re not done yet.

•••

The dining room’s quiet, save for the clinking of chopsticks against bowls. Eunwoo and you sit across from each other at the table.

The stir-fry?

FUCKING DELICIOUS.

Most as much as he looks delicious.

It is perfectly cooked, the veggies are still crisp, the meat is tender.

But the real heat isn’t in the food.

It’s in the way Eunwoo barely looks at you as he takes a bite, those sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he swallows.

You try to ignore the heat running through your body, but it’s impossible with him sitting across from you, looking so damn good in his simple, yet painfully stylish, clothes.

You take a deep breath and throw him a playful smirk.

“So, this is how you cook? I thought I’d get more of a reaction from you, to be honest. I make a mean stir-fry too, you know…”

Eunwoo lifts an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, but there’s a slight edge to his voice. “Do you? I’d be surprised if you even knew what stir-fry meant.”

You almost choke on your rice.

“Excuse me? I could make you a better stir-fry with one hand tied behind my back.”

You give him a pointed glance, then lean back in your chair, your fingers tracing the edge of your glass.

“If you think you’re so good, maybe you should cook for me more often, huh?”

Eunwoo’s lips curl up just a little, but it’s more amusement than anything else. “You can’t handle my cooking. It’s too good for you.”

You roll your eyes dramatically, scooping more food onto your plate. “Please, I live for good food. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wasn’t trying to flatter you.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward on your elbows, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Then what were you trying to do?”

Eunwoo doesn’t look up as he sips his water. “Make you stop talking.”

You laugh, setting your chopsticks down. “Good luck with that. You can’t shut me up that easily.”

“You sure?” His voice is so deadpan it almost makes you second-guess yourself.

“You’re a lot of words for someone who doesn’t know how to play a simple game.”

You glare at him across the table, but there’s no denying the flush of heat on your cheeks. “That’s low, even for you. I was teaching you— there’s a difference.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.” He smirks, the amusement barely breaking through his cool facade.

But you can see it. And it makes you want to push further.

You grin back, unable to resist the bait. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re just jealous of my skills.”

“You think I’m jealous of you?” Eunwoo laughs, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes flash briefly, something cold and unsettling.

“I’m not the one sitting here trying to get a reaction out of someone who clearly doesn’t want one.”

You pause, just for a second, caught off guard by his bluntness.

But you recover quickly, not about to let him have the last word. “Well, maybe you should try a little harder.”

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand, giving him a look that says all too much.

“I mean, someone’s gotta make this night interesting. You look like you could use a little fun.”

Eunwoo’s gaze flickers to you, that cold, calculating look in his eyes. “Fun? The only fun I’m having is watching you squirm.”

You chuckle, not intimidated, just thoroughly enjoying the challenge.

“Squirming, huh? Is that what you think? I’m just getting started.”

You pick up your chopsticks again, eating slowly, deliberately, making sure he notices the way your lips part around the food.

His eyes follow the movement, just slightly.. too slightly for you to let go of the game you’re playing.

The silence stretches for a moment, but it’s not awkward. It’s heavy. Like it’s about to snap. You can feel his control slipping just a little.

You break the silence first, your voice light but dripping with sweetness.

“So, Eunwoo, you’re gonna keep giving me the cold shoulder, or are we actually going to have a conversation tonight?”

He exhales sharply, clearly done with the teasing. “We’ve been talking this whole time.”

“Not really,” you say, tilting your head, a playful smile curling at your lips. “I mean, I’m the one doing all the talking.

You’re the one keeping everything bottled up.”

He puts down his chopsticks, looking at you, finally letting a bit of that wall down. “Maybe I’m just waiting for you to say something worth listening to.”

You hold his gaze, the heat between you palpable now, the dinner table acting as the most awkward of barriers.

“Oh, I can say plenty. I just want to know, are you ever going to stop being such a tease?”

His eyes flash, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to make your stomach do a little flip.

“You really want me to stop?”

Fuck…. I’m getting wet.

His voice drops, lower than before, the edge of a challenge in it.

You lean forward, body brimming with energy, eyes locked with his. “I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

Eunwoo stares at you for a long moment, his face expressionless, but the intensity in his eyes burns like fire.

“Maybe you should be careful what you wish for.”

Fuck me.

•••

You barely finish your stir-fry when the tension thickens, like overcooked sauce.

Eunwoo stands across from you, wiping his hands on a towel, his face is as emotionless as ever.

You lean back against the counter, watching him like he’s the only thing in the room.

“So,” you start, your voice teasing, “You cook all this food for me, and still no love? No kiss? I’m getting disappointed, Eunwoo.”

He glances at you, his eyes flashing for a split second. annoyance, maybe? or is it something more?

A challenge?

“Love?” he scoffs. “You need to work on your cooking before we talk about love.”

“Oh, please. I’m just a babe in the kitchen.”

You wink, and his eyes roll, but not the way you expect. It’s the smallest roll like you’re on his radar.

“I’m serious,” he says, crossing his arms. “And if you want my help again, stop being so… distracting.”

You pout, hand on your hip. “Distracting? Me? I was just admiring your kitchen skills.”

“Admiring, huh?” He steps closer, his gaze cold but unwavering. “You admire a lot of things, but never seem to get the point.”

You move closer to him, barely an inch apart, your breath hitching as the space between you shrinks.

“Maybe I’m just trying to find the point. Is that so wrong?”

He stays silent, staring down at you. Finally, his lips curl into a smirk.

“I’m not your type. We established this last time.” His eyes darken.

“I don’t make exceptions for people who think they can walk all over me.”

“Is that so?” You lean in, daring him to make the first move. “Guess I’ll have to change your mind.”

Before you can say anything else, you hear it.

That soft whisper. The one you thought you imagined.

From the dining table.

“Stay…”

You freeze.

Eunwoo freezes too. You both turn to the doll, sitting motionless, eyes locked on you.

The room goes still. The air grows colder. A chill runs up your spine as you stare at the doll’s unblinking eyes.

“Stay…” The whisper comes again, almost pleading.

“Great. Now it’s talking,” you mutter, trying to shake the unease creeping in.

Eunwoo doesn’t look at you. He’s already walking to the table, his expression unreadable.

He gently adjusts the doll’s position, fingers brushing its face with care.

“Remember the rules,” he says, his voice low. “No ignoring him. He’s not a toy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I wasn’t ignoring him. I—;”

“Just keep it in mind,” he cuts you off, adjusting the doll, making sure it’s sitting properly.

You roll your eyes.

“You could be a little less cold about everything. Maybe if you weren’t so icy, you’d warm up to me a little.”

Eunwoo turns to face you, eyes hard. “I’m not here for games. I’m here to make sure this place runs properly.”

You smirk. “And that means babysitting the doll and ignoring me? Come on, eunwoo. I know there’s something under all that coldness. I can feel it.”

He walks back toward you, slow and deliberate, and for a second, you think he’ll say something. But he doesn’t. He simply stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“No,” he growls, low and tense.

“You don’t feel anything. You just think you do. And it’s irritating.”

The words hang between you. The heavy silence is deafening.

You’re close enough to feel the heat of his body, the pulse of his heart.

Then the moment breaks.

The doll whispers again.

“Stay…”

It’s a command now, not a request. You turn to the doll, unease creeping under your skin.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m staying, okay?” You snap, but the doll’s eyes are locked on yours, and it feels too real.

Eunwoo stares at the doll for a beat, then looks back at you.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?”

•••

I’m behind the damn wall, watching.

But this time, it’s different.

I can feel it. That little voice in the back of my head, telling me that Eunwoo’s days are numbered.

And honestly? I’m fucking done.

I’ve had enough of him. Enough of the way he looks at you like you’re some kind of decoration.

I know what you’re thinking. how could he even be a threat? But that’s the thing.

He’s not.

I’ve been here long enough to see it. He’s only here because I let him be.

He’s just a placeholder, and I can’t stand it anymore.

Not when you’re just… there. So damn close. Just out of reach, because he’s in the way.

I’ve been patient. I’ve been waiting. But now? Now, I can’t sit back and watch anymore.

Eunwoo’s too soft.

He doesn’t know how to claim anything. He’s all smiles and coldness, pretending he knows what’s best for you, but he doesn’t.

He’s just playing the part.

And it’s time to put an end to that.

I glance at the kitchen, my thoughts darkening as I hear him talking to you.

He thinks he’s helping you, but all I can see is a fucking puppet acting like he belongs here.

I’m better than him. Hell, I deserve to be here more than he does. This house?

This job? It should be mine.

The rules? Are already mine to enforce.

I should’ve been the one you turned to. Not him You should’ve been mine from the start.

He walks out of the kitchen, his usual smug expression still plastered on his face.

I can’t stand it.

I don’t care if he’s a “good guy” or whatever. He’s in my way, and that’s all that matters now.

The idea starts to form. Slowly, at first. Then it hits me like a truck.

What if I fired him? What if I became the butler?

No more Eunwoo, no more outsider pretending to be what I should’ve been.

I can do this. I will do this.

I’m better for you. I know what you need. More than anyone. More than that fucking idiot.

He’s just a temporary fix. I’m the real deal.

I close my eyes, letting that thought sink in. I’ll show you, I think. I’ll be the one who gives you everything you need.

Not him.

Not that doll. Me.

And when he’s gone, when Eunwoo’s out of the picture and it’s just me and you, things are going to be different. Better.

I can’t wait to make you see that. To make you realize you’ve always needed me.

And then? Then, I’m going to remind you exactly who you should be with. No more distractions. No more pretending.

I hear Eunwoo’s voice again— laughing, talking to you like he’s your equal.

Like he has any right to be here. I can feel my teeth grind as I press my hand against the wall.

I want to tear the whole place apart. But I know better. I’ll play this slow. Play it right.

I’ll wait.

But not for long.

•••

Eunwoo sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone screen.

The house. The mansion.

It’s all starting to feel suffocating.

He’s been living here for what feels like forever now, taking care of everything in Mr. Jeon’s absence.

And the constant presence of you with your flirtatious glances and constant teasing, only makes it worse.

He can’t escape it.

You’re everywhere.

And frankly, he’s had enough.

But as he leans back on his bed, running a hand through his disheveled hair, a new notification buzzes on his phone.

It’s from Mr. Jeon.

He opens the message, his heart pounding for reasons he can’t quite understand.

Eunwoo, we’ve made arrangements. You are no longer needed in the house. There’s someone else we’ve chosen to take over. We appreciate everything you’ve done, but please pack your things. Don’t contact YN unless I say otherwise.

The words hit him like a cold splash of water. His stomach tightens, and for a second, he thinks he might be dreaming.

No. This can’t be real.

He stares at the message in disbelief, his grip tightening around his phone.

He scans it again, hoping for some sign that it’s a joke. But no, it’s crystal clear.

He’s being replaced.

Replaced.

His mind races. He’s been here for months, helping out, maintaining everything.

Mr. Jeon has always been distant, and you… well, you have been nothing but a problem.

A beautiful, infuriating problem.

The flirting, the jokes, the little games. At first, he thought it was harmless, but over time, it wore on him.

But despite his annoyance, he’d always been there for you. He’d made himself available, like he should have.

Yet, after all this time, all the care he’s put into the house and the way he’s tried to keep things smooth, he’s out.

And you?

You’ve been playing your games, too. Constantly teasing him, giving him these looks— like you know how badly you’re getting under his skin.

But now?

It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.

His phone slips from his hand, clattering onto the bed, as he rubs his temples.

Why did it have to end like this?

He stands, pacing around the room, his mind working overtime.

He knows he can’t stay here much longer, but he refuses to leave without some kind of explanation.

Some closure.

Then, the thought hits him.

Maybe it’s you. Maybe Mr. Jeon’s decision has something to do with you.

The way you flirt with him.

The way you tease him, your constant presence in his life, even when he doesn’t want it.

You’ve always been a distraction, a chaotic one, and maybe it’s finally gotten to Mr. Jeon.

A twisted part of Eunwoo wants to confront you, to demand answers.

But he knows that won’t do anything. Honestly, it is not your fault and You’re a force he can’t control.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

He can’t leave this place, not without feeling like he’s lost something.

And as for you?

Well, he’s going to miss you. In his own way.

Even if it’s just for the sheer annoyance of it all.

•••

You wake up to the soft light of the morning filtering through the curtains. As soon as you open your eyes, there is a huge smile on your face.

The house is eerily quiet, almost like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You stretch, rubbing your eyes, still feeling the weight of yesterday’s events.

Honestly, it was such a nice night yesterday.

Your mind drifts back to Eunwoo, his cold demeanor, his calmness, and that strange little smile when you tried to get him to play games with you.

But today feels different. Something’s off. The house feels emptier.

You push the sheets off your legs and stand, the floor cool beneath your bare feet.

You feel the sudden need to wander, to escape the quiet of your room and distract yourself from the gnawing feeling in your chest.

As you walk down the hallway, you pass the door to Eunwoo’s bedroom. It’s cracked open just slightly.

You stop. Something compels you to push the door open, just enough to peek inside.

And there he is.

Eunwoo, packing his things. His clothes are neatly folded, his things carefully placed in a bag.

You blink, feeling your chest tighten.

“Eunwoo?” Your voice is small, unsure.

He doesn’t look up at first. It’s like he didn’t even hear you, but then, after a beat, he straightens and turns toward you, his face unreadable.

“I’m leaving,” he says quietly, as if the words don’t even matter.

You freeze, not sure if you heard him correctly. “What?”

You repeat, the word escaping your lips like a breathless gasp.

“What do you mean? You can’t just leave.”

He’s just messing with you… right because this has to be a fucking joke.

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression distant, like he’s already miles away in his mind.

“I’m done here,” he says, his tone calm but final. “They’re bringing someone else in. A new butler. I don’t need to be here anymore.”

Your heart sinks.

The words hit you harder than you expected, and before you even realize it, your eyes are welling up with tears.

You bite your lip, trying to hold it together, but it’s like everything from the past few days, all the teasing, the flirting, the silence, crashes down on you all at once.

“No…” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. “Please, don’t leave…”

Eunwoo stands still, his gaze softening for just a moment as he watches the tears that you’re trying desperately to hold back. You don’t know why it hurts so much..

why his leaving hits you like this.

It’s not like you were close.

He’s always been distant, cold, and you’ve been pushing him away with your flirtations and teasing.

But now, standing there in front of him, watching him pack, you feel like you’re losing something you didn’t even know you wanted.

“I’m sorry,” Eunwoo mutters, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have been so… cold.”

His words surprise you. For a moment, you just stare at him, unsure if he’s serious.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he adds, his expression softening even further.

It’s strange.

You’ve never seen him like this before, and it makes your chest tighten even more.

You wipe at your eyes, trying to steady your breath. “I didn’t want you to leave,” you say quietly, your voice shaking. “I didn’t think I’d miss you.”

Eunwoo is hesitating and for the first time since you’ve known him, you see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how to respond to your vulnerability.

“I didn’t know you cared,” he admits quietly.

“I—;” you pause, not sure how to explain it. “I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it.”

For a moment, the air between you two is thick with unspoken things.

You can feel the weight of the silence wrapping around you, and your emotions threaten to spill over again.

Eunwoo steps toward you slowly, closing the distance between you.

“Don’t cry,” he says, his voice gentler now. “It wasn’t my intention to make you upset. I didn’t think…”

He trails off, clearly unsure of what to say. His eyes meet yours, and this time, there’s no judgment, no walls between you. Just softness.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and this time it feels real.

You sniffle, trying to steady yourself, but it’s no use. The tears come, and you don’t fight them anymore.

“I didn’t think I’d feel like this,” you confess. “I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

Eunwoo looks at you, his face still soft but thoughtful, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of something behind his eyes.

Maybe it’s regret. Maybe it’s more than that.

“Maybe I’ve been too cold,” he says, taking a hesitant step closer. “Maybe… maybe I was wrong.”

The vulnerability in his voice catches you off guard.

For a moment, you forget that he’s been so distant all this time.

Maybe he’s not as unaffected as you thought.

Maybe you weren’t the only one pretending.

As you look at him, the space between you two seems to shrink.

You can feel your heartbeat quicken, but the words you want to say don’t come.

And in that moment, you realize—

Eunwoo’s departure isn’t just about him leaving.

It’s about the fact that, somehow, you’ve become attached to him without even meaning to.

And now, he’s about to walk out of your life.

Fuck no.

[hotchnerwrites]

Heyy!!! Oh my god i love your writings SO MUCH i am obsessed!! And i have a request 💘💘 can you do Hotch and girlfriend just moving in together after some times of dating and Hotch noticing issues with her eating habits, her putting on home workout videos at night after dinner out of nowhere etc etc? You can do however you like smut, fluff, angst whatever feels right. YOU'RE GREAT! LOVE YOU💋💋💋💋💘💘💘 CANT WAIT!

Not So Fancy

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: SFW, allusions to smut, mentions of disordered eating, hurt/comfort

A/N: hello hello!!! thank you so much for your kind words and your patience <333 really appreciate it. i hope you don't mind, i changed your request just a little bit to make it more of a oneshot rather than many events building up. if you'd still like me to write it as separate events, please feel free to shoot me another req! more than happy to do so. anyway, i really hope you like this and it's what you wanted. enjoy the read! mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open. Send me stuff! Please read the rules before asking, and be advised there is a slight wait time right now. But I will post for sure. :)

The air was still thick with the warmth of what you’d just shared. 

You lay with your head on Aaron’s chest, his arms wrapped around you. You could hear his heartbeat beating rhythmically. Steady. Reliable. 

His fingers traced gentle patterns against your skin, and you inhaled deeply, trying to match your breathing to his pulse. But even as you lay there, content for a moment, the familiar unease still tugged at your bones, hidden beneath the surface.

Aaron stirred then, breaking you out of your reverie. He stretched his arms above his head with a satisfied sigh, ensuring not to jostle you. “You hungry?” He asked, kissing the top of your head, “Wanna eat in bed? I’ll grab some snacks.”

A simple question. So why did the malaise keep spreading?

You’d been trying to avoid this. It’s not that you weren’t hungry, but the idea of food right now felt like too much. So you forced a smile and said, “No, I’m fine,” hoping he wouldn’t notice. You weren’t trying to be difficult, but you couldn’t help it. “Thank you, though,” you added, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. 

But Aaron noticed. He always did. The way your shoulders tensed and how you instinctively tried to curl inwards. He didn’t even need to profile you; he had always been able to read you like an open book.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice, though it was clear he was picking up on something more. “What about some chips, or maybe some chocolate? I’ve got those After-8 Mints you love…”

“No,” you cut him off a little too quickly, trying to make your voice sound as casual as possible. “I really just don’t wanna eat right now.”

His eyes were on you now, playfulness gone. You could feel him searching your gaze, trying to make sense of every micro-expression. You were already naked under the sheets, but this— this exposed you. Like a bloodied shard of glass laid bare for him to inspect. And you hated it.

"Hey," Aaron said softly, his tone muted, "Talk to me. What’s going on? You’ve barely eaten today."

You hesitated, trying to push away the knot in your stomach, but it only seemed to tighten with every word he spoke. You sat up slightly, arms wrapped tightly around your knees, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“I’m fine, Aaron,” you said, this time with more firmness, though your voice still trembled ever so slightly. “Really. I’m just not hungry.”

Aaron's gaze softened for a moment, but there was something behind his eyes—a concern, a quiet worry. He knew you too well by now to let this slide. “What about something light, then? Maybe some fruit? Or just a little snack?” His voice stayed gentle, but there was no mistaking the way he was probing now, trying to find a way in.

“No, Aaron. I don’t want anything.” You sighed, growing more agitated, your patience beginning to wear thin. “I really just don’t wanna eat right now, okay?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened slightly as he leaned back on the bed, still watching you closely. “You’ve been saying that for the past few days. And every time, you get more and more distant. What's going on, really?"

You tried to brush it off, but it was starting to feel like a pressure cooker, the conversation simmering beneath the surface. The fact that Aaron wasn’t backing down only made you more defensive. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation was about to go in a direction you didn’t want it to.

“I told you, I’m fine,” you snapped a little too harshly, your shoulders stiffening. You tried to turn away from him, hoping he’d drop it. "I just don’t feel like eating right now."

But Aaron wasn’t about to let it go. His voice dropped a few degrees, and you could hear the frustration underneath the calm. “Okay, stop. I’ve seen what’s going on. You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal, but it is. You’ve barely touched any food, and I’ve noticed you sneaking in workouts late at night. You’re pushing yourself too hard, and I can’t just stand by and pretend like I don’t see it.”

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around yourself as if it would shield you from the tension growing between you two. You wanted to hide, to bury the feelings, but he was too sharp, too attentive. 

“I’m just trying to get healthy,” you said quickly, hoping it would be enough of an excuse to end the conversation. “I’m just making some changes, Aaron. That’s all.”

His eyes searched yours, a mixture of confusion and concern in his gaze. “Get healthy? You’re already healthy. You don’t need to starve yourself or overexert yourself to be that. What’s really going on?”

You hesitated for a moment, trying to formulate something that wouldn’t make you sound ridiculous. But the truth was, you didn’t know how to explain it without feeling vulnerable—without feeling exposed.

“I just... I don’t know,” you began, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You’re a big, important man, Aaron. You’re a fancy guy, and I just feel like... I don’t know. I want to match up with you. To look the way you deserve. To be perfect, especially around your coworkers. You always have everything together, and I don’t want to be the one who looks out of place. I don’t want them to look at me like I’m... less than.”

He didn’t say anything after your little speech. He wasn’t even making eye contact. The silence stretched on. This was exactly why you hadn’t said a word. 

You stared down at your hands, your nails digging into your palms from how tightly you were clenching them. Humiliation prickled under your skin. You wished you could claw the words back into your mouth, pretend none of it had ever been said.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, trying to withdraw the moment. “Forget it. I don’t know why I—”

“Stop.”

His voice wasn’t sharp. It was soft—firm in the way only Aaron Hotchner could be when he actually cared about something. It rooted you to the spot.

Finally, finally, he looked up at you. His brow was furrowed like he was thinking so hard it hurt. And then he said, very quietly, almost like he was forcing it out:

“You don’t need to look a certain way for me. Or for anyone. I love you just as you are—just you.”

You blinked at him.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” he continued, the words sounding clumsy in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to letting them out. “I care about you. You could show up to a Bureau gala in pyjamas and I wouldn’t—”

He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. His ears were slightly pink.

The ache in your chest tightened, loosened, tightened again.

“I’m… I’m just trying to get healthy,” you repeated— weakly, stupidly. Trying to hold on to the walls you’d built.

Aaron didn’t argue anymore. He simply reached over, gently touching your hand. “I don’t need you to be anything but who you are. Healthy doesn’t mean forcing yourself to be something you’re not, and it doesn’t mean changing to meet some idea of perfection. And honestly, I think you already look pretty perfect to me.”

There was a long silence between you, the tension beginning to dissolve. No grand gestures or big speeches—just him showing you he understood, and that you didn’t have to prove anything.

“You... you don’t think I’m embarrassing?” you asked, his words acting like a balm on your heart.

Hotch let out a breath that was almost — almost — a laugh. 

“No," he said. "I think you’re the only thing that feels easy anymore.”

The world tilted a little sideways. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re not so fancy either, Agent Hotchner,” you mumbled, leaning into the warmth of his embrace.

Thanks for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[lila-lou]

✨Talking you through✨

Summary: Jensen talking you through it. This is honestly just pure filth, no plot, lol.

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 1111

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction.

Jensen settled between your thighs, his hands framing your hips like he was grounding both of you and when he pressed the thick head of him against you…fuck.

You were so wet for him, beyond ready, but he was big. Bigger than you'd ever had. Bigger than your body knew what to do with.

The stretch was instant, overwhelming, your breath hitching, fingers curling tight into his arms as he pushed just barely inside.

Jensen stilled immediately, cursing quietly against your skin, his voice shaking. "Fuuuuck… baby, you're tight…", he whispered, pure awe, reverent. "So fucking tight around me".

You gasped softly, hips shifting on instinct but feeling him stretch you in a way that made your whole body shudder.

"You feel…", he groaned, voice rough, "like you were made for me".

He pressed another inch in, slow, patient, groaning every inch like it was the sweetest thing ever and torture combined.

"You can take it", he whispered against your cheek, his lips brushing your jaw, encouraging and wrecked all at once. "You're doing so good for me".

Every slow push in had you gasping, struggling to take him fully — your thighs trembling, fingers digging into his back.

"Relax, baby", he soothed, kissing you slow, full of heat and patience. "Let me in… just feel me… that's it… let me fill you".

He rocked his hips slowly, every inch sliding deeper, stretching you until your body finally gave in and welcomed all of him.

When he bottomed out, seated deep, thick and pulsing inside you, both of you stilled.

Breathing hard. Wrecked.

Jensen's forehead pressed against yours, eyes squeezed shut, like he was holding on by a thread. "That's it", he whispered, full of disbelief and pure devotion. "My good girl… takin' all of me".

Jensen stayed there, buried so deep inside you it felt like he was a part of you. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath coming in heavy, careful pulls against your lips. His hands were everywhere — smoothing up your sides, rubbing your hip, grounding you like he felt how overwhelmed you were.

You could feel the slight shake in his arms, in his control, like it was costing him everything not to move — not to just lose himself in you completely.

But fuck… he was patient.

“This okay?”, he whispered, so close his lips brushed yours. “Tell me, baby”.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “Feels… so full”.

His soft, broken chuckle ghosted over your mouth, not teasing, but so full of warmth.

“You are full”, he whispered, kissing you slow, sweet. “You’ve got all of me, sweetheart… every inch”.

Your hands slid over his back, nails lightly tracing down the tense muscles there, feeling the way he shuddered under your touch.

“Can I move?”, he asked again, still asking, still careful even though you could feel him trembling from holding back.

“Yes…”, you breathed, voice barely there. “Please…”.

And fuck — that please… It wrecked him.

He kissed you once, hard, deep, almost like he needed your taste to anchor him, before pulling his hips back so, so slowly.

And the drag of him inside you, the stretch, the impossible pull, made you gasp, body clenching instinctively around him.

Jensen groaned low, deep in his throat, his control fraying instantly.

“Fuck…”, he hissed through gritted teeth. “Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt…”.

He pushed back in just as slowly, his hands holding you steady, guiding your hips as if to help your body adjust to every deliberate, patient thrust.

And every slide of him made your breath catch harder. Made your thighs shake.

You couldn’t hold back the soft whimpers spilling from your lips, barely able to take him, but craving every second of it.

“Look at you”, Jensen groaned, barely pulling back to glance down between your bodies, watching the way he disappeared inside you like it undid him completely. “Takin’ me so well… stretchin’ so pretty around me…”.

You were so full of him.

Your body stretched tight around Jensen as he stayed buried to the hilt, barely breathing, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you shaking from just how deep he was inside you.

“Fuck”, he whispered, voice already wrecked, his hips still. “You feel that?”.

You nodded, breath caught in your throat, your legs wrapped around his waist like your body knew exactly where it wanted him. Where he belonged.

“I’m so deep in you, baby…”, he growled, pulling his hips back just an inch before pushing forward again — slow, smooth, dragging every thick inch through your soaked heat. “Fuck… you’re so tight”.

You whimpered, hands clutching his arms, nails digging in. He was stretching you in the most overwhelming, addicting way, like your body didn’t know how to handle all of him but never wanted to let go.

“That’s it”, he rasped, watching your face as he did it again, another deep, grinding thrust. “You like that? You like how full you are right now?”.

“Yes”, you gasped, your voice already breaking.

His grin was dark, cocky, but full of heat.

“You’re fucking dripping for me”, he whispered into your ear. “You hear that?”. He pulled back just enough so your soaked slick made the filthiest sound between you, and the groan that tore out of him was pure filth. “That’s all for me, isn’t it?”.

You nodded, breathless.

“Say it”.

“It’s for you”, you whispered, flushed and desperate. “I’m this wet for you, Jensen”.

That broke something in him.

He grabbed your hips, started moving a little faster now — not rough, not hard — just deeper. Thicker. Every thrust brushing your most sensitive spot, every drag of his cock through your soaked walls making your toes curl.

“Fuck, baby”, he groaned, eyes locked on yours, sweat on his brow. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you? Just from my cock. Just from me stretching this sweet little pussy”.

You whimpered, and that sound had him right there with you.

“Yeah, that’s right”, he growled, thumb reaching down to press tight circles on your clit, rubbing just how you needed it. “I can feel you clenching. You’re close”.

You were — every muscle in your body locked, breath coming in short, helpless gasps.

“Come on, sweetheart”, he whispered, thrusting deep, voice rough and low. “I want to feel it”.

You shattered.

A cry escaped your lips as you came hard around him, your body locking, your vision blurring and Jensen groaned like it destroyed him, like you falling apart on his cock was the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[monicfever]

hiii angel!! i was wondering of you'd do something for dex and reader who has severe attachment and abandonment issues? i love love love your work sm!! <33

ben poindexter x attachment/abandonment!issues reader. 𝜗𝜚 headcanon’s

r e q u e s t e d ♡

cw ᝰ .ᐟ co dependency ,, toxic relationship probably? idk my heart shaped glasses are on ,, gender neutral reader ,, it’s dex so .. yah

DEX knows that kind of fear. the kind that makes your chest ache when someone takes too long to reply. the kind that whispers they’re leaving. so when you get quiet and distant and paranoid, he doesn’t take it personal. doesn’t get mad when you ask for reassurance three times in ten minutes — just pulls you into his arms and says it again: i’m not leaving. i’m right here.

he literally doesn’t know how to process being wanted this much. this is probably one of the most ideal scenarios out there for him.

emotional dependency. if one of you is upset, you can’t focus on anything until the other is calmed down.

dex lets you kiss his pulse when he’s scared. he won’t say it out loud, but it grounds him — to feel your lips where his heart beats. to know someone wants him alive. you let him kiss your wrist in return.

he lets you cling. he needs it too, if he’s being honest. lets you tangle your limbs around him like a lifeline. lets you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and real and not going anywhere.

the relationship isn’t about space, it’s about closeness. constant closeness. suffocatingly sweet, terrifyingly intense closeness.

you joke about being codependent and he nods like it’s a compliment. like, yeah? obviously.

you’ve both made it a habit to over-reassure each other when you talk about friends or exes. like, you’ll say “she’s nice, but she’s not you. no one makes me feel like you do.” dex’ll say “he’s cool, but you’re mine.” and it never sounds forced. it sounds like medicine.

you’ve both had full-blown meltdowns over someone going to the store without saying goodbye. the smallest silence, the smallest gap in communication triggers that deep, clawing fear: they left. they didn’t think it mattered.

both have habits to constantly reassure each other you're still chosen. dex will tap your thigh three times — his silent code for i love you, i'm here, i’m not leaving. you squeeze his hand in return — i know, i feel it, don’t stop.

he sends voice notes when he knows you’re spiraling. tells you exactly what he’s doing, exactly when he’ll be home. never ghosts, never disappears. he knows what that does to someone.

lets you repeat yourself. lets you doubt. lets you cry. he gets it — how love feels like something that could vanish if you breathe wrong. he lets you see him anxious, too. the tapping, the pacing, the tension in his jaw. not to make you feel guilty — but so you know you’re not alone. you don’t scare him. he’d rather have you panicked and clinging to him than not have you at all.

it’s terrifying how much he loves you. he needs you like air, like sleep, like the pills he forgets to take when he's too busy watching your location update on his phone. he never calls it stalking. he calls it making sure you’re okay. calls it looking out for you. calls it love.

he adores that you’re clingy. never complains. never rolls his eyes. in fact, the more you need him, the calmer he feels. finally, someone who wants him like that. who’s just as intense. neither of you go anywhere alone unless it’s absolutely necessary. if you could, you’d share one nervous system. always touching — pinkies hooked, shoulders pressed, legs tangled.

both of you panic when the other doesn’t answer the phone right away. he’s texting “where are you? are you okay?” while you're calling back in a frenzy thinking he got hurt.

falling asleep on top of him. always. his chest, his lap, draped across his body like a weighted blanket. he’d stop breathing before he’d ask you to move.

you panic when he leaves. even if he says it’s nothing big, even if it’s just a quick job. you cling to him at the door, voice cracking as you whisper “what if you don’t come back?” — dex melts. completely. cups your face in both hands, presses your forehead to his and says “hey. i’m coming back. i always come back to you.”

he leaves behind a hoodie that smells like him. a voicemail saying “i love you” just in case. his location’s always on. he double checks the locks before he goes. triple checks if you’re crying.

the second he’s home he’s dropping everything at the door, walking straight to you like he’s been starving. wraps his arms around you and mumbles, “missed you so bad. i’m sorry, i’m here now. i’m not going anywhere baby, i’ve got you.” you’re curled up on the couch in his hoodie, cheeks blotchy from crying, and he’s just standing there staring at you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. like, he thinks you’re so adorable when you need him. “gonna make it up to you,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair while you cling to him. “wont go anywhere without you. won’t even go to the bathroom without you, swear to god.”

and he doesn’t. for the next 24 hours he’s glued to your side, follows you around the house like a puppy. lays on top of you like a weighted blanket, kisses every inch of your face until you start laughing through the tears.

you’re in his lap while he eats. in his lap while he watches tv. he literally can’t function unless you’re physically touching him. one hand on your thigh, arm slung around your shoulder, pinkies linked — something.

if you say “i thought you were gonna die,” he gets so soft. kisses the corner of your eye, strokes your cheek with the back of his hand and says, “you really love me that much, huh?” like he’s shy about it.

he thinks it’s so cute when you get possessive too. like if you cling to his sleeve when someone flirts with him, he leans in and kisses you right there, smiling against your mouth.

you both have those breakdowns where it’s not even words, just shaking and holding each other like it’s the only thing keeping your hearts beating. and every time he promises it again. even if he already said it twenty times that day. “i’m not going anywhere. i couldn’t even if i wanted to. you’ve got me forever.”

one time he tried to leave in the middle of the night for something “quick.” didn’t want to wake you. but you did wake up — reached out, found the bed empty, and by the time he was at the door, you were sobbing in the hallway. he immediately dropped his bag, walked back to you with the most heartbroken look on his face. cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing your tears away. you clung to him so tight he just sank to the floor with you, held you there until the sun came up. whispered over and over, “shhh. i’m not mad. you’re allowed to need me. i love it when you need me.”

he started letting you tag along after that. even if it’s just waiting in the car. even if you’re not doing anything. he’d rather see your worried face through the windshield than not see you at all.

he talks to you through his earpiece. “you still there, baby?” / “mhm.” / “talk to me. tell me what you’re gonna make me for dinner. i just wanna hear your voice.” and if you do stay home, he calls during the job. on the job. literally ducking behind cover like “hey, yeah, just wanted to say i miss you. i’ll be home soon, okay?” - - que him throwing a rock at matts forehead without even looking. when he comes back, he doesn’t even take off his boots before grabbing your face and kissing you breathless. muttering “you okay? did you cry? i missed you.” (part of him secretly likes it when you cry over him.)

he’ll cancel plans to stay in bed with you. has zero problem being irresponsible if it means holding you through a panic attack or a clingy spiral.

absolutely calls you pet names when you’re anxious. “sweetheart,” “angel,” “my baby.” says them soft and slow, like a lullaby, until you settle in his arms.

he wants the mess. wants the tears. wants the clinginess. it makes him feel safe. it makes him feel real. desired. if you ever try to apologize for needing too much he cuts you off with a kiss. “you’re exactly what i’ve always wanted.”

if you ever pull back, even just a little — even for a second — he goes absolutely wild. not in a “calm down” kind of way. in a “no, no, no” kind of way, like you’re slipping through his fingers. the moment you don’t immediately reach for him, his chest tightens, his heart rate picks up. “what’s wrong? don’t you want me?”

if you stop needing him for a second, even in a non-desperate, non-needy way, he can’t breathe. he panics. he feels his whole world shattering. like you’re getting ready to leave him. your clinginess feeds him. he knows you care. if you even accidentally pull away or seem like you’re trying to give him some space, he’s on you within seconds. wrapping his arms around you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart. he cracks when you show signs of independence. he thinks it’s a sign you’re going to disappear.

his mind works overtime, spiraling into the idea that if you don’t cling to him, if you don’t hold him like you’re terrified of losing him — then you will leave him.

starts to feel resentful of anything that takes you away from him. if you hang out with friends, if you don’t text him back immediately, if you want time for yourself, it all feels like a slow rejection.

will whine or get genuinely upset if you don’t show enough physical affection. even if he’s the one who’s too clingy, he’ll act like you’ve abandoned him just for pulling away for a minute.

he doesn’t like when you act like you’ve got it together. when you try to be strong without him. it makes him feel like you don’t need him anymore, like he’s invisible. “i thought you needed me. i thought i was the one you couldn’t live without.”

obsessive, compulsive tracking. you go to the store? he needs to know when you’re leaving, when you’re back, what you bought. stalker tendencies. if you leave for a moment, if you go out alone — he’ll follow. just to make sure you’re not leaving him or finding someone else.

he listens to you so obediently. whatever you say goes. if you tell him to stay close, he doesn’t question it. if you tell him to sit down, he’ll drop whatever he’s doing and sit at your feet.

he’ll drop everything for you. his work, his hobbies, his interests — none of it matters if you need him.

both of you feed into each other’s worst fears: being abandoned, being alone. you make excuses for each other, let each other get away with anything just to avoid the uncomfortable idea of ever losing the other.

he enjoys knowing that you're so wrapped up in him, that when you feel abandoned, it’s almost as if the world is crumbling. he doesn’t want to be cruel, but he can’t help the rush it gives him knowing you’ll always look to him first for validation, for connection.

dex knows exactly how to get under your skin when you're struggling with your abandonment issues. when you try to shut him out emotionally, he’s the one to make you feel like it’s impossible to be without him. the more you get lost in your own head, the more he thrives on being your constant. when your insecurities flare up he doesn’t give you space; he pulls you in closer, touches you in ways that ground you. dex loves that you fall apart when he isn’t there. when you shut down or spiral into your own head, he sees it as proof that you can’t exist without him.

when you catch him spiraling, getting quiet, withdrawn, convinced you’re gonna leave - you drop everything to hold him. he clings to your shirt and hides his face in your neck like a kid. he never had that kind of comfort growing up, and now he craves it from you. only you.

when either of you even jokes about leaving, the other shuts it down immediately. it’s not funny. not even a little. you both get too in your heads about it, replaying it for hours after, paranoid it wasn’t a joke at all.

you both feed off each other’s clinginess. if one of you starts it — handsy, needy, whispering you can’t sleep without them — the other doubles it, tenfold. suddenly you're locked in each other’s arms like the world’s ending and only this moment exists.

keeps one of your things with him at all times. could be a hoodie, a piece of jewelry, even a chapstick you used once. he doesn’t tell you, but when he’s losing it, he holds it like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. when you find it and realize he’s been carrying it around? you start doing it too.

neither of you knows how to fight without the deep-rooted panic that this will be the one that ends it. dex raises his voice once, and your heart drops into your stomach. you go quiet and his hands are already in his hair, begging under his breath — “don’t shut down. don’t leave.”

when one of you leaves the room for more than ten minutes without saying where you’re going, the other’s already pacing. it’s ridiculous. dex once came back from a shower to find you curled up on the floor thinking he bailed. now he always announces where he’s going. even if it’s just the kitchen.

when one of you is away for too long, you both lose sleep. it’s not just missing each other. it’s panic. dex gets snappy and withdrawn, you get dramatic and anxious. the reunion is always intense. too many emotions, too much relief.

he doesn’t just get protective. he gets viciously protective when you talk about past relationships, past abandonments. he hates thinking about you being hurt before him. loving someone before him.

sometimes dex gets so overwhelmed by how much he loves you that he just shuts down. goes quiet. curls up against you and buries his face in your stomach, you play with his hair until he comes back.

you both hate sleeping without the other now. you try to be normal about it, but you wake up nauseous. dex stares at the door like you might walk in. even one night apart leaves you both off balance. you sleep facing each other a lot. turning your back feels like a statement, and neither of you could survive misinterpreting that in the dark.

he picks up on your micro-expressions instantly. your blink patterns, how you fidget when you’re upset, how your smile twitches when you’re scared. he watches you like a survival manual. you do the same to him — he calls it creepy as a joke, but he melts every time.

dex starts fights on purpose when he’s scared you’re pulling away. just to make sure you care.

your phone backgrounds are each other. not even cute aesthetic photos — full-on, raw, vulnerable pictures.

you both keep little mementos from each other. you write notes to each other constantly. on mirrors, on receipts, on the backs of your hands. he has every post-it note you’ve ever written. you keep a receipt from a gas station because he held your hand in the parking lot and told you he’d never let go. you keep them like relics. like insurance against loneliness.

when one of you gets triggered or panicky, the other instinctively lowers their voice, softens their movements, goes small. you both know what it’s like to be too scared to ask for comfort.

every time one of you has a nightmare, the other doesn’t ask what it was. not unless you want to say it. instead, the rule is: water, forehead kiss, wrap around each other until your breathing syncs. the night resets when you find each other again.

there’s a rule: never leave the house angry. ever. if you fight, you sit on the floor, back to back, and you breathe. five minutes. ten. until the tension melts.

you keep a shared notebook for when the feelings are too big. you write letters to each other in it, especially on hard days. sometimes dex scribbles “i love you even when you’re quiet.” and leaves it on your pillow. you write back: “i love you when you’re angry. i know why you get that way.”

dex lets you trace his scars when you’re anxious, over and over. even the ones he usually hides. you do it like it’s sacred. like every inch of him deserves love. when he can’t breathe, you ask him to trace your spine, your jaw, your hands. it calms him every time.

dex keeps a note in his phone called “what to do when they’re hurting.” it’s just little things you’ve said helped. your favourite snacks. songs that pull you back. the way you like your hair touched.

you both panic when the other one sleeps too still. like — is that still breathing? dex has absolutely leaned over you, whispered “baby?” until you stirred just slightly. and you’ve done the same, barely touching his chest with your fingers to feel it rise.

marks you up when he’s jealous. hickeys, scratches, bite marks in places only he’ll see. for control — for comfort, for proof. you do the same. a little too hard with your nails. a kiss with too much teeth.

he absolutely malfunctions when you compliment him too earnestly. like, he can take teasing or playful flattery, but if you look at him dead serious and say something he stares at you like you’ve knocked the wind out of him.

he doesn’t know how to handle the way you hover when he’s injured or just tired. like bringing him water, checking his face for any sign of discomfort, asking “need anything?” every ten minutes. he’s never had someone be gentle with him like that, it completely unravels him.

becomes totally silent when you trace his features. like, drag your fingers over his cheekbones, his brow, his jaw — just looking at him like he’s something sacred. he leans into your palm every time.

dex absolutely gets flustered when you praise him in front of people. casual stuff — “he’s so good at that,” or “he takes care of me better than anyone ever has.”

he loves being watched. like when he’s doing something totally mundane — loading a gun, brushing his teeth, pacing — and he notices you looking at him like you’re obsessed. it short-circuits him a little. he tries to act normal, but it makes his skin burn in a good way.

once got really quiet after you hugged him from behind and just held him there. no words. no tension. just arms around his waist, your cheek against his back.

when he’s being moody or short, you don’t fight back. you just cup his jaw, tilt his face toward yours, and say “talk to me.” it undoes him completely. you never use that voice unless you’re pulling the hurt out of him like a splinter.

he is always waiting to be “too much” for you. too cold. too quiet. too angry.

he can always tell when you’re spiraling in your head, even if you don’t say a word. maybe you’re fidgeting with your hands, chewing your lip, or just not making eye contact. he’ll pull you into his space, drape a heavy arm around your shoulders, and rest his head on top of yours. you don’t need to explain; he already knows. sometimes, he’ll just leave a kiss on your temple and wait, and that’s all it takes for you to calm down a little.

when you’re feeling overwhelmed in public, maybe at a party or in a crowded place, his first instinct is to reach for your hand, fingers squeezing just enough to pull you back to him. the simple pressure of his hand is enough to remind you that no matter how loud the world is, he’s here, and he won’t let you go.

when you’re on the verge of a panic attack he instantly knows. his reaction is immediate, he doesn’t try to talk you down with logic (because he knows that doesn’t work), instead, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, keeping you in his chest until you’re calm. when it’s over, he doesn’t leave you, even for a second. he’ll make sure you feel safe.

sometimes, when your abandonment issues hit, you get scared of being left alone — whether it’s him going out or just being in a different room. dex, noticing this, will make sure to be around you constantly, but in a way that doesn’t overwhelm you. if he has to leave for a bit, he’ll casually say, “i’m going to grab coffee. wanna come?” or, if you’re staying in, he’ll just hang out in the same space as you, whether it’s in the living room or the kitchen.

started 4.27.2025. finished 4.27.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

[annaswrites00]

Heatstroke

KA12 x Wolff!reader

(1.0k)

Summary - Kimi shouldn’t be locked in his drivers room with Toto’s daughter after the race, but he is… warning - none rlly, suggestive content

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing the thick, muggy air in with the both of you.

It was hot—really hot. Not the dry desert kind that stung your skin, but the post-race kind, soaked in sweat and adrenaline. The kind that clung to every breath and left a buzz in your bones. The tiny driver room in the back of the Mercedes garage was lit by nothing but the harsh overhead fluorescents, casting sterile white across the walls, the metal benches, the discarded sweat towels piled in the corner.

And him.

Kimi sat slouched on the bench, still in the lower half of his race suit, black fireproofs sticking to his chest, damp curls pushed back with one hand. He hadn’t spoken yet—not since you slipped in and locked the door behind you.

Your pulse was still high. Not just from sneaking away, but from watching him—fighting wheel-to-wheel under the floodlights, battling for every tenth. He hadn’t made podium, but P6 was solid, and he knew it.

Still, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“You okay?” you asked softly, stepping in further. Your heels clicked on the tile until you stopped just in front of him.

He looked up then. And that was it.

His gaze dragged over you—his jaw still tight, eyes dark, like the race hadn’t ended for him yet.

“I hate this place,” he muttered, dragging both hands down his face.

You gave a faint smile. “Then why are you still in your fireproofs?”

“Waiting.”

“For?”

“You.”

Your stomach dipped.

That was the thing about Kimi. He didn’t waste words. He never said anything he didn’t mean.

You swallowed and glanced at the door behind you. “We don’t have long.”

“I know.”

He didn’t stand. Just reached out, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt, tugging you forward until you were standing between his knees. He didn’t kiss you right away. He just looked up at you like he was committing every second to memory.

“You came,” he said.

“You texted.”

“You never answer when you’re with him.”

You stiffened slightly. “Kimi…”

“Toto’s not blind.”

“And you’re not careful.”

He gave a low exhale. His hands slipped around your waist, heat radiating through the fabric. His fingers brushed skin and your breath hitched.

“We should stop,” you said, but you didn’t move.

“You say that every time.”

“And we never do.”

His hands slid higher. “Why did you come?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your mouth found his before either of you could say something dangerous. It was heat and tension and the ghost of something soft that neither of you ever let breathe too long.

He pulled you into his lap in one movement, fingers threading through your hair, kiss deepening, growing hungrier. The air was too hot, your clothes stuck to your skin, and all you could feel was him—everywhere. The fireproofs, the sweat, the thundering heat between you.

He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You can’t keep looking at me like that in front of your father.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you breathed, but your voice wavered.

“Today after qualifying—he was right there, and you gave me that smile.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was smiling at the data.”

Kimi smirked. “You’re terrible at lying.”

Your fingers curled into the back of his shirt. “You’re terrible at pretending this doesn’t mean anything.”

Something flickered in his expression then—too honest. He kissed you again to cover it.

The room was spinning now. Your legs bracketed his hips, his hands exploring under your shirt, but it wasn’t dirty. It was urgent. Like you were both chasing something you weren’t allowed to want.

Suddenly, a knock.

Sharp. Muffled. Followed by a voice.

Your father’s voice.

“Kimi? Media’s waiting. You’ve got three minutes.”

Your body froze. Kimi’s hands immediately dropped from under your shirt. The two of you stared at the door like it had grown teeth.

You scrambled off his lap, brushing your hair down, trying to cool your flushed face. He stood slower, adjusting his race suit up around his waist, running both hands through his hair like that would help.

You whispered, “Shit.”

He didn’t answer. Just grabbed a towel and wiped his face, eyes flicking to the door. Then to you.

“You need to go,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded and unlocked the door, hand lingering on the handle. You looked over your shoulder at him once—he was already turning away, grabbing his radio and slipping back into his post-race mode.

Before you left, you whispered, “Next time… maybe don’t kiss me like you mean it.”

He didn’t look at you.

But just as you closed the door behind you, you heard him say, “I always mean it.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Thanks for reading!!!

𐙚⋆°🦢.⋆ᥫ᭡

[wispitty]

(short reacts) | "you collapse from a fever" + one piece men

summary: you're burning up with a fever, but you stubbornly try to act normal until you collapse in front of him. (part 2 here)

characters: crocodile, mihawk, marco, ace, shanks, law, corazon

• ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ •

CROCODILE

You're dashing into the meeting room, pale and sweating, but forcing a bright smile even amidst the heavy breathing.

“Sorry I'm late, I just—”

The world goes white. Your knees buckle.

He’s out of his chair in less than a breath. Catches you before you hit the floor. One strong arm behind your back. His hook bracing your legs.

“You’re burning up.”

You try to speak—he cuts you off.

“Not. A word.”

Carries you out like a damn emergency evacuation. Calls off the meeting with a single glare to everyone else.

Guards whisper he looked like Death itself walking down the corridors towards the infirmary—but he was holding an angel.

MIHAWK

You’re trying to leave the sparring yard, gripping the wall. Shaky.

He sees the way your steps drag. The sweat on your brow.

“You look unwell.”

“I'm fi—”

You drop.

He catches you instantly.

His arms go around you without hesitation. He pulls you to his chest.

Feels the fever.

“Fool.”

But it’s soft. Pained.

He lifts you gently. Carries you like glass. You murmur his name—he presses his forehead to yours and says:

“Never hide this from me again.”

MARCO

You’re walking toward him, waving casually, trying to ignore the way your vision is blurring.

Then your steps falter. Your legs give out.

He’s by your side before your body even touches the ground.

“Hey—hey, hey, stay with me.”

You’re flushed. Breathing fast. Hot as hell.

He lifts you up, his hand cupping the back of your head.

“You’ve been sick this whole time and didn’t say nothin’, huh?”

His smile is tight. But his voice is soft.

“You should know better. But I’ll take care of you, yoi.”

And he does. All night. All day. Doesn’t leave your bedside once.

ACE

You stumble mid-joke, mid-strained-laugh.

He thinks it’s clumsy-you being you until your knees hit the floor.

“Hey—? Wait, are you—?”

You collapse. He catches you. Barely.

He feels the heat radiating off you and panics.

“Oh shit. AW FUCK. You're not suppose to feel like ME?!”

Carries you to the infirmary like his pants are on fire. (they are)

Keeps mumbling,

“No no no you’re okay—c’mon—why didn’t you say something—”

Won’t leave your side. Pesters Marco on why aren't you feeling better every five minutes. Kisses your forehead every ten.

And whispers,

“Please don’t scare me like that again…”

SHANKS

You're mid-conversation when your eyes glass over.

He sees it before you feel it.

“Princess?”

Then you stumble.

His arms are already around you.

“Whoa—whoa, easy now.”

You blink up at him, dazed. He’s already cradling your head. Already scowling.

“You were really gonna try to charm your way through a fever, huh? And Beckman says I’m bad.”

He lifts you against his chest like a bride on her wedding day.

“Well now I’m in charge. And you’re not leaving that bed ‘til you’re back to teasing me properly.”

Hongo's got his hands full for the next two days. Not just in tending to you, but dealing with Shanks looming over like a restless shadow.

LAW

You walk into the medbay. Try to make a joke.

He doesn’t laugh. Just watches you. Quiet.

Then—

Your world goes black.

He’s there in a second. Hands under your arms. He lowers you down slow. Checks your pulse. Your temperature. His jaw locks.

“You’re fevered. When did it start?”

You try to speak.

He presses two fingers to your lips.

“Nevermind. Just shut up and let me fix you.”

You fall asleep in his arms.

He mutters to himself while hooking you up to every comfort he can find.

“Reckless… ridiculous… perfect… idiot…”

CORAZON

You laugh too hard, that was flag one. Stumble mid-step, flag two.

Then go completely limp, red alert.

He panics.

“H-Hey?!”

You’re out cold before he catches you. He cradles your head in his shaking hands.

Feels the heat. Curses.

Picks you up immediately.

Wraps you in his jacket. Hurries to the infirmary like he’s carrying sacred treasure.

Once you're safely tucked in, he sits beside you.

Won’t sleep. Won’t eat. Just holds your hand and kisses your knuckles over and over.

Writes on a note:

“Don’t do that ever again. My heart can’t take it.”

[mugglebornmarvelite]

hi, girly girl ♡♡♡

i’m re-reading your grumpy!bucky x sunshine!reader series (bc of course i am) and i was wondering, if you’re taking requests, what your thoughts are about:

💭 something happening to sunshine!reader, during a mission or something else, and she’s emotional (maybe hurt) and frantically asking for bucky. cue extra-protective!grumpy!bucky.

k love u bye

hi, babe :))

it started out as thoughts and I worked it into a lil something something

love you more <3

You came? You called.

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: The team’s brightest light shatters after a mission gone wrong, and only one person can put her back together.

Bucky Barnes :)

Word Count: Roughly 900 words 

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injuries mentioned (barely), mentions of blood, overprotective and soft Bucky, physical and emotional distress, a lil bit of angst (but just a pinch)

Author’s Note: I don't know where I was going with this, but I tried :(

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

You’re not supposed to cry.

You're supposed to sparkle. 

You're supposed to laugh like you’ve never tasted bitterness, bounce off the walls like gravity never quite applied to you, and leave glitter bombs and rainbow cupcakes in your wake. 

You're the sunshine of the team, the chaos incarnate with fingers covered in icing from baking every other day, held together by too much energy and not enough fear.

But right now, you’re sobbing, shaking so hard it rattles your bones.

The safe house is too quiet. 

Too sterile. 

You hate the quiet.

Your world is made of giggles and explosions and yelling at Tony for calling you “a walking serotonin factory,” like it’s not the biggest compliment ever.

Steve’s kneeling next to you, his voice is soft, words calm and even, like a warm blanket. 

Nat’s crouched just behind him, her clothes smeared with blood that’s not hers. You know what that means. She already got them, the ones who hurt you.

But none of that matters.

You want him.

“Bucky,” you whisper softly, the name tumbling out between hiccups.

Steve tries to soothe you. “He’s coming, sunshine. He’s on his way.”

But that only makes it worse. It hurts, how badly you need him. The tight, aching space in your chest pulses with panic.

You try to push yourself off the couch even though your leg won't work right. The pain flares, sharp and hot, but not as bad as the panic clawing through your ribs. “I need him now. Please. I want Bucky.”

Your voice breaks, shatters into something raw and desperate.

Steve looks helpless. Even Captain America doesn’t know how to hold back the sun when it starts to implode.

Nat lays a hand on your shoulder. Her touch is light but firm. “He’s coming,” she says quietly. “He’s already ripping apart the walls to get to you.”

That sounds like him.

It helps, but not enough. 

The tears keep coming, stupid and hot, blurring everything. Your fingers grip the blanket around you, but it’s not what you want. 

You want metal and leather and the calloused hands that catch you midair when you launch off rooftops without a second thought. You want the gruff voice that mutters complaints when you bounce in front of him, bright and too close, but never pulls away.

You want Bucky.

And then he’s there.

Steve barely gets out of the way before Bucky’s next to you, metal hand cupping your cheek like you’re made of something too precious to break.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Sunshine, what did they do to you?”

Your hands reach out to grab him, clutching at his jacket, his shoulder, his neck, anything that’s him. 

You curl into him like a sunflower searching for sunlight, burying your face in his chest and gasping like you can’t breathe without him. 

He smells safe. 

Like home.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sob into him. “I was so scared. I thought…”

He’s already wrapping around you, his flesh hand holding the back of your head, metal arm tucking you into him, so close there’s no space between your body and his. “Shh. I’m here, baby. You’re safe now. I got you. Nobody’s touching you ever again.”

You nod, even as the tears soak through his shirt. His lips press to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Like, if he kisses you enough, he can erase what happened.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice trembling and watery.

“I know, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking at the edges. “I should’ve been faster.”

Steve clears his throat, somewhere behind you. “Maybe give her a second to breathe, Buck.”

“I am breathing,” you mutter into Bucky’s neck, your voice muffled but stubborn.

Bucky glares at Steve. “She wants me, she gets me. End of story.”

Nat smirks from the corner, arms crossed. “She was begging for you like the world was ending.”

“She’s my world,” Bucky shoots back without hesitation.

He tilts your chin up gently, and when your glassy eyes meet his, he winces. “Look at what they did to my baby,” he whispers. “Your face. Your leg...” He trails off, breathing hard, like he might go find the bastards and rip them apart again just for good measure.

“Nat already got them,” you say, sniffling, managing a tiny smile. “Bet she looked really cool doing it, too.”

“I wanted to be the one to end them,” he mutters darkly.

You tug on his sleeve. “You’re here now. That’s better, the best thing ever. Promise.”

He melts at that, just enough. His forehead presses to yours. “You scared me, you little menace.”

“I scare everyone,” you mumble, eyes drooping as the exhaustion catches up with you. “But you always come back.”

“Always, sunshine.” He kisses the tip of your nose, holding you like you’re breakable. “You’re my favorite chaos.”

You hum, smiling sleepily at him, and he has to look away so he doesn’t fold. “I like when you call me that.”

“I’d like it even more if you didn’t almost get yourself killed,” he mutters. “No more solo missions. No more running ahead without backup. No more playing bait.”

“But I’m good bait,” you protest, nuzzling into his chest.

“I don’t care. No more.” His voice is final. His grip is absolute. “You’re sticking with me.”

And maybe that sounds like a means of control to anyone else.

But you? You just smile.

Because you’re safe. 

Because he’s here.

Even the brightest light needs a shadow to guard it.

And Bucky Barnes is your favorite one.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings @barnesb420 @Suffereroflife @pigeonmama @yes-ilovetowrite @shadowstar1072 @serenaivy

[moongirlcleo]

Where the Willows Weep

❤︎  tags and content: spring vibes, public sex, first time, soft caleb x f! reader ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 moongirlcleo do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

A picnic in a flower-drenched meadow was supposed to be a break from your duties. Caleb had other ideas. It starts with sandwiches and sun-warmed teasing. It ends with whispered promises and blossoms tangled in your hair.

Somewhere between the two, you fall in love. Or maybe… you already were.

The knock came just as you were brushing the sleep from your eyes, sharp enough to draw you from the haze of half-formed thoughts, but not urgent, not the kind of knock that meant danger waited on the other side. It was familiar, steady—a rhythm you’d known for years.

Caleb didn’t wait for permission. He never really did, not when it came to you. The door eased open on quiet hinges, and there he was, filling the frame like he’d always belonged there, like time and distance hadn’t carved a hollow between your lives for far too long. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, dark hair still tousled from the morning, and those eyes—violet, bright, impossibly warm—were already scanning you, lingering at the way you stood still in the dim light, bare feet cold against the floor.

“Mornin' pipsqueak,” he said, and his voice was low, but touched with that easy lilt, the one he always used when he was about to push your buttons just enough to get a rise out of you. “Thought you’d be ready by now.”

You blinked at him, still caught somewhere between dreams and waking. “Ready for what?”

Caleb stepped inside, setting his jacket down on the chair like he owned the place, like this moment had been waiting for him. His eyes never left yours, and when he crossed the room, it wasn’t rushed—it was deliberate, each step pulling you a little more awake, a little more aware of just how close he was.

“For your day off,” he said, like it was something simple, something normal. But the way he looked at you, like he’d been carrying this plan in his back pocket for weeks, told you otherwise.

“I don’t have a day off,” you muttered, half-reaching for your datapad on the table, where messages from command still blinked, waiting for you.

Caleb was faster. He plucked the device from your grasp, setting it face-down with a finality that made your pulse skip.

“You do now.”

There was no room for argument in his voice, but it wasn’t sharp, wasn’t harsh. It was… certain. Solid. Like he’d already made peace with whatever trouble might come from pulling you away.

“I’ve got things to—”

“You’ve been working non-stop, barely sleeping, running on fumes, and don’t even try to tell me otherwise,” he cut in, softer now, but with that edge of something deeper—concern, maybe. Or something that looked too much like care for this early in the morning. “So yeah, pipsqueak, today? You’re mine.”

Your breath caught, not from the words, but from the way he said them—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“And what exactly does ‘being yours’ entail?” you asked, raising a brow, trying to find footing in the familiar rhythm of banter.

Caleb’s grin returned, brighter this time, laced with mischief. He leaned in, close enough that you could smell the fresh air still clinging to him, the faint trace of oil and leather that always lingered no matter where he went.

“You’ll see.”

The hum of the city still echoed faintly in your ears as Caleb guided the car through Linkon’s towering maze, the skyline slowly giving way to something less rigid, less defined. Buildings softened into silhouettes, steel and glass receding in the rearview mirror, replaced by stretches of road that felt untouched, forgotten by the pulse of Hunter life.

You sat quietly, one leg tucked beneath you, watching the way the morning light shifted through the windshield—goldening as the shadows of Linkon thinned, warmth creeping in with every mile he put between you and the place that had held you captive in routine for far too long.

Caleb’s hand was steady on the wheel, his other resting lazily on the console between you, fingers close enough that you could feel the heat of him, even when he wasn’t quite touching. He wasn’t in uniform today—just that old flight jacket you remembered from years ago, the one worn soft at the edges, stitched with memories he never spoke of but never seemed to leave behind.

The silence between you wasn’t heavy, though. It stretched comfortably, filled with the low hum of the engine and the occasional flick of his eyes toward you, quick glances that he didn’t bother to hide.

“Still trying to figure it out?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet as the city finally slipped out of view behind a rise in the road.

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Figure what out?”

He smirked, that familiar spark catching in his eyes. “Where we’re headed.”

“I thought I wasn’t getting any hints.”

“Not giving you one.” His fingers drummed lightly against the wheel, the only sign of the energy simmering just beneath his calm exterior. “Just wondering how long it’ll take you to stop thinking about where we’re going, and just enjoy the ride.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but there was no bite to it. He had a point—not that you’d admit it.

The landscape beyond Linkon was already changing, the roads narrowing, framed now by tall grasses and bursts of color as spring took root in the countryside. Wildflowers crept along the edges of the pavement, swaying lazily in the breeze, and the air seemed different somehow—less filtered, less artificial. It smelled like sunlight and new beginnings, and you found yourself leaning back into the seat, tension you hadn’t even noticed beginning to slip away.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he did.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like,” he said after a while, his tone lighter now, like he was just thinking aloud, “if we didn’t have to go back?”

You glanced over at him, but his eyes were on the road, the question hanging there, unhurried.

“Go back to what?”

He shrugged, one hand lifting from the wheel to push through his hair, the motion easy, unguarded. “All of it. Linkon. The fleet. Everything waiting for us on the other side of today.”

You didn’t answer right away. The idea was tempting, but impossible—wasn’t it?

Caleb glanced at you again, catching the flicker of doubt in your eyes, and for a moment, he looked like he might say something else. But instead, he just reached across the console, his hand finding yours, fingers curling in a way that felt like a promise.

“Not saying we have to,” he said, softer now, “but for today? Let’s pretend we don’t.”

The road narrowed until it wasn’t a road at all, just a winding dirt path flanked by new grass and the beginnings of wild violet and golden blossoms breaking through the soil. Caleb slowed the vehicle to a crawl, the hum of the engine giving way to birdsong and the whisper of the wind moving through branches overhead. The air shifted- greener, softer, sweet with blooming things, and you felt it immediately in your chest, that ache that had nothing to do with fatigue and everything to do with remembering what peace felt like.

Without a word, he parked at the edge of a rise and stepped out first, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his boots the only sound for a moment. When he came around to open your door, there was no smirk, no teasing glint in his eyes. Just that quiet, familiar warmth as he offered his hand. 

“C’mon, pipsqueak,” he said gently, voice laced with something almost reverent. “You’ve got to see this from the ground.”

You took his hand, and as soon as your boots met earth, you understood.

The meadow stretched wide below, blanketed in flowers that swayed with the rhythm of the breeze. Clusters of soft purples and whites near the tree line, buttery yellow blossoms rippling like sunlight across the grass. In the center of it all, a still pond caught the sky in its mirrored surface, ringed with delicate pink petals that floated lazily across the water. Willow trees leaned protectively overhead, their branches trailing like veils, filtering the sunlight into soft shafts of gold that painted everything in glow.

It didn’t feel real.

“Caleb…” you breathed, unable to finish the thought.

He was already watching you, his hand still loosely cradling yours.

“Knew it was still here,” he said, glancing at the pond like it was a memory he’d kept folded in his back pocket. “Used to sneak off here after drills back when I was stationed closer to Linkon. Figured if anyone deserved to see it, it’d be you.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The tightness in your throat had nothing to do with words.

Caleb stepped ahead, pulling you down a soft incline until the blooms brushed your legs. He moved through the flowers like he belonged to them, like the field had been waiting all along for this moment. A quilt was tucked under his arm, faded navy and gold, like a sky full of stars and he spread it out near the water’s edge with practiced ease, anchoring it in place with a basket he’d pulled from the back of the car.

He flopped down onto it with a sigh, arms braced behind him as he leaned back to look up at the sky through the willows.

“Well?” he called, tipping his head toward you, the sunlight catching in his eyes. “You gonna keep standing there or are you gonna let me impress you with my top-tier sandwich-making skills?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just watched him- this man with a metal arm who had walked through hell and still chose to bring beauty with him wherever he went.

And then, smiling and breathless, you ran to him.

The quilt was soft beneath your fingers, sun-warmed and familiar, and you barely had time to sit down before Caleb was already halfway through the picnic basket, mumbling to himself as he unearthed neatly wrapped bundles of food and a thermos or two. He tossed you a grin over his shoulder when he caught your stare.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said, unwrapping what looked suspiciously like a sandwich shaped by someone with very large hands and very little patience. “I’m a Colonel, pipsqueak. That means I’ve mastered the art of strategic supply raids… including Zayne’s kitchen.”

You snorted, catching a faint whiff of balsamic and something herbaceous as he handed you one of the wraps. “So what I’m hearing is this was a joint operation.”

Caleb grinned, one knee bent, forearm slung lazily across it as he took a bite of his own food. “Technically, I informed him after I’d already borrowed his ingredients. That counts as communication.”

“Uh huh.”

But your lips were already curving into a smile, and he saw it. Of course he did. He watched you as if your happiness was the only thing that mattered. As if that had always been the point.

The breeze picked up, tugging lightly at your hair, and a few stray petals caught on the edge of the quilt, trailing across your wrist. Caleb reached over, brushing one away with a soft flick of his fingers. The tips were calloused, his touch feather-light, but there was something else behind it too- something reverent.

“Got one,” he murmured, and instead of letting it fall away, he held the blossom between two fingers, then tucked it carefully behind your ear.

Your breath caught. Just a fraction, just enough.

He tilted his head, that grin softening. “There. Better.”

You stared at him, lips parted, and the sunlight broke through the willow branches behind him, catching in the flecks of violet in his eyes.

“You’re being really sweet today,” you said softly, fingers brushing instinctively at the petal in your hair.

Caleb gave a one-shouldered shrug, then leaned back on his elbows, stretching out across the quilt like he had all the time in the world. “That’s ‘cause I’ve got the best view in the galaxy right now. And I don’t mean the pond.”

You threw a half-hearted piece of crust at his chest, laughing, and he caught it with one hand without even looking, smirking like the little shit he always was. But the blush on your cheeks didn’t fade, and neither did the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing blooming in that entire field.

You lay back beside him, shoulder brushing his as you stared up through the cascading willows, petals falling slow as snow. His fingers found yours between the folds of the quilt, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your knuckles. There was no pressure, no rush.

Just the steadiness of his presence, and the warmth of his touch.

The breeze ruffled the willow branches above, casting shadows that danced across your arms and his chest. From this angle, the petals looked like stars drifting across daylight, slow and aimless, like even time had given in to the softness of this place.

Caleb’s thumb was still moving in lazy circles over the back of your hand, your fingers loosely tangled. It wasn’t the kind of touch meant to lead anywhere, but it lingered. Grew slower. More deliberate.

“So,” you murmured, shifting just enough that your shoulder pressed against his, “what other top-secret missions have you been running behind my back?”

He huffed a laugh, the sound low in his throat. “Wouldn’t be top-secret if I told you, pipsqueak.”

You turned your head to look at him, nose scrunching. “That’s not how trust works.”

“Oh?” Caleb tilted his head to meet your gaze, lips curved in that lazy half-smile that always meant trouble. “Is this an interrogation now?”

You smiled sweetly. “Maybe.”

He leaned in, barely closing the space between your faces, just enough for his breath to kiss your cheek. “You gonna make me talk, then?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he moved faster- his hand suddenly pressing lightly to your ribs as he rolled, pinning you gently into the blanket with the weight of his body angled above yours, his knee slipping between your legs in a way that was definitely still playful, but bordering on something else.

“Caleb!” you laughed, half squirming, but he just grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself.

“Gotta defend myself from aggressive reporters,” he said, mock-serious, even as he ducked low enough to brush his nose against your temple.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you protested, breathless.

“Lies,” he said, voice soft now, close enough that the word sent a shiver right through you. “You looked at me like that.”

You blinked up at him, heart stuttering. “Like what?”

His smile faltered for a beat. His eyes searched yours, the humor still there but dimmed under something gentler.

“Like you forgot there’s a world outside this moment,” he said quietly. “And that’s dangerous, sweetheart. Makes a guy think he’s doing somethin' right.”

You didn’t speak. Just stared up at him, at the sunlight caught in the strands of his hair, the way his weight pressed so solidly against you, grounding you like nothing else ever could.

Your fingers slid up, slow, curling into the fabric of his flight jacket where it bunched near his shoulder.

“You are,” you whispered.

That flicker behind his eyes- relief, maybe, or maybe something closer to ache, was gone as quickly as it came. But his smile returned, softer now.

“Well,” he said, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth, so light it barely counted, “we can’t have you thinking I’m too perfect.”

You arched a brow, heart skipping. “That was a kiss?”

He smirked. “You want a real one?”

Your mouth opened to answer, but he was already moving, brushing his lips against yours, slow and warm and sweet with the taste of springtime and laughter. And even as the kiss deepened, even as his hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt to rest warm against your waist, the field around you bloomed brighter, the sky spun soft, and everything stayed light.

The kiss deepened slowly, like neither of you wanted to startle it—like it was something delicate, something that had bloomed here between the wildflowers and the hush of willow leaves. His lips were soft but sure, moving against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache. Like he’d wanted this for a long time. Like he wasn’t about to waste a second of it.

Caleb pulled back just a breath, resting his forehead against yours. His hand was still beneath your shirt, warm against the small of your back, the calloused pads of his fingers grazing skin he hadn’t touched before.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice low, his breath brushing your lips.

You nodded, dazed, heart fluttering.

He smiled at that- something crooked and boyish, but full of awe. Like you’d just handed him the stars.

“I’ve wanted to do that since forever,” he whispered, lips brushing your cheek now, trailing lower, catching the line of your jaw. “But I didn’t wanna get it wrong.”

“You didn’t,” you breathed.

His chuckle rumbled low against your skin as he kissed down the curve of your throat, slow and reverent, his hands skimming under your shirt now in a slow caress. No urgency, just exploration. Just memorization.

“Good,” he murmured, one hand sliding up your ribs, not quite to your chest yet, but close enough that you felt the anticipation tighten beneath your skin. “Because I’m not in a rush. Not with you.”

The words rooted deep, low in your belly.

His touch grew bolder then, still soft but more assured. His fingers slipped higher, thumbs brushing the edge of your bra, and when you didn’t stop him, he eased the fabric upward, mouth never leaving your skin. He kissed the space just above your heart, slow and steady, like he was grounding himself in the moment, in you.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said against your skin, voice a quiet vow.

“I don’t,” you whispered.

And that was all it took.

He pulled your shirt off slowly, dragging his palms over your arms as he sat up just enough to tug it over your head, letting it fall beside the blanket in a whisper of cotton. His eyes roamed your body, like you were something sacred. Something he didn’t think he’d ever deserve to see like this.

“Beautiful,” he said, more to himself than to you, his gaze landing on your flushed skin and the way the light painted you in gold and petal pink. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

You pulled him back down, your legs slipping to cradle him closer, and the kiss this time was heavier, slower but edged with something deeper, need curling like smoke beneath every breath. You felt his weight settle between your thighs, the pressure of him through his jeans making your hips shift without thinking, and Caleb groaned against your mouth.

His hand slid down, over your hip, down to the back of your thigh, guiding your leg around his waist.

“You sure?” he asked again, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

You nodded, fingers tracing the back of his neck, voice a whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

His smile this time was slower, almost shy but when he kissed you again, it was deeper. More sure.

Caleb had always held back. Always waited. But not anymore.

And beneath the willow branches, with petals falling like soft rain and the scent of spring all around you, the line between friends and lovers blurred for the first time- not in fire, but in warmth. In the kind of closeness that felt like coming home.

His kisses drifted lower, unhurried, trailing warmth along your collarbone, down the slope of your chest as his hands followed, steady and anchoring like he needed to feel you unfold beneath him in real time. When he finally eased your bra aside, there was no teasing smirk, no cocky one-liner.

“God,” he murmured, reverent, his thumb brushing along the curve of your breast, the pad catching on skin already taut with anticipation. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”

You arched beneath him without thinking, chasing the heat of his palm, your fingers sliding into his hair and curling as he lowered his mouth to your skin. The first kiss he pressed to your breast was slow, almost hesitant, like he was still afraid to rush this, to break the spell between you. But then his tongue flicked over your nipple, and you gasped, hips shifting, breath catching, and that was what made him groan low in his throat.

“Caleb—”

He met your gaze then, propped above you, one hand tracing the waistband of your jeans, the other bracing himself beside your head. “If we do this,” he said, voice thick with restraint, “I’m not going to be able to pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

You reached up, cradling his cheek in your palm, your thumb brushing the soft stubble there. “Me either.”

That was all it took.

He kissed you again, rougher now, needier, his hands fumbling just slightly as he undid your jeans and dragged them down your legs, his mouth never leaving yours for long. And when he knelt between your thighs, tossing his jacket and shirt aside with a looseness that came from long-restrained desire, you drank in the sight of him. All lean muscle and warm skin and careful strength, the necklace you gave him glinting softly against his chest.

His hand slid between your thighs again, knuckles brushing over the thin cotton of your underwear, and when he found you soaked through, his jaw clenched visibly.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re already shaking."

“Then do something about it,” you whispered, breathless.

He didn’t need more coaxing. He dragged the last barrier down your legs slowly, his fingers grazing the inside of your thighs like he was mapping them to memory. And when he dipped his head, placing a kiss right above where you ached, you thought your heart might stop.

Caleb was gentle and thorough, his mouth hot and slow as he devoured you like a man starved and savoring every second. He learned you fast, adjusted with each gasp, every trembling sigh that left your lips. One hand held you steady, fingers pressing into your hip, while the other slid up your body to cup your breast, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers until your head dropped back, moaning his name.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses, voice a ragged whisper against your heat. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”

And you did.

Your climax hit with a full-body tremble, soft but sharp, pulling through you like a wave that left you wrecked and gasping, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Caleb kissed his way back up your body, tasting your skin, your pulse, your mouth, settling back over you like he never wanted to be anywhere else.

You didn’t even realize he’d shed the rest of his clothes until you felt him pressed fully against you hard, thick, the weight of him pressing right where you were still pulsing with aftershock.

“My bag,” he said hoarsely, searching around with one hand.

You grabbed a small knapsack and handed it to him.

He hastily pulled a condom out and the brief rustle of foil was followed by a low groan as he rolled it on, breath catching as he settled between your legs once more. His cybernetic arm braced beside your head, gleaming faintly in the dappled light, while the warmth of his real hand cradled your thigh as he lined himself up and paused.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

He pressed forward slowly, inch by careful inch, and the stretch was slow, thick, deep- intimate in a way that made your throat tighten. His eyes stayed locked on yours, watching every shift in your expression like a tether.

“Fuck,” he breathed, forehead dropping to yours as he bottomed out, buried deep, unmoving. “You feel… you feel like everything I've always wanted.”

You didn’t answer... you couldn’t. You just wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer, kissing him with everything you couldn’t say as he began to move. 

He moved slowly at first, rocking into you with a rhythm so careful, it felt like he was memorizing every sigh, every tremble. His forehead pressed to yours, damp strands of hair brushing your temples, and the only sounds were the soft hitch of your breath, the low rustle of the quilt beneath you, and the quiet, living world around you—the distant ripple of the pond, the whisper of willows sighing overhead, the lazy hum of bees drifting from bloom to bloom.

Caleb’s hand slid along your thigh, coaxing your leg higher around his waist, deepening the angle, pulling a broken gasp from your throat that had him groaning low against your skin.

“You’re killing me, beautiful,” he whispered, voice raw at the edges. His cybernetic arm braced against the blanket, glinting silver where the sunlight caught it, but the hand cupping your hip was warm, grounding, and achingly human.

Blossoms rained down around you with the breeze, pale pink and white, catching in the messy tangle of your hair, dusting his bare shoulders. The world smelled of fresh grass and warmed petals, heady and alive, and the feeling of him was overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

Every slow thrust sent tiny tremors through your limbs, your skin flushed and slick where you pressed together. He didn’t rush, he worshipped- every roll of his hips, every kiss dragged along your throat, every whispered curse breathed like a prayer into the hollow of your collarbone.

“You feel-” he gasped, breaking off with a rough sound as you clenched around him, your nails digging faint crescents into his back. His hands slid up your sides, thumbs stroking over sensitive ribs, his whole body trembling as he fought to keep the pace slow, reverent. “God, pipsqueak... you feel like heaven.”

Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that was less polished now. It was messy, desperate, sweet. You could feel him losing himself in you, the way his rhythm faltered every time you moaned against his lips, the way he shuddered when you whispered his name like it was the only word you knew.

The quilt had half-slipped beneath you both, the soft spring grass cool and ticklish against your overheated skin. Petals clung to your back, to your thighs, dusted across Caleb’s shoulders and hair like the meadow itself had claimed you, crowned you. You could feel the earth under your palms, the give of the ground, the heartbeat of the living world matching the stuttered rhythm of your own.

He thrust deeper, slower, grinding against you until the pleasure built sharp and aching at the base of your spine, threatening to snap. Caleb's hand slid down between you, fingers finding where you needed him most, circling slow, perfect patterns that pushed you closer, pushed you over.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your mouth, voice wrecked, almost pleading. “Come on, baby, come for me.”

Your body arched against him, every nerve lit up with pleasure so pure it was almost too much, your cry muffled against his shoulder. Caleb cursed low, brokenly, his own release chasing yours as he ground deep, hips stuttering, burying himself fully as he lost himself in the feel of you, with you.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the two of you and the world holding its breath. Nothing but the slow shudder of your limbs tangled with his, the warmth of the sun on your skin, the petals drifting lazily through the golden light.

Caleb didn’t move. He stayed pressed against you, forehead resting against your temple, his hand smoothing slow, almost absent circles along your hip as he caught his breath. His whole body was trembling with the effort to stay, to savor it, to not let the world intrude just yet.

“Pipsqueak,” he whispered after a moment, his voice thick and too soft for anything but you. “I’m pretty sure I’m never gonna survive you.”

You turned your head slightly, nuzzling into the mess of his hair, still breathless, still trembling, but so full you thought your chest might break with it.

“Good,” you murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

A slow, broken laugh rumbled out of him, pure and raw and full of every promise he hadn’t needed to say.

Caleb's body was a steady weight over yours, warm and unshakable, the muscles of his back still trembling faintly as he caught his breath. Petals clung to his bare shoulders, caught in the messy sweep of his dark hair, and the breeze stirred the willow branches above, sending new blossoms drifting down around you like soft rain.

He shifted slightly, bracing himself on an elbow to look at you, and his hand came up almost unconsciously, brushing petals from your cheeks, your throat, your chest. His fingers lingered longer than necessary, tracing the curve of your jaw, the bow of your lips, like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.

"You’ve got flowers everywhere," he murmured, his voice low, thick with the kind of wonder he didn’t bother to hide anymore.

You smiled up at him, your body loose and boneless against the quilt, skin still buzzing from where he had touched you, kissed you, claimed you in the gentlest ways.

"So do you," you whispered back, your hand sliding up to comb through his tousled hair, feeling the warmth of him, the life of him, the way he leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help it.

He let out a soft, breathless chuckle and dropped a kiss onto your forehead, then another at the bridge of your nose, then one more against the corner of your mouth, each slower, sweeter than the last, until he was just resting his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the sunlight and the quiet and the slow, steady beat of his heart lull you toward sleep. The blanket beneath you was tangled and wrinkled, the grass cool against your bare legs, the scent of blossoms thick in the warm spring air. Everything felt lighter here- like the gravity that held you both had loosened its grip, just enough to let you float together in the golden hush of the afternoon.

You heard him shift again, felt the way his arm curled more firmly around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies fit perfectly, breath to breath. His thumb brushed slow circles along the bare skin of your hip, grounding you in the gentlest way.

You thought he might say something else, but he stayed quiet for a long while, the breeze whispering around you, the pond nearby glinting like spilled silver.

And then, just when you thought he might have drifted off to sleep, you heard it.

A whisper, so soft it barely reached your ears.

"I love you."

Your heart squeezed so hard you thought it might break.

You stayed still, half because you didn’t trust your voice to work, half because some part of you knew he hadn’t meant for you to hear it. Or maybe he had. Maybe he just needed to say it without expecting anything back.

His arm tightened just a little around you after he said it, a silent promise stitched into the touch.

You tucked your face into the curve of his neck, nuzzling closer, and heard his breath hitch, just slightly- as if he knew you’d heard after all.

Neither of you spoke again. The willows swayed, the blossoms fell, and the two of you stayed tangled together, heart to heart, as the sun melted lower toward the horizon, turning the world to gold.

And for the first time in too long, everything was exactly as it was always meant to be.

[ouiouibaguettt]

Only You

YN YLN -> your name & your last name

2,7k of words!

masterlist (1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

You’ve always felt a little strange around Steph. She was always so… touchy. Too comfortable with you. Always hanging around, always a little too close. When she’d give you advice, it felt personal, like she cared just a bit more than a teammate should. She’d make comments about how you “looked good today” or how your pass was “perfect,” but you just chalked it up to the fact that she was Steph Catley — friendly, flirty, everyone’s favorite teammate. You assumed it was just how she was. After all, she wasn’t shy with anyone.

At first, you thought it was nothing, that it was just her friendly nature, that you were overthinking it. And yet, every time she smiled at you, or when her fingers grazed your arm just a second too long, your heart would skip. But still, you kept telling yourself it was nothing. Steph was just that way with everyone. Right?

It wasn’t until a late-night training session after an intense game that it finally clicked. You’d been exhausted, trying to work out the tension in your muscles after running all over the pitch. The locker room was quieter than usual. Most of the team had already gone back to their rooms, but you and Steph stayed behind. You were sitting on the bench, towel around your neck, rubbing your temples when you heard her footsteps approach. She was the last person you expected to still be here.

She leaned against the locker next to you, just a little too close. “You did great today,” she said, her voice lower than usual. You shrugged, still not looking at her, brushing off her praise. “It wasn’t that great,” you muttered, half-joking, half-exhausted.

But she didn’t seem to buy it. There was something different in the air tonight — a tension, a shift. You felt it but couldn’t place it.

“Don’t downplay it,” she said softly, her hand brushing against your arm, sending a jolt through you. “You’ve got talent, more than you realize.”

You chuckled, trying to brush it off, but the proximity between you two was undeniable now. The way she spoke was different, more intimate. You glanced up at her, just as she leaned closer, so close you could feel her breath against your ear. Your heartbeat quickened, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

Her eyes were focused on yours, intense, and her lips parted slightly. Your stomach fluttered. It was now, you thought, so obvious. She’d been doing this for months — getting close, teasing, making you feel like there was something more — and you’d been completely oblivious.

Suddenly, she moved even closer, not waiting for a response. Her fingers lightly cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze to hers, and then… she kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, nor was it sloppy. It was soft, gentle, and surprisingly confident. A slow press of her lips against yours, leaving you speechless, completely caught off guard. Your mind raced, trying to process what was happening, but all you could do was close your eyes, feeling her warmth, the way her lips moved against yours in that sweet, unexpected kiss.

When she finally pulled away, you were frozen, unable to speak. Steph was still so close, her forehead gently resting against yours, her breath matching yours in a rhythmic pulse.

“Well,” she said, smiling softly, “took you long enough to notice.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and you couldn’t help but laugh nervously, still trying to catch your breath. “I… I didn’t… I mean, I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, I figured that out,” she interrupted, her grin widening. “I was trying to make it obvious. Guess I had to just show you.”

You blinked a few times, trying to wrap your mind around what had just happened. Steph Catley — your teammate, your captain, the girl you’d been getting all those vibes from for months — had just kissed you.

“Sorry,” she said teasingly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “wasn’t trying to confuse you… but seriously, you’re adorable when you’re oblivious.”

You laughed again, a little breathless, trying to keep the emotions in check. Your mind was still reeling, but there was no denying the warmth in your chest now. It wasn’t just the kiss, but the feeling that maybe — just maybe — you had been wrong all this time.

“I guess I’m not as quick on the uptake as I thought,” you said, still a little dazed.

Steph smiled, her hand gently resting on your shoulder. “I’ve got plenty of time to help you catch up.”

The air between you and Steph felt heavier now, filled with the weight of what just happened. You had no idea what to say. The kiss still lingered on your lips, leaving a sweet warmth that you couldn’t shake. Your heart raced, your mind still struggling to comprehend the sudden shift in your relationship.

Steph, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. She was leaning back against the locker, casually crossing her arms, but there was a softness in her eyes, a tenderness that made your stomach flip. She was waiting for you to say something — anything. But all you could do was stare at her, still processing what had just happened.

“Steph… I—” You started, your voice catching in your throat, but you didn’t know what to say. How do you explain to someone that you had been blind to their feelings for so long?

She took a small step closer, her presence calming but still full of that undeniable energy. “You don’t need to say anything,” she said, her voice low and comforting. “I just needed you to know. I was getting frustrated watching you act like you didn’t feel the same way. You’ve been so… oblivious,” she added with a teasing smile.

“I wasn’t oblivious,” you replied, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “I just thought— I mean, I never thought you would be… interested in me like that. You’ve always been so friendly with everyone, and… and I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d feel that way about me.”

Steph’s expression softened. She took another step forward, now only a breath away. “I’ve always been interested in you, more than I probably should be,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think I knew it from the moment we met. But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, didn’t want to push you away.”

You met her gaze, searching for any hint of doubt in her eyes, but there was none. She was sure, and for the first time, you realized how long she’d been waiting for you to catch on.

“You’ve been patient,” you said, voice still shaking with uncertainty. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’ve just… I’ve never been good at reading signs, especially when it comes to things like this.”

Steph smiled, her thumb gently brushing your cheek, making your breath catch in your throat. “You don’t need to apologize. I should’ve been more straightforward. But I wanted to make sure you were ready for it, that you weren’t feeling pressured.”

“I don’t feel pressured,” you murmured, still trying to find the right words. “I feel… confused. But not in a bad way. I just didn’t expect this. I’ve always admired you, Steph. But I never thought…” You trailed off, unsure of how to articulate everything you were feeling in that moment.

Steph chuckled softly, a genuine warmth in her smile. “It’s okay to be confused. It’s a lot to process, especially after everything. But if you feel even a little bit the same, then I think we owe it to ourselves to explore this. I don’t want to hold back anymore.”

You stood there, just staring at her, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. The realization hit you like a wave. You had feelings for her too. Deep down, you knew that. You had felt it every time she smiled at you, every time she was there, always a little too close. But now, with the truth out in the open, it all made sense.

Without thinking, you closed the space between you, your hand reaching up to gently cup her face. Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. You hesitated for only a second, before you kissed her — this time, with no hesitation, no confusion. You kissed her like you meant it, pouring everything you had into that simple act.

The kiss deepened, her hands resting lightly on your waist, pulling you closer. The way she held you felt right, like this was where you were always meant to be. It was slow at first, as if you were both savoring the moment, but it quickly escalated into something more urgent, the heat between you growing.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, Steph rested her forehead against yours. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she confessed, her voice husky with emotion.

“Me too,” you admitted, your hands still gently holding her. You could feel your pulse racing in your veins, but this time, it wasn’t from uncertainty. It was from something more real, more solid.

“Then let’s make this happen,” she said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I don’t want to waste any more time pretending I’m not completely into you.”

You grinned, your heart swelling in your chest. “Okay, but… we should probably take it slow, right?”

Steph nodded, her smile turning a little more mischievous. “Of course. But I’ll be patient this time.”

You leaned in for another kiss, slower this time, savoring the moment. The world outside the locker room could wait. There was nothing but the two of you in that space — the uncertainty from before was gone, replaced by something far more meaningful. And you knew, without a doubt, that this was just the beginning.

It had been a few weeks since you and Steph had become official, and yet, things still felt so new. You were navigating the shift in your dynamic, from teammates to something more. But you hadn’t stopped being you — the flirty, sometimes oblivious, smile-at-everyone-you-meet kind of person. And, well, Steph knew that. She was used to the playful, flirty side of you, but tonight, something about the atmosphere had a different energy.

It was a team night out at a club, everyone letting loose after a long week of training. The music was loud, the lights flashing in a myriad of colors. Laughter and chatter filled the air as teammates from Arsenal and some of their friends took over the dance floor, while others gathered at the bar to unwind.

You were at the bar, chatting with a couple of teammates, when you felt someone sidle up beside you. A girl, with dark hair and an easy smile, leaned in slightly too close, making you raise an eyebrow but offering her a friendly smile in return.

“Hey,” she said, her voice smooth and confident. “You’re YN YLN, right? You’re incredible on the pitch.”

You blushed slightly, always flattered by compliments, but shrugged it off with your typical modesty. “Thanks. You’re too kind.”

But she wasn’t done there. She leaned in a little more, brushing her arm against yours in a way that felt… purposeful. “I’ve seen you play before. You're not just talented, you're stunning too,” she added, her eyes never leaving yours.

You laughed nervously, unsure of how to handle the situation, but you didn’t think much of it. Flirting was nothing new. You had a friendly smile, you were approachable, and sometimes people made it a little more obvious. But you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were just being yourself.

What you didn’t notice, though, was the way Steph was watching from across the room. Her eyes had narrowed when she saw the girl inch closer to you, her hands resting against the bar as she took in every word exchanged between the two of you. Steph had been more than patient with you — way more than she’d probably let on. But tonight, seeing someone flirt with you so openly, that protective instinct flared up.

She moved quickly across the room, her eyes still fixed on the girl as she approached you. When Steph reached the bar, she slid right in between you and the girl, her hand finding the small of your back in a possessive gesture that caught you by surprise. Without saying a word to the girl, Steph turned to you, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was far more intense than anything you’d experienced before.

It was a kiss full of fire, of raw emotion, of ownership in the best way possible. She kissed you with an urgency that left you breathless, pulling you closer, her hands cupping your face as if she couldn’t get enough of you. The world around you seemed to fade away. The flashing lights, the music, the voices — everything disappeared except for Steph and that kiss.

When she finally pulled away, you were still dazed, your head spinning from the intensity. Your lips tingled, and you blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed that kiss until it happened. You looked up at Steph, your breath coming out in short gasps.

“Steph… what—what was that?” you asked, a little shaken.

Steph’s expression softened, though her lips were curled into a small, teasing smile. She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the girl who had flirted with you, now retreating, her face contorted in frustration. “That,” Steph said, her voice low, “was me showing you exactly who you belong to.”

You blinked, still processing, and Steph let out a small laugh, brushing her fingers through your hair. “She was flirting with you, YN. You didn’t even notice it, did you?”

You shook your head, your gaze still caught on the girl who was now walking away. “I mean, I guess? But I didn’t think it was that serious. I’m not doing anything wrong…”

Steph’s eyes softened as she looked back at you, though there was still a playful hint in her gaze. “You weren’t doing anything wrong,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stand around and let some girl try to steal you away.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you processed her words. “Steph… you really think someone could steal me from you?”

Steph chuckled softly, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you in for a gentle hug. “No,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I know no one can steal you from me. But I’m still gonna make sure they know exactly who you belong to.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at her words. She wasn’t jealous in a bad way, not trying to control you. It wasn’t about insecurity; it was about wanting to protect something that was hers now, and you felt it deep in your bones. That was love — the kind that didn’t hesitate, that didn’t play games, that just was.

“I guess I’m lucky, then,” you said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, your fingers tracing along her jaw. “You make it pretty obvious.”

Steph smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling away just enough to look you in the eye. “I’m not worried, YN,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “I know you love me. But I’ll still remind you every chance I get.”

You laughed, your heart swelling at the ease and warmth between you. “Okay, okay, I get it,” you teased. “You’re mine.”

Steph winked. “Damn right I am.”

And as you both stood there, your arms wrapped around each other, you felt something settle inside you. This — this was real. No more pretending, no more confusion. You and Steph were a team, not just on the field, but in life. And nothing, not even a flirty girl at a bar, was going to change that.

[nglgfics]

Gushing

(As per anonymous request)

(18+)

Masterlist

The pub was a furnace by midnight, the air thick with sweat, spilt pints, and the low throb of music too loud for conversation. It was the kind of heat that stuck to your skin, made your clothes cling, made everything feel too much — and somehow, not enough.

And through it all, Liam didn’t stop touching you.

It wasn’t obvious — not enough for anyone to notice — but it was constant, maddening.

The press of his hand low on your back whenever you moved.

The brush of his fingers across your wrist when you reached for your drink.

The slow, lazy drag of his knuckles along your bare thigh beneath the hem of your dress when you shifted closer in the booth.

It was deliberate.

Calculated.

And it was driving you out of your mind.

You caught him looking again — eyes dark, mouth curled into that crooked grin that made your stomach flip helplessly.

Lifting your glass slowly, you leaned across the table, letting your voice slip into something low and teasing as you said, just for him, “Problem, Gallagher?”

He didn’t look away, just smiled like he was already halfway to whatever filthy idea was running through his mind. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough and simple. “You.”

You let the smile curl across your mouth, slow and wicked, and shifted your legs just enough to brush his knee with yours.

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned into it, his fingers tightening subtly around his pint glass, the tension visible in the set of his jaw.

The game continued — each casual touch not casual at all, each glance crackling hotter than the last — until the air around you was thick with it, and your skin was buzzing from head to toe.

When Liam finally pushed up from the booth, jerking his head toward the hallway leading to the loos, you didn’t hesitate.

You slid out from behind the table, ignoring the way your legs trembled slightly under you, and followed him.

The second you were out of sight, he caught your wrist and tugged you into the shadowed space between the toilet doors.

You stumbled into him, laughing breathlessly — but the laugh died in your throat when you saw his face up close.

Dark eyes, and mouth already wrecked like he could barely hold it together anymore.

“You’re a nightmare,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked as he pressed you back against the cool wall.

You tipped your head up, meeting his gaze without flinching, your heart hammering against your ribs.

“Not my fault you’ve got no self-control,” you whispered, letting the words slip out like a challenge.

His mouth twisted in something half-smile, half-snarl, and then he kissed you — messy, urgent, tasting of beer and need.

You clutched at his shirt, dragging him closer, feeling the hard press of him against your hip through his jeans.

His hands slid up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, the scrape of his calloused fingers setting fire to every inch of skin they passed.

He dragged his mouth down to your jaw, your throat, biting lightly, filthy-soft, until you gasped and rocked your hips against him helplessly.

“Didn’t do this on purpose, did you?” he murmured against your pulse.

You bit your lip to hide your smile, breathing shaky. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He laughed, rough and breathless, and shoved his hand between your legs, sliding your panties aside to find you already slick for him.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your skin, slipping a finger inside you, slow and thick.

“You’re soaked.”

You whimpered, helpless against the wave of heat that crashed through you, hips jerking into his hand as he pumped his fingers slowly.

The tension had been wound too tight for too long.

You could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge already, reckless, desperate — your hands fisting in his shirt, your mouth spilling half-formed pleas into his neck.

But just as he crooked his fingers, just as you whimpered brokenly, a sharp knock rattled the door beside you.

“Oi, some of us need the bloody loo!”

You both froze, breathing hard.

You pressed your forehead into his chest, biting back a curse, feeling the deep shudder of his laugh through his ribs.

He kissed the top of your head once, quick and filthy-sweet, and slowly slid his hand away, the loss of it making you whimper in frustration.

“Later,” he promised, voice wrecked against your hair. “You’re mine later.”

You nodded blindly, still shaking, letting him help you straighten your dress with clumsy, lingering hands before stumbling back out into the noise of the pub together.

His palm stayed flat against your back as he guided you through the crowd, his mouth brushing your ear, voice low and gleeful.

“Better get ready, darling,” he said, the wrecked smile audible in his voice. “You’re gonna regret teasing me.”

You turned your head just enough to shoot him a look, heart still pounding.

“Good,” you whispered, feeling the fire crackle hotter between you. “I fucking dare you.”

And you felt his answering grin —

felt the way his hand tightened slightly on your waist.

The car was dim, the smell of leather and faint cologne filling the close space.

The driver gave a nod in the mirror, polite and disinterested, before the black partition slid up with a low mechanical hum, sealing you and Liam into your own private little world.

The second it locked into place, Liam turned toward you, eyes dark, mouth already curling into a wrecked sort of grin like he couldn’t believe you were still here, still his.

You barely had a chance to draw a breath before he was on you — dragging you toward him by the back of your neck, mouth crashing onto yours, desperate and bruising.

You gasped against him, your hands clawing at his shirt, tugging him closer, your body folding into his like you’d been waiting for this moment all night.

The kiss broke only when you both needed air, foreheads pressed together, panting.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Liam muttered, his hand sliding up your thigh, hitching your dress higher with slow, filthy intent.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back against the seat, spreading your legs wider beneath his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You started it,” you murmured, voice wrecked but playful.

He smiled against your jaw, dragging his hand further up your thigh until he found the damp heat between your legs.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound filthy and helpless, and slipped his fingers under the edge of your panties, tracing the slick there with maddening slowness.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Still this wet?”

“Don’t act so surprised,” you breathed, hips arching into his touch.

His thumb brushed over your clit, slow and devastating, and you whimpered, fisting his shirt between your fingers.

The world outside the car melted away, the hum of the engine the only sound beyond your breathing, heavy and desperate in the small space.

He kissed you again, slower this time, dragging his tongue lazily against yours as his fingers worked you over, the rhythm steady, calculated, cruel in its precision.

You rocked into his hand without shame, hips grinding against his palm, chasing something you were already teetering on the edge of.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your mouth, the words making you shudder. “So fuckin’ eager for me.”

You whimpered, breaking the kiss, pressing your forehead into his neck, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of his skin.

“You’re gonna kill me,” you whispered, voice broken.

He laughed quietly, low and rough, and crooked his fingers inside you in a way that made you gasp, your whole body jerking in response.

“Not yet,” he said, the grin audible in his voice. “Wanna see you come first.”

You bit your lip hard to keep from crying out, hips moving faster now, reckless against his hand.

But just as you felt yourself teetering, just as the heat started coiling tighter and tighter low in your belly —

the car slowed.

Liam cursed under his breath and carefully, reluctantly, withdrew his fingers, dragging them down your thigh just to be a bastard.

You whimpered, the loss almost painful, and he kissed your temple once, quick and almost too sweet for the filthy mess he’d just made of you.

You managed a breathless, shaky laugh as you straightened your dress with trembling hands, trying to look remotely decent before the driver opened the door.

Liam adjusted himself quickly, shooting you a sideways grin that was all teeth and wicked promises.

“You’re not gonna know what hit you,” he muttered as he climbed out.

You swallowed hard, your body still burning, legs shaky under you as you followed him out into the cool night air, knowing full well he wasn’t bluffing — and that you wanted every second of it.

The door slammed shut behind you, cutting out the world with a heavy thud.

Liam didn’t move at first — just stood there, breathing hard, staring at you like he was trying to memorize the way you looked blown open with want.

His shirt was rumpled, belt loose, jeans pulled tight across his hips — a mess, but somehow still holding back.

Then he moved.

He stepped into you, slow but unstoppable, and kissed you — deep, hard, his hand fisting in your hair, the other dragging down your spine, flattening you against the door.

You gasped against his mouth, grabbing at his shirt, desperate to strip him bare.

But he caught your hands — firm but gentle — and pulled back enough to murmur against your lips:

“Not me first,” he said, voice low and wrecked. “You.”

Your heart hammered.

He kissed you again, softer this time — lingering, messy — while his hands found the hem of your dress, bunching the fabric up your thighs, higher and higher.

He didn’t rush.

He took his time, dragging the material over your hips, up your waist, baring inch after inch of hot skin.

His mouth followed his hands — full and plush — dragging open, reverent kisses along your stomach and ribs as he undressed you.

You lifted your arms when he tugged your dress over your head, letting it fall forgotten to the floor.

Standing there in just your bra and panties, you shivered under the heat of his gaze.

Liam’s palms slid up your sides, framing your ribs, rough and tender at once.

“Fucking beautiful,” he muttered, voice almost reverent.

He reached behind you, fingers a little clumsy on the clasp of your bra, either from urgency or the way you wrecked him without even trying.

It popped free.

He dragged the straps down your arms slowly, and the bra dropped away, leaving you almost bare under the weight of his stare.

He cupped your breasts in both hands, thumbs sweeping lazily over your nipples until they tightened under his touch.

And then he lowered his mouth to you.

He sucked one nipple into his mouth — slow and deep — tugging gently, teasing with his teeth just enough to make you gasp.

You arched against him, your hands flying to his shoulders for balance.

He shifted to the other breast, repeating the slow, filthy drag of his tongue, the soft scrape of his teeth.

When he pulled back, his lush lips were wet, his breathing wrecked.

“Could spend all night here,” he said, dragging a hand slowly down your body, setting every nerve ending on fire.

He dropped to his knees in front of you.

The rough denim of his jeans brushed against your calves as he pushed your legs apart, hands sliding up your thighs, coaxing you open.

“Sit,” he murmured.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, thighs falling open helplessly.

He stayed kneeling between your legs, hands roaming up your thighs again, thumbs stroking slow circles against your skin.

He kissed your knee, then the inside of your thigh, higher and higher, until you were trembling, your panties damp and clinging.

He found the waistband and hooked his fingers in, easing them down your hips — slow, savoring — kissing a trail along your thighs as he peeled the fabric away.

You lifted your hips for him, moaning softly when the cool air hit your bare skin.

He tugged the panties down past your knees, over your ankles, and tossed them aside.

Then he knelt back a little, dragging his palms up the inside of your thighs, staring at you like you were something holy and wrecked just for him.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Look at you.”

And then he leaned in.

One slow, devastating lick from your entrance up to your clit, dragging his mouth over you with filthy precision — big enough, full enough that it felt like he covered all of you, hot and wet and overwhelming.

You cried out, hips jerking.

Liam groaned low in his chest, like he couldn’t help it, and settled his mouth against you properly — licking, sucking, wrecking you slowly.

His mouth didn’t lift from you, even when your body started to tremble under him.

He licked you slow and steady, each pass of his wide tongue dragging a molten line up through your slick folds to your clit, the pressure growing with every slow, devastating stroke.

His mouth was so full, so hot, sealing over you in a way that felt consuming — like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t be anywhere but under him.

You whimpered helplessly, hips twitching up into his mouth.

He just pressed his hands heavier against your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you still like you were something fragile he had no intention of letting go.

The pleasure built sharp and bright, pulling tight low in your belly, electric under your skin.

Liam’s tongue flicked faster, firmer now — tight circles around your clit, sucking gently, humming low against you like he couldn’t help himself.

You cried out, grabbing at the sheets.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

Every filthy, focused lick dragged you higher, the tension coiling thick and brutal inside you until it was too much to hold.

You broke first.

The orgasm ripped through you in a hot, blinding rush —

Your back arching clean off the bed, thighs clenching around his head, mouth open in a soundless sob.

Your whole body shook, hips jerking uncontrollably against his mouth.

Liam groaned, low and rough, and kept licking you through it — softer now, slower, letting you ride it down, kissing the shudders out of your thighs, your hips, your stomach.

You whimpered when the overstimulation burned too bright, trying to push him away.

But he caught your hips, soft but unyielding, and murmured against your slick skin:

“Not done yet, love. Not nearly.”

You barely had time to register the words before you felt the slow, deliberate press of two fingers sliding deep inside you.

You cried out, body jolting, your hips stuttering up into his hand.

“Shh,” he soothed, still kissing your thigh. “Just me. You’re alright.”

His fingers filled you easily — slick, thick — and he started to move, slow and steady, stroking deep along your walls.

At the same time, his mouth stayed heavy on your clit, working you over with slow, relentless pulls of his tongue — licking and sucking, messy and devastating, every flick dragging more wetness from you, making you tremble all over again.

The sensation was overwhelming —

Deep inside and hot outside, together, the two points of stimulation winding you up so tight you could hardly breathe.

You whimpered, hips rocking helplessly, desperate for something you couldn’t even name.

Liam felt it.

He groaned low, filthy, and adjusted his angle —

Curling his fingers up inside you, dragging them firm and sure over that soft, swollen spot buried deep within you.

You sobbed when he found it — hips jerking, whole body locking tight.

“There you are,” he murmured, his voice all wrecked affection and filthy pride.

He dragged his fingers harder against that spot —

Not fast.

Deep, firm, dragging pressure, the kind that made your toes curl and your stomach clench brutally.

The heat built thicker now — slow, grinding waves of it rolling up your spine, every nerve ending burning under the relentless pleasure.

You whimpered brokenly, tears stinging your eyes.

He edged you without mercy —

Dragging you higher until your hips lifted off the bed —

Then easing his fingers back just enough to keep you trembling right there, aching for release but unable to fall.

He kissed your thigh again, soft and filthy.

“You can take it,” he whispered. “Just a little more for me. You’re doing so fucking good.”

You gasped, clutching at the sheets, at him, anything — feeling the pressure mount huge and heavy, worse than anything you’d ever felt.

Your body fought it — tightening, clenching — scared of how big it felt, scared of what might happen if you let go.

Liam didn’t stop.

He curled his fingers again — deeper, dragging slow and wrecking — while his mouth licked relentless circles around your clit.

“You’re right there,” he murmured. “Don’t fight it, baby. Let go for me.”

You sobbed his name, hips jerking wildly now.

And then it broke.

You shattered apart —

A deep, violent orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you blind and shaking —

And a hot rush of wetness flooded out, soaking Liam’s hand, your thighs, the sheets under you.

You heard him groan low — wrecked, filthy — but you couldn’t even open your eyes, too overwhelmed, your body convulsing with aftershocks you couldn’t stop.

“Fuck, look at you,” Liam breathed, voice thick with awe.

He pulled his fingers out carefully, slow, soaked, and dragged them across your trembling inner thigh like he couldn’t bear not to touch you even for a second.

You whimpered when the cool air hit your wet skin, but he was already moving up your body, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone.

“Perfect,” he whispered against your skin. “Fucking perfect.”

You shook in his arms, too wrecked to speak, too ruined to do anything but cling to the fistfuls of his shirt still half-tucked into his jeans.

And Liam —

Still fully clothed, belt digging into your hip, his mouth messy and swollen from you —

just wrapped his arms around you, breathing hard, like he’d never let you go again.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing — sharp, uneven — and Liam’s, rough and heavy against your neck.

Your body trembled, sticky and oversensitive, the sheets damp beneath you where he’d completely ruined you.

You barely registered it when he shifted up, draping himself carefully over your side, pressing lazy, messy kisses along your shoulder and throat like he couldn’t bear not to be touching you.

“You alright there, superstar?” he murmured against your skin, voice rough but warm, teasing and proud all at once.

You managed a wrecked, breathless laugh, nodding against his chest.

“Just about,” you rasped, your voice hoarse from crying out so hard.

Liam laughed, low and smug, and nuzzled into your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. His eyes were bright, his hair a wild mess, his grin wide and absolutely shameless. “You absolutely drenched me.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

“Don’t,” you mumbled, mortified.

He laughed again — soft, wrecked, completely delighted — and pried your hands away easily.

“Oi, none of that,” he said, grinning down at you. “You should be proud. That was… well, frankly, it was heroic.”

You snorted, half-horrified, half-laughing.

“Heroic?” you echoed, voice muffled against his chest.

“Yeah,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “Full standing ovation material. Might even commission a little plaque for the bedroom wall.”

You shoved at his shoulder, too weak to do any real damage, and he just laughed harder, leaning down to kiss your temple.

“Seriously, though,” he said, voice softening, the teasing dropping away in the edges. “You’re… unbelievable.”

His hand slid low, stroking over your thigh, slow and careful, fingertips tracing the sticky mess there.

“Still can’t believe what you did to me,” he murmured.

You peeked up at him, face hot, but his smile was wrecked and genuine and stupidly proud.

“Pretty sure it was what you did to me,” you managed, breathless.

He huffed a laugh, ducking to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Team effort,” he said, dry as anything. “But I’m takin’ at least eighty percent of the credit.”

You laughed, weak but real, and he kissed you properly then — slow, lingering, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw, the other still stroking slow, lazy circles into your thigh.

You whimpered into his mouth when his index finger pressed on your oversensitive clit.

He pulled back, smiling wickedly.

“Sensitive,” he teased. “Still pulsing, darling.”

You gave a breathless little whine and tried to wriggle away.

He just laughed, dragged you closer, kissing your forehead.

“That’s my girl,” he said softly. “Good to the last drop.”

You groaned into his chest and he laughed again, so wrecked and happy that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

For a while, he just held you — tangled together, sticky and warm and still buzzing from everything that had happened — kissing your hair, stroking your skin, whispering filthy little jokes into your ear until you were smiling too hard to be embarrassed anymore.

And he stayed wrapped around you — the happiest, proudest, most wrecked man alive.

[missgrimreaperr]

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐫, 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐇𝐢𝐦. - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞. 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞. - “𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐀 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞“

The silence stretched.

Three days passed since her mother caught her in Kihanna’s room. Three days of slammed doors and tight-lipped stares. Of half-eaten dinners and empty messages left on read. The house didn’t feel like a home—it felt like a mausoleum.

Kynomi didn’t text Kiara back. She ghosted Sarah and ignored Cleo’s calls. It was easier to stay quiet. Easier to drown inward, where no one could reach her.

So when she wandered down to the beach that evening, hoodie pulled over her head and headphones dead silent, it wasn’t because she expected anything.

It was because she needed air.

The waves lapped gently at the shore. A seagull cried overhead. She tucked her hands into her sleeves and walked, not really looking up, not really seeing—

Until she did.

Rafe.

Leaning against the lifeguard tower like he belonged there, like he’d been waiting.

She froze.

He didn’t move right away. Just tilted his head, eyes sweeping over her like he was reading her pulse without touching her.

“You look like you needed saving,” he said, voice low, like the hush of tidewater.

Kynomi’s throat tightened. “How’d you even know I’d be here?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “But you always run to the ocean when you’re breaking.”

Something in her flickered—recognition. Fear. Comfort. All tangled up in the same breath.

She swallowed. “Maybe I didn’t want to be found.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough for her to feel the heat coming off him. “Then why’d you wear that color? The coral hoodie.” His smile was soft, almost fond. “Same one you wore the day I first saw you crying in your car.”

She blinked.

He remembered that?

“I remember everything about you, Kynomi,” he added gently, like he knew what that would do to her insides. “You wear sadness like perfume. And I like it.”

Her heart thudded.

He moved closer, hand brushing hers, but not taking it. Just the suggestion of touch. Like he was waiting for her to reach back.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Rafe said. “I just know what it’s like to have no one. And I’m not gonna let you feel that way if I can help it.”

Her lip trembled.

God, it was so easy to fall into this. Into him.

“I’m tired,” she whispered.

“Then rest,” he murmured. “Here. With me.”

And just like that, the air around her shifted.

Soft.

Safe.

Suffocating.

The walk back wasn’t long, but it felt like the earth had slowed down just for them. The streetlights glowed soft orange, casting their shadows long and stretching. Rafe walked beside her, hands in his hoodie pocket, close but never too close.

Kynomi didn’t say much.

She couldn’t. Not with the way her chest felt—like something was curled up tight in there, afraid to be touched.

“You’ve always got that faraway look,” Rafe said softly, breaking the silence. “Even when you’re standing still. Like part of you’s already gone.”

She glanced at him.

He wasn’t looking for a reaction. He was just watching her, like he was studying sadness under glass. Like it was art.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“Don’t be,” he replied. “It’s beautiful.”

Her breath caught.

“I think,” he continued, “most people try to pretend they’re okay. You don’t. You wear it. Makes you honest.”

It didn’t feel like a compliment. It felt like an x-ray. Like he could see through every part of her she tried to hide.

As they turned the corner, her house came into view—dimly lit, two cars in the driveway, curtains pulled tight. Kynomi slowed.

Rafe didn’t.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“I’m not going in,” he said. “Just walking you. You don’t need to be alone right now.”

She didn’t argue. Mostly because she didn’t know how to anymore.

They stopped at the sidewalk. He turned to face her.

“You haven’t answered my texts,” he said gently. “I was starting to think I did something wrong.”

“No,” she said too fast. “You didn’t. I’ve just… a lot’s been going on.”

He nodded slowly. “Your sister.”

That name still made her flinch.

Rafe stepped closer—barely inches now—and looked down at her like she was glass he didn’t want to shatter. “You don’t talk to anyone, do you?”

Kynomi’s voice came out small. “No one listens.”

“I do,” he said. “I always will.”

She blinked back tears.

“And hey,” he added, brushing a loose curl from her cheek, “I worry when I don’t hear from you.”

That line landed like a stone in her stomach.

“You should let me take care of you.”

She wanted to say something back—anything—but the lump in her throat wouldn’t let her. So she nodded. Just barely.

Rafe smiled. Soft. Sweet. Addictive.

Then leaned in, pressed his lips gently to her forehead, and pulled away like he hadn’t just rewired her heartbeat.

“Sleep, angel,” he said. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

Then he was gone, slipping into the dark like he’d never been there.

And Kynomi stood on the porch, shaking—because she’d never felt more seen in her life.

Or more owned.

—

Tags: @donteventry-itdude , @bubbleguppieshh

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