How About Where You Are Hanging Out With Jungkook A Lot And Yeonjun Gets Really Jealous And Tries To

“Oh, Spencer took that one...”

so i read @reidbyers’s ask post about librarians and spencer and while reading it, this sentence caught my attention: “sometimes he takes so many books out that a lot of the time people come in looking for a certain book and they have to be like sorry…spencer took that one and 21 more.” and it gave me an idea/insp for a small little one shot, so thanks @wheresthewater and @reidbyers for unknowingly giving me this idea! also i’m so sorry if this feels rushed! 

While studying to get your doctorate in Psychology, you were fortunate enough to have every book you need for all of your classes at your fingertips, whether having your parents supply them for you or finding links to it online. While writing a paper, you noticed the assignment had some references from your very early Intro to Psych book. You realized quickly that you were going to need to go to the library; you had since given that book to a nice underclassman. 

You didn’t mind, but occasionally, a book you wanted to check out would be gone and they always said the same thing.

“Sorry honey, it looks like Spencer has that book out at the moment.”

“Well it looks like Dr. Reid has that book.”

“Yup. Spencer again.”

It seemed like every time you needed a book from the library, Dr. Spencer Reid would check it out before you. The three main, kind elderly librarians found it amusing every time you mentioned a book he had checked out. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think they were conspiring against you.

Sighing, you grabbed your shoulder bag and keys and made your way out of your brick brownstone apartment building. “If this Spencer has my book this time, I might just scream…” You muttered to yourself as you walked down the street. Luckily the library was only a few blocks from your place. You could smell the air and could tell it was going to rain. You picked up your pace.

Walking in the large building, you smelled the books and smiled. 

“Well hi, baby, what’re you looking for?” Came from Franny, your favorite librarian, knowing your routine by now.

“Hi Franny,” you grinned at her. “Do you have this book?” You handed her a crumbled piece of paper with the title of the book on it.

“Hmm,” Franny entered the title in her desktop and smiled knowingly. “I’m sorry hone–”

“Let me guess,” you rolled your eyes.

“Spencer has it,” you both said in unison. One cheerfully, and one tired. You guess who’s who.

“God, I’d love to give this Spencer a piece of my mind,” you shook your head. “He consistently checks out every book I want and I actually need this one!” You exclaimed. 

“What for?” Franny asked. 

“It’s my final. Our professor decided against a test final and just gave us a paper final. It counts for over half our grade and I know if I use the material in this book, I know I’ll ace that final…you see, I’m gonna make a callback reference to our intro to psycho book that’s gonna tie up my entire paper in a cute little bow.” You rambled, a bad habit you’ve gained whenever you become desperate for something. “I’m sorry,” you said. “You probably didn’t need to hear this, Franny.” You shook your head. “I’ll just check back tomorrow,” you turned and left quickly.

If you looked back, you’d seen Franny pursing her lips, pick up the phone, and dial a number. “Hi Spencer. It’s Franny. I’m sorry to bother you but I have a need for a book you checked out.”

You chewed on your lip as you walked into the library for the third day in a row. You weren’t expecting the book to be there today or any other day, but you had to at least check. Especially since your paper was due in three days. You inhaled as the familiar smell reached you again, a smile on your face, placating you for the time being. Today at the desk, was Esther, a particularly nosy woman.

“Hi Esther, any luck today?” You asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Actually, maybe!” She answered you. “Spencer is coming by today to drop off some books and pick some up, so maybe your book will be in the bunch!” She offered. 

You raised your eyebrow. “With my luck, probably not. But I finally get to meet this allusive Spencer.” You took a seat at the bench next to the main desk where the librarians worked and pulled out your laptop. It was a normal seat for you whenever you wanted to spend time at the library.

“Do you want some lemon bars, sweetie?” Esther, the known cook of the three main librarians, placed two lemon bars next to you. 

“Thank you, Esther,” you grinned thankfully at her. 

Deep into your studies, you didn’t noticed that an hour had gone past or that the other two librarians, Franny and Dorothy snuck in.

“Is he comin’?” Dorothy, with her deep southern accent, asked. 

“Yes, Dorothy. He told me he’d be here at 4:15 and that boy never lies to me,” Esther replied, rolling her eyes.

“You sure this is gonna work?” Franny asked, pushing her gray curls aside. “What if they don’t like each other?”

“Fran, those two couldn’t be a better match. My Henry (God rest his soul) told me I had a knack for seeing lovers,” Esther nodded. 

“That’s cuz you were always putting your nose in places it shouldn’t be –” Franny began to rebut but was interrupted by Dorothy. 

“Shhh, he’s coming!”

Sure enough, walking to the desk was Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU. Trademark cardigan, scarf, and shoulder bag on. “Hi ladies, is something special going on? It’s rare to see you all here at the same time. Although I get the library’s newsletter sent to me every month and I didn’t see any events happening today to warrant you all here at the same time today.” He began to ramble. 

“Oh Spencer, don’t you worry about us,” Franny waved him off.

At the mention of the familiar name, your head popped up.

“I see you’re returning some books. May I check them in for you? Y/N here has been needing one you might have for quite some time now,” Dorothy grabbed the books from Spencer’s hand and slid them over to Esther. “Now leave us old ladies be to check these back in.” She shooed him away.

“So you’re the famous Spencer Reid,” you said as you saw him approach the bench next to you. “I’m not sure if its a pleasure to meet you or not,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“Excuse me?” Spencer was taken aback. He saw you and blinked. You were beautiful. His mouth went dry, his heart stuttered, he felt a wave of adrenaline rush through him. 

You couldn’t help yourself. No matter how good looking he turned out to be, you thought to yourself. The rage built. “Every time I want to check out a book from here, you always have it, every single time! And sometimes you keep the books for months on end!” You huffed.

“Statistically, that’s impossible. There’s no possible way that every single time you need a book, I somehow have it,” Spencer challenged. Your voice sounded beautiful to his ears. He wanted to hear more of it. At least when it wasn’t filled with anger.

“Ladies?” You asked the librarians, without turning your back from Spencer.

“Yup.”

“Mhm.”

“Every single time.” Came their replies.

“…” Spencer had no reply to the three snarky librarians.

“Hmm,” you smirked at Spencer.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said sincerely. “I didn’t know. If I did, I would’ve eagerly give you the books you needed.” I’d give you anything you want or need, his thoughts said, catching him off guard.

“Oh.” Your heart stuttered. He’s so sweet. And handsome. And obviously he reads since he consistently checks books out from here. And you weren’t expecting this response from him. You were fully expecting him to be this alpha male with a bunch of bravado. “W-well, thank you.”

“What book did you need so urgently that Franny called me?” Spencer couldn’t help but ask, the profiler in him begging to do so. The man in him, curious to hear more from her.

You told him the title. “I need it for my final paper. I-I’m getting my doctorate in psychology and I need it for one of my classes.” 

“Spencer has three PhDs,” Esther added, boasting. 

“Esther, hush,” Franny smacked her shoulder. “Let the kids do it by themselves,” she whispered to her.

“Three?” You were impressed. “Wow. You’d have to be kind of a genius to have three PhDs.” You said non nonchalantly. 

“Well, certifiably, I am a genius. I have an IQ of 185 and can read 20,000 words per minute and have an eidetic memory, but I don’t necessarily like to call myself a genius,” Spencer bashfully said. 

“Whoa…” You breathed. “But you’re totally one. A wonderful, brilliant genius,” the statement accidentally slipped out of your mouth and you blushed.

Spencer laughed, blushing as well. “Thank you.” 

You and Spencer engaged in small talk during the time the librarians were checking in more books. In the back of your mind, you were wondering why they were taking so long. They never take this long. But in your Spencer filled haze, you didn’t care. You smiled at each other, both of you taking in the beauty of each other’s smiles. You quickly moved your stuff aside for him to take a seat next to you on the bench. He quickly glanced at your laptop and instantly read part of your paper. The topic quickly jumped to psychology which jumped into talking about people’s minds, which, thanks to Spencer, jumped to odd facts. You were amazing by this man and all he had to offer. He had given you some extra facts to put into your paper.

Meanwhile, the librarians were smiling at the two of you, silently cheering you both on. The women had never seen Spencer smile as large as he did with you and you had never opened up so quickly to another person. It took even Esther a few months before you even gave her a smile. 

From then on, you and Spencer had a standing date at the library. In your bench. Occasionally Spencer would check out a book you’d randomly mentioned before just to rile you up. He was never able to live down the encounter that caused you to meet. While studying one night, Spencer rushed into the library and planted a kiss on your lips, changing your relationship with that. While he made the first move in your relationship, you made the first move in the bedroom. He was scared of his inexperience and you talked him through it. He proved to be a quick learner and with him reading smut novels for experiences and ideas in the bed, you were never ever unsatisfied.  

You both adopted a dog, which you named Esther because of the dog’s keen sense of smell. Esther found it hilarious and promptly kissed you both on the cheek. “About time you named something after me! I’d better get a baby named after me!” She cackled. 

The team noticed he was always happier and sometimes would walk in with his hair and ties ruffled. Luke could’ve sworn he saw a hickie on Spencer’s neck during a case. When he asked the boy genius about it, he immediately blushed at the memory.

“I want to try something,” you said shyly one night. 

“What?” Spencer smiled, holding you in his lap. He furrowed his brow at your shyness. You’d gotten over that long before. 

“I know you have sensory issues, but…I just want you to feel. Don’t think, but feel,” you told him as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“I don–” He was cut off by you kissing his neck. He laughed, “Y/N, I have no problem with you kissing my — oh.” He felt a wet vacuum on his neck. He could feel your tongue working on his neck, the feeling new to him. It caused a stirring in his body. The same stirring he got when he was aroused. He couldn’t help himself as he grabbed your face and kissed you.

“Spence, I wasn’t done!” You exclaimed. 

Spencer quickly removed your shirt. “And I’m just getting started,” he smiled.

Time passed quickly, yet slowly in your relationship. You were both so happy together. You didn’t know if you could be happier. He had come to your graduation, where you first met the team. They were suspicious and thought he relapsed so they followed him to you. The team loved you instantly. You quickly became a part of the family. JJ and Derek often called you and Spencer to baby sit. You kept your standing date at the library, even though you had no need of studying anymore. The three librarians always happy to see you both.

One day you went to the library to see all of them there. That never happened. Unless, like Spencer said the day you met, there was an event. And you knew there wasn’t. “What’re you ladies doing here?” You asked cheerfully.

“Oh no reason, darlin’,” Dorothy told you, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. Actually, they all looked like that. 

To your surprise, Spencer proposed to you. In that library. On that bench. The squeals from the ladies were deafening. You swore they cheered even louder than Spencer’s team at your wedding. They each made long toasts, the guests confused at first. Esther’s was full of details you both hadn’t known she knew. “Nosy old bat,” Franny had said. Esther had the entire room cackle with laughter. Dorothy’s speech was filled with many, many southern phrasings and accounts of key moments of your relationship which she was witness to. She was always the one you came to during struggles in your relationship. And Franny’s was filled with wisdom, love, and hope. She was the one who orchestrated your first meeting.

No one was surprised, however, when you became pregnant immediately after your wedding; the both of you eager to start a family. Everyone was surprised when your water broke in that fateful library. On your bench. While Spencer panicked and called, in order, the team, then the ambulance. Luckily the three ladies had all enrolled in midwifery quickly after your first meeting and helped you deliver your first child, Diana Dorothy, in that library. On your bench. 

You were happy to inform Esther, a year after giving birth to your first son, that his first word was ‘Esther’. “This is better than having a baby named after me!” She hooted.

Unfortunately, with the times, the three ladies eventually passed. Esther first, Dorothy quickly after, then Franny held on long enough to see the birth of your third child, a girl you’d decided to call Francis Esther. In each of the ladies’ will, there was one statement that remained the same. “Give the library bench to Drs. Spencer and Y/N Reid. It has always been theirs.” 

That bench sat in the library of your home with Spencer, underneath a beautiful window where you’d told your children stories of the three ladies who were responsible for everything they knew. 

Dear Diary

a/N -  uhhh this is filthy lmao thats all i got

pairing - Kim Yugyeom x Reader x Bang Chan

genre - smut 

You didn’t keep a diary perse. Dream journal is what you liked to call it. You didn’t write down your secrets or your emotions or what happened in your day. What you did write down were scenarios that turned you on or things you dreamt, usually the two were mixed. Often you dreamt about things or people in ways you wish you could see not just in your unconscious mind. You also weren’t someone who napped during the day but today was full of firsts.

Keep reading

Together in the end — Ben Hargreeves

Pairings : Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Umbrella!reader

Warnings : nothing much, just a little angst

Summary : While the Umbrella Academy lost Ben Hargreeves some 17 years ago, the Sparrow Academy lost you instead. Set in Season 3 ep 1-2, you share an emotional reunion with the new Ben Hargreeves.

Word Count : 1.7k

Note : I rarely write anymore, but Ben Hargreeves has my heart. Maybe I’ll do a part 2!

“Dad, who the hell are these assholes?”. You recognised Ben’s voice. It had been over 17 years since you’ve heard it (oh the things you would’ve done to hear his voice one last time). This time, it was slightly different though, slightly deeper, and at a lower register. Nevertheless, you’d never forget the voice of someone who meant so much to you.

The last time you had “spoken” to Ben wasn’t long ago, through Klaus. You had gone with Diego to pay the cult leader a visit. Little did you know, you would have shared your last emotional embrace with Ben. It felt odd, almost desperate even, speaking to him through Klaus, but it had been so long since you had been held in Ben’s arms. When he left, he told Viktor to remind you that he loved you. It hurt to recall the events of the past few days, especially because you knew there was nothing you regretted more than not telling Ben you loved him before he died. Everyone in the family knew you harboured affections for each other — it was difficult to date in secret when some of your siblings were so nosy. The two of you had shared your first kiss just days before he passed. You were both teens, and there was so much more love you had for him, so many “I love you”s you had saved for him, all of which you never had the chance to give him.

“Ben?”, your voice was shaky, and you felt your eyes become glassy. Now wasn’t the time to get emotional, especially since the mansion was crowded with super-powered (and potentially dangerous) strangers. Ben looked different — the scar on his cheek, the way he styled his hair. It scared you that he had changed, but what scared you the most was the look in his eyes. You couldn’t read what was behind his dark eyes, not like how you could with your Ben. The old Ben was sweet, and very very messy. The man before you looked scheming, angry, and the way he spoke reminded you of an asshole. You did notice his facial expressions soften when his eyes landed on you.

“Y/N?” His voice was just as shaky as yours.

“Ben, compose yourself.” The woman who could manifest crows warned him.

“Is that really you, Y/N?” The brunette (you would later know as Sloane) interjected. She seemed like the kindest of the bunch.

How could they have known your name? You weren’t the brightest Hargreeves sibling but it didn’t take much for you to come to a conclusion. If Ben was alive in their timeline, perhaps you were the one that had passed. While the Umbrella academy grew up without Ben, the Sparrows had done so without you. You didn’t have much time to process this though, since things escalated pretty quickly between the Umbrellas and Sparrows. Before you knew it, you found yourself caught between Five and the sparrow sibling with hallucinogenic spit. She snarled and hurled her dark spit towards you too quickly for you to react, but it was swiftly deflected by a tentacle you never imagined you’d see again.

“You okay?“ Ben approached you cautiously.

“How do you all know my name?” You asked him. He didn’t look as cold as he did earlier. Instead, his facial expressions were replaced by a mixture of confusion, concern, and even a little bit of hurt. You saw the edges of his lips move, as if he were about to say something, but you never got a chance to hear his reply as the rest of your siblings dragged you away.

The second time you saw him was just as unexpected. You had gone on your usual morning jog with Luther before the sparrows kidnapped the both of you. When the both of you woke up, you followed closely behind Luther. You thought it best to be silent in case the Sparrows could see through your facade and detect your anxiety. Luther could sense your fear, which was why he held you close and did the talking on your behalf while you sat next to Sloane.

“Has your Y/N always been such a coward? Can you not speak for yourself?” Ben gestured towards you in a mocking tone.

“Ignore him.” Fei comforted you. You couldn’t deny you felt hurt. Your Ben was not nearly as much of an asshole as he was.

“Our Ben would’ve never spoken to us like this.” Your voice trailed off towards the end. You weren’t looking for a fight.

“I’m not your little boyfriend, Y/N. My Y/N was never this pathetic.” Ben retaliated.

“Ben! That’s enough!” Fei interjected. Ben’s eyebrows furrowed and his eyes softened once he saw your hurt expression. You could tell he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but you stormed out of the room before he had the chance to say anything else.

After his interrogation with Luther, Ben left him to his meal. Fei followed him out to confront him.

“You still have feelings for her.” Fei knew her brother well enough to tell that he had been distracted the past day.

“She’s not our Y/N, Fei, she’s the enemy.” Ben defended himself, but he knew that some part of him cared for her more than he’d like to admit.

“You should talk to her, you only get that kind of love once in your life.” Fei encouraged. Ben stayed silent as she walked away. He pinched his nose bridge and squeezed his eyes shut. It had been difficult to maintain a stoic expression in front of his siblings, especially considering the overwhelming sense of confusion, melancholy and relief he had to hide for the past day.

Ben entered his room to grab his jacket, although he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t also hoping to find you there. In his timeline, you died a few years after Ben did in yours. This meant that the both of you had been together for a few years before he lost you. He knew you’d come to his room to cry whenever something upset you.

To his relief, Ben did find you curled up in his bed.

“I came to grab my jacket.” Ben lied. You immediately jolted up and tried to wipe away your tears as subtly as you could when he barged in.

“Stop… crying on my bed, emo. It’s gross.” He tried to sound detached, hoping you couldn’t tell that his heart actually clenched at the sight of your pitiful expression. He was angry at himself for hurting you, but he was even more confused about his feelings towards you. You were supposed to be the enemy, yet he wanted nothing more than to apologise and hold you in his arms.

“I’ll leave, I’m sorry” You hoped he would be a little kinder to you after the hurtful things he said earlier, but you had to remind yourself that this was not the same Ben you loved.

“Wait…just stay for a bit.” Ben’s voice was much softer now, almost as if he was pleading.

“You used to come in here when you were upset” He explained.

“You told me I could always come to your room to cry whenever our siblings upset me.” You added.

“Tell me about your Ben...” Ben gently sat himself next to you. You scanned his face. His eyes were glassy, his eyebrows creased and you swore you saw his lips quiver. It took a lot for Ben to keep himself together at the moment. For a brief second, you saw a hint of warmth, kindness and love in his eyes, just like the Ben you knew.

“Um… I loved him, but I never got the chance to tell him… For some time, Klaus could speak to him. He told me you loved me back.” You stifled a sob and covered your face with your hands as you cried. You felt Ben’s arms hold you tightly, so you melted into his embrace and let out a sob into his chest. He only pulled you in closer. Ben needed this as much as you did, he felt desperate for your touch. If only you knew how hard he had wished to hold you one last time since your accident, how many sleepless nights he had because his heart yearned for you till it physically hurt.

“I never got to hear him tell me he loved me back. Klaus reminds me he does, but I’ll never hear his voice saying it.” You whispered, hoping Ben would understand.

“I love you. I love you more than you can imagine.” Ben whispered back without missing a beat. You sobbed louder into his chest. It’s confusing, finally hearing the words you had wanted to hear so badly after waiting 17 years.

“I might not be your Ben, but I love you, and it hurts too much to know you never heard it back.” Ben pulled your head towards his, resting his forehead onto yours. Your noses lightly brushed against each other, and your lips were dangerously close.

“I love you too. There is no old Ben or new Ben, just you, you are my Ben.” You assured him. You don’t know exactly when, but by now, Ben’s cheeks were also streaked with tears. He shut his eyes tightly, attempting to regain his composure.

“You have no idea how physically painful it was to not be able to hold you like this, to not be able to kiss you.” Ben’s breathing was erratic, you could tell it was taking a lot of effort for him to stop himself from crumbling.

“I do.” You replied softly, as you raised your thumb to wipe his tears.

“Can I kiss you?” Ben pleaded. His eyes were full of longing. This man in front of you is exactly the Ben Hargreeves you knew. Perhaps the childhood he shared with the Sparrows, and the sorrow he experienced after losing you made him act like the asshole he was a few hours earlier. You heart ached thinking about how much he had been through.

You closed the gap between your lips, running your hands through his hair. His palm held the back of your head firmly but gently, as if he was afraid of losing you again.

Even if the universe was about to end for the third time, you had never been more thankful that you found your way back to Ben Hargreeves in the end.

I'm totally in Love with your Storys !!🥰 Would you do an Imagine where Eli/Hawk bullys a girl (Nerd/Weeb) but due to a Event he falls in love? Thsnk you in advance !🤩

Hi! First of all, thanks a lot for your request! And for your kind words it is so nice to read this after the effort us writers put on our stories...🥺💚💚✨🌼 I hope you don’t mind but I am not very familiar with Weeb culture, so I don't want to offend anyone by writing about the reader in a wrong way. I therefore decided to go for a nerd, geeky reader. I hope you like it!

Warnings: perhaps some spoilers from season 3… I’m not sure but just in case… and language, as usual.

Word count: 1604

A/n: I had a lovely time writing this, but I think it has come out veeeery cheesy… Anyway, enjoy!

The table was filled with all sorts of geek handmade stuff. Banners with prizes and tins for donations surrounded it, praying ‘WE MISS YOU MIGUEL’ and ‘HELP MIGUEL GET OUT OF HOSPITAL’. You put your hands in your hips, proud of all the work you’ve done. Alongside your friend Demetri and some others, you’ve been painting t-shirts, creating earrings, pendants, rings and all sorts of things to help raise funds for Miguel’s surgery. Next to you, there was the Car Wash Sam had organised too. Any help was useful, and all of you had great ideas. Dimitri had made a website to sell all these things you’ve made, but today you had brought some lemonade and snacks for the people waiting in the queue. You were wearing your favourite show’s t-shirt and everything looked perfect.

Of course, until the Cobras Arrived.

You heard some motorcycles and looked in their direction. Dimitri cursed under his breath. 

‘Shit, not again…’

Led by Hawk, the boys got off their bikes and headed in your direction. The one with the mohawk went straight to your friend, who stood there, straight faced. 

You were pretty new at school. You had arrived a couple of months before the big fight when Miguel’s accident occurred and had become great friends with Dimitri because of your common interests. He has been the one who told you all about Eli, the “previous” Hawk. How shy and clever he was, and how they both shared amazing movie nights and scientific discussions. It was clear that Dimitri really missed Eli, but for some reason, Hawk was treating his friend terribly. And you. He didn’t even know you, but since you were part of Star Wars, Marvel, Harry Potter and many more fandoms, he seemed to hate you for barely existing.

‘Hey losers’ one of the boys behind him said.

‘What do you want?’ your friend asked, standing in front of you.

Suddenly, Hawk moved forward and stood in front of Dimitri. You had a feeling that something bad was going to happen so you took a step forward.

‘Look, guys, we don’t want any trouble. If you could please leave us…’

‘And who's this?’ Hawk said, smirking ‘You’ve found a girl as nerdy as you, Dimitri?’

‘Don’t call her a nerd!’

Both of them got closer and you started to worry your friend would end up wounded.

‘Please, leave us alone’.

‘Don’t tell me what to do, you freak. I can't believe you still like that childish crap’.

And then, they proceeded to destroy all the stuff you brought to sell. Kicking the table, all your things on the floor. After they were done, the took the money and one big boy said:

‘Now this, this is for Miguel. But raised by Cobra Kai’

They all started laughing. You stood in front of them and looked at Hawk directly in the eye.

‘Are you done?’ you crossed your arms over your chest.

The boy looked at you up and down. 

‘I’ll take that as a “yes”. Now get the fuck away from here before I call the police. At least I’m sure the money will go to Miguel’s cause and not somewhere else…’ you turned around and started picking things from the floor. You looked miserable taking the t-shirts from the ground, stained and soaked with lemonade. Dimitri and the other boys helped you do so and the Cobras said ‘Whatever, losers’ and started to leave.

However, Hawk stood there for a couple of seconds. He had been surprised by your courage and he even found that attractive?. The boy looked at you quietly, analysing your gestures. Surely Eli would have fallen in love with you, but not him, not Hawk. He was a badass and you were a nerd. No way. Though he actually felt bad for what they have done to you.

‘Hey, Hawk. Come on!’ his friend called him.

He shook his head and turned to them. Soon all of these weird emotions would have been forgotten. 

A couple of hours later, Hawk was heading home on his bike. He stopped at a red light near the car wash area and saw everyone had already left. However, he spotted a familiar figure sitting on the edge of the road. You were looking down, embracing a tiny cardboard box. He suddenly felt the urge to keep you company since it was getting dark, so he turned to the left and parked the bike right behind you.

‘Hey’ he said.

You looked behind you, and scoffed.

‘What do you want?’

Of course, he thought, she must be very annoyed. He realised your eyes were puffy. Certainly, right after the Cobras left, you took everything from the floor, but you started crying right away. Dimitri promised you everything would be alright and ran to get some more drinks to try and sell them anyway. 

‘Look, I… I’m sorry’. he said, sitting next to you. 

You looked at him, raising an eyebrow. 

‘I shouldn’t have let the boys do that, and of course I shouldn’t have participated’

You looked down at your black Converse. 

‘Yeah…That was really mean’. 

Hawk felt really embarrassed. He wasn’t sure about why he had behaved like that, but now that he was talking to you, he felt terribly sorry.

‘What are you doing here? Alone, I mean’ he asked after a while.

‘Dimitri offered to take me home, but I told him I wanted to walk a bit, you know… After today…’

‘Yeah.. Oh, I just remembered’ Hawk said, picking something from his pocket ‘I brought the money back. As a way to say sorry’.

‘How did you…? you asked, taking it cautiously.

‘I told them I would take it to the Hospital’.

You nodded, caressing the paper bag.

‘Thank you’ you muttered after a while.

He smiled softly.

‘Don’t. I did something hideous, and I am really sorry. I’m just trying to mend it’.

You looked at him. He was remarkably cute, and the mohawk gave him that badass look. You shook your head in disbelief, how could you be thinking that? After how bad he treated you… 

Both of you remained silent. You moved the box a bit with your feet and he looked inside.

‘Have you… Have you made those?’ he said, pointing at the shirts.

You nodded. ‘I designed them and painted the original drawing. Dimitri copied it into 50 of them’ 

‘They are really cool’ he said, taking one and looking at it. ‘However, I think the Winter Soldier is way cooler than Captain America’. 

You chuckled a bit. ‘Yeah, I think so as well, but the boys said he would be more recognisable…’

Hawk looked at your profile. Your laugh had sounded like music to his ears and he started analysing the lines of your face. You felt his eyes on you and felt the heat rising to your head. He thought about how good it felt to be talking about something he used to like a lot with you and smiled to himself.

Then, you realised it was completely dark.

‘Oh, shit!’ you said, standing up ‘I better get going, I promised Dimitri to text him when I got home…’

‘I’ll take you’ Hawk said before he could stop himself.

You looked at him, shocked. What? Why would he take you home? 

‘You don’t have to…’

‘I… It’s no problem… I mean If you want to…’ he said, a hand in the back of his head now.

You smiled shyly.

‘Oh… Ok, then’.

You went hiding the box behind some bushes to get it the next day and followed Hawk to the motorcycle. He offered you his helmet and you put it on.

‘Thanks. How on earth do you put this on?’ you asked.

He chuckled.

‘Well… It’s the power of Hawk’.

You scoffed and he asked you to hold on to him. You climbed behind him and put your arms around his torso. You felt his abs behind his shirt and started to feel hot again. Jesus, Y/n... put yourself together! 

Once you arrived at your house, you dismounted the bike and handed Hawk the helmet. He looked at you with those puppy eyes of his and you nearly melted.

‘Thanks a lot for the ri…’

‘I’m really sorry, Y/n’ he blurted out.

‘It’s alright, Hawk, really. It was really nice talking to you’. you smiled.

He relaxed a bit and you could see he was blushing a bit. Looking down, both of you remained silent. Then, he opened his mouth when your phone started vibrating.

‘Oh, that must be Dimitri’ you said, refusing the call. ‘I… I’ll better get going’.

‘Yeah, yeah, of course…’ Hawk said, seeming disappointed.

You bit your lip and looked at him. Picking all the courage you had, you took a step closer to him and kissed him in the cheek.

‘Thanks again for the ride’ you said ‘See you around!’ 

And you ran to the house, your heart feeling about to explode and leaving Hawk looking at you in awe. He saw you running to your door and couldn’t help but think how hard he has fallen for you.

satisfaction

♡ a/n: i couldn't answer the request directly but here it is-- and you guys know i love harry but yk... smut <3

♡ pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

♡ 1: do you think of me when you touch yourself?

♡ 24: has he ever touched you like this?

♡ 26: were you masturbating?

harry potter was one of the kindest people you'd ever met. the way he treated you was like royalty and you truly did think he deserved the world-- but you couldn't bring yourself to love him. every time you had sex with harry, you shamefully thought about draco malfoy instead. you were one of the many girls infatuated with the slytherin prince but what good reason could you have to throw away a good relationship over a fantasy? none. and that's what you told yourself every time you found yourself thinking of him-- the latest being tonight. a potion gone wrong in class by none other than draco malfoy had prompted you to skip out on dinner to take a shower and get the melted mystical ingredients out of your hair. you made yourself presentable as you were going to meet harry afterwards but sat on your bed and thought about draco again. his grey eyes had widened when his potion spat at you and he apologised. that's right, apologised. it's basic human decency yet all you could fucking think about was letting him pin you down and ruin you. looking at the time, you gave in and laid back and trailed your fingers between your legs, underneath your skirt. you circled yourself, about to touch yourself to the wrong person when the door flew open and you screamed.

draco was standing in your doorway, blushing heavily and his eyes darted to your hand, making you yell and throw a pillow at him. "turn around you bloody git!" you cried. "i just came to see if you were alright after our potions mishap!" he laughed. this was humiliating, why the hell was he laughing? "were you masturbating?" "no!" he raised a blond eyebrow as if he didn't believe you. "well i was about to before you so rudely interrupted." you huffed, cheeks burning. draco closed the door before stepping towards you and your breath hitched visibly. "potter doesn't satisfy you then?" he smirked, gazing down at you. "excuse me?" offended, you scoffed. "i mean, if he did you wouldn't be in your dorm touching yourself instead of meeting him." his fingertips brushed over your waist and he kept going carefully. "and you wouldn't spend your class time staring at the person he hates most." fuck. he had you. "draco," you warned-- against what? you couldn't say. "tell me love, do you think of me when you touch yourself?" the bastard knew the answer just as you knew you were dangerously close to doing one of the worst things you could. "shut up malfoy." you whispered without a hint of sincerity. "the real thing would be better y/n. aren't you the least bit," he licked his lips slowly, knowing damn well what he was doing to you. "curious?" of course you were. he laughed warmly at your silence and his hot breath hit your face. gods. closing the gap between you two, your lips crashed against his.

teeth grazed over each other and draco immediately set on exploring your mouth with his tongue, which you let him do happily. he shoved you against the wall and attached his lips to your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin roughly. harry was thrown from your mind and you were purely concentrated on draco's wet mouth on your skin. unbuttoning your top, he slid a finger underneath you bra and fondled you while rubbing through the fabric of your panties. a gasp left you, helping that awful smirk of his grow. you moaned when his finger slid into your entrance and pumped into you. quick paced and thrusting into you with heavy desire, draco kissed you again-- sloppily but filled with adoration. "always bloody knew you should be with me and not him," he growled, fingers fucking you harder. "you're mine-- and so is your dirty little cunt." you nodded, shaking from his motions and moaned breathily. "has he ever touched you like this?"you shook your head and groaned. "never draco." not even when harry was inches inside of your pussy had you felt this fucking good. he lifted your chin, thumping your head on the wall, and pressed another kiss to your neck. release came over you and your orgasm swam on draco's hand. his movements slowed and he helped you finish.

gasping and panting, you settled as he took his fingers out of you. he sucked the glistening juices off of his fingers and grabbed you by the waist. "you'll go meet potter now," he commanded and you nodded, eager to comply. "from now on, you're being fucked and loved the way you deserve." for once since you'd started seeing the boy you couldn't love, you felt true satisfaction.

obsession (4)

pairing ➵ norman osborn x reader

summary ➵ after weeks of living at the osborn mansion, norman begins to show his softer side

warnings ➵ smut, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), fingering, soft sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise!kink

words ➵ 3062

other parts ➵ part one, part two, part three, part five

✾ ✾ ✾

It was strange staying with Norman, living at the Osborn Manor. That was if you could consider her arrangement as living there. It was something she still couldn’t wrap her head around. 

Keep reading

got7 reacts to:

a/n: this is the cutest hhhhhhhhhh i hope you like it!

jaebum

his eyes open tiredly as he felt the shaking on his arm. he took a glance on the blinking light of the watch by the bedside table before turning to look at you with worried eyes. “baby? what is it?” he asked, voice husky in the wee hours of the morning. he cupped your face gently and stroked his thumb on your cheeks. “did you know that alpaca’s wool fibers are flame-resistant?” you said with an excited smile, your eyes shining a bit and hr bursted out laughing.

“i did not know that, y/n,” he answered with a soft smile. you nodded and rested your head on his chest, leaving soft kisses on his bare skin before drifting back to sleep. “love you, baby,” he mumbled before he fell back into dreamland.

mark

you were up until one in the morning, watching videos about llamas. you didn’t know why but it entertained you until you fell asleep, phone still clutched in a hand while the other was thrown around mark’s waist. he’s been in dreamland since he came home at around 11 after a meeting. normally he was a deep sleeper but somehow when you spoke his name quietly, he opened his eyes, pulling you closer to him.

“hmm?” he asked, rubbing your arm as you mumbled silently. “llamas’ poop don’t smell. and they use it as fertilizer and even fuel in brazil.“ you said, eyes still closed and a grin formed in his lips. he took his phone and filmed you mumbling softly about llamas before you dropped a kiss on his chin and continued on your sleep. he laughed and kissed your temple, muttering a soft “i love you,” before closing his eyes.

jackson

it was a quick flight to hongkong but after their tight schedule, jackson took this opportunity to sleep in the plane, you following him to dreamland. at first you spent your first half of an hour watching him sleep with a small smile in your lips before deciding it was a bit creepy. he was sleeping peacefully on your shoulder so you lay your head on his and drifted off yourself.

“hey jacks,” you mumbled as you stirred in your sleep, waking him up and he looked up at you with drowsy eyes. “yes, babe?” he asked and you snuggled closer to him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “did you know that alpacas have a type that grows silky dreadlocks?“ you said, yawning. you pressed a kiss on his cheek before closing your eyes and falling back to sleep. he threw his head back in laughter before kissing your hair lovingly and going back to sleep.

jinyoung

it was one of those days when you both had nothing to do except watch movies and/or nap in the living room, snuggled together in the couch. he was fast asleep and had you in his arms, cuddled to his chest as your hand gripped on his shirt. you stirred in your sleep as if waking from a dream and you sat up, waking him up in the process.

“what is it, sweetheart?” he asked as you rubbed your fist on your eyes, a habit you do when you wake up. letting out a yawn, you answered him, “llama’s scientific name is lama glama? lama glama, lama glama, lama glama.“ you said, voice hoarse from the sleep. on habit, you pecked his lips before slumping on him again, arms wrapped around his waist to which he smiled softly. brushing your hair away from your face, he kissed your forehead and mumbled, “i love you,” before drifting back to sleep.

youngjae

after a date in a beach quite a drive from seoul, you both had fell asleep on the cab you called. it was a long day but you two were happy nonetheless since it’s been quite some time since you went out on a date. your head was on his shoulder while his arm is wrapped around you and his head resting on yours.

he stirred in his sleep when he felt you moving your hand to grip his, interlocking your fingers. “youngjae, did you know that alpacas mostly hum and not spit?“ you muttered softly and he laughed as you kissed his cheek and returned to your sleep as if nothing happened. youngjae closed his eyes and kissed your forehead lovingly before returning to sleep.

bambam

“babe?” he asked as you suddenly sat up. it was still dark outside from he observed and he took you in his arms again, making you face him.

“bam,” you trailed off, eyes barely open as if you’re sleeptalking. he hummed, rubbing your back, coaxing you to continue what you’re saying. “a-alpacas don’t have teeth in their upper palette.“ you said and he chuckled, voice husky from the sleep as he pulled you down back to the bed. “that’s adorable, baby,” he answered and you grunted a yes and kissed his lips before going back to sleep. bambam laughed again, taking his phone from the nightstand to snap a picture of you before he cuddled you closer to him. “love you so much,” he mumbled before falling back to sleep.

yugyeom

“y/n,” he whined as he felt you shaking him to wake him up. yugyeom buried his face on the crook of your neck and you pouted. “yugy, i have something to tell you,” you cooed, eyes still droopy but you had excitement in your voice. he looked up at you, hand moving on your waist, his thumb rubbing softly on the skin under your shirt. “yeah?” he asked, voice husky from the sleep.

“llamas, t-they give birth standing up,“ you said and smiled widely before you wrapped your arm on his waist and snuggled your head on his chest. he groaned but didn’t stop the smile forming on his lips as you peppered his skin kisses and then drifted back to sleep. he sighed and dropped a kiss on your hair. “you make me fall in love with you harder every day,” he smiled and fell back to sleep.​

Yandere Bambam cheating on Mark

You were on tour with the boys since Mark allowed you to go with him. You were in the same hotel room. You waited for Mark since they had a late night photo shoot. The television kept you occupied until you felt your eyelids get heavy and you fell asleep. Mark had gotten back with the boys laughing and pushing Bambam for making a sexual joke about you. He got back to the hotel and smiled lovingly at you sleeping. You had a long drive and day walking around with him so he was okay with you sleeping. Mark crawled into bed next to you to not wake you up and fell asleep as well turned away. It was late at night when your eyes fluttered open. 

You swore you felt lips on yours. You thought Mark was kissing you so you kissed back. A tongue slipped into your mouth and you lazily rubbed yours against the tongue invading your mouth. When you finally saw who it was Bambam smirked pressing his finger to his lips.  “Shh.” He whispered.

You wanted to yell and kick out Bambam but at the same time, you wanted to more. You know that it was wrong but it felt so good. Bambam slowly crawled on top of you rolling you on your back. He was like a lion slow and careful going to his prey.

“I know you want this kitten.” He whispered in your ear before trailing his soft lips down your jaw to your throat.

You let out a soft whimper. You did want it. You wanted all of it; your arousal was too much to stop. 

Mark moved half-asleep hearing your whimper; your heart beat a thousand beats per minute. You shut your eyes tight waiting for Mark to scream and kick you out but he just let out a sigh.

“You okay babe?” Mark mumbled in his sleep.

Bambam smirked down at you raising an eyebrow. He whispered against your neck. “Say something or he will be suspicious.”

“Yes, I just scratched myself by accident.” You spoke up. Your body feeling hot at the sin you were committing and Bambam’s lips on your neck still.

Mark chuckled. “Be careful sweetie.” 

That chuckle made your stomach churn. How could you be doing this to the sweetest man ever? Bambam growled feeling your hesitance. He leaned his head up pressing his lips against yours once again and slipped his hand down to feel your breast in his warm hand. The rings on his fingers cold against your skin. You wanted to whine at the feeling rubbing your thighs together needing something. 

“Bambam.” You whined softly.

Bambam smirked down at you slipping something out of his back pocket. It was the key card to his hotel room.

“Come with me. Come to my room and I will give you what you want.” He waved the card taunting.

You watch the card biting your lip then your eyes went to Mark’s sleeping form.

“However, if you come with me. If you take this. You are mine. My pet. To spoil, love, and fuck.” Bambam whispered holding up the card.

oh no, mr suh, please don’t spank me

johnny x fem reader

cameo: taeyong

genre: !!smut!!, roommates au, fake enemies to lovers, a little tiny fluffy angst bc it’s my brand apparently

warnings: a lot of mutual teasing, finger sucking, sexting, solo f and m, spanking, marking, dry humping, hand job, fingering, slight cum play, not protected, overstimulation f and m, multiple orgasms, penetration, manhandling, oral m and f, tiny degradation (sparse use of ‘little slut’), rough

words: 7K

it’s finally here!! this one is very juicy haha good luck I guess :) keep your panties dry challenge

taglist: @comically-sleep-deprived​ @strawberrymilkandcigarettes​ @theworld-accordingtocasey​ @kibumingi​

_____

“Johnny, get lost." 

You raised your eyes to meet Johnny’s peaceful face in the middle of the corridor, one of them still twitching for waking up so early. 

He smirked and didn’t move. 

You made a step on the right. 

He did the same. 

"John,” you made a step on the left. 

His body kept blocking your way. 

“Why? Are you busy?” His voice was deep and thick like honey and in other circumstances you would have wanted to listen to it forever. But that morning you woke up without a single ounce of patience. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Yes, unlike you." 

"I’m also busy.”

“Oh yeah? Doing what?" 

"Getting between your legs.”

Keep reading

Siren

Summary : Bucky is obsessed with you. He is insanely, hopelessly, unhealthily obsessed with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Grumpy x Sunshine, Wife!reader, sweet!reader, sex references. Love taken to an extreme. A lot of cursing, Congressman!Bucky, threats, obsessive love bordering on stalking, possessive love. Overprotective!Bucky, Jealous! Bucky, dark!Bucky, dark!you, Overprotective!you. You are Sam and Sarah’s childhood best friend, canon-typical violence. I feel like I have to disclose that Bucky does not hurt you at any point in this story. Let me know if I miss anything! 

Word count : 8.9k

Note : This is probably my most cursing-heavy story. This is fictional story, so please do not get into an unhealthily obsessive relationship irl. I will also be posting a new part of Super Soldier Support Group tomorrow! Enjoy!

It started with a casual gathering at the Wilson Family home. Nothing fancy, just good food, loud music, and a backyard full of people laughing. 

It was warm, the kind of sticky Louisiana heat that made the air feel weirdly refreshing— the perfect day for Sam to throw one of his famous family cookouts.

Bucky hadn’t wanted to go, not that day anyway. He had not been sleeping well that week, and that made him grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual. 

He wasn’t sure if he could handle the crowd, or the small talk. 

But Sam had insisted, and somehow a sleep-deprived Bucky found himself standing in the corner of the docks, watching from a distance while the party went on without him.

Then he saw you.

And suddenly, everything stopped.

You were laughing, standing next to Sarah and helping with the food. You had this bright energy about you, like sunshine breaking through a dark cloud.

From the very first moment he saw you, something inside Bucky snapped. It wasn’t attraction—it was possession. His brain, his soul, whatever dark, broken part of him that was still capable of love— latched onto you like a parasite. You were too beautiful. Too sweet. Too—fuck, what was he thinking?

“C’mon man,” Sam’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Don’t just stand there looking like you’re planning a murder. I want you to meet someone.”

Bucky frowned but let Sam drag him forward anyway. His stomach twisted when he realised Sam was leading him straight to you.

“This is my childhood best friend,” Sam introduced you, “Be nice to her, Buck.”

You turned from your conversation to face him, and…Jesus Christ.

This was even worse up close. You had such a pretty smile, and the most wonderful eyes. You didn’t even have to try to brighten up the room.

“Hi,” you greeted, offering your hand.

Bucky hesitated. He didn’t like touching strangers—hell, he barely liked touching people he knew—but then you looked at him again, and—fuck.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his flesh fingers wrapped around yours.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t react the way people so often did when they realised who he was. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” you said softly. “Sam’s told me a lot about you.”

Bucky’s heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. All he could manage was a stiff nod.

Sam, standing beside you, cleared his throat, narrowing his eyes at Bucky. “Be civil, okay?” He was already overthinking this, assuming this could go sideways fast. Sam wanted you two to get along more than anything in the world— he would at least want his childhood best friend and his work best friend to be able to stand in a room together without ripping each other’s head off— but he wasn’t counting on it.

Confused, you scrunched your nose. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Bucky wanted to know the same thing.

“Because,” Sam said, exasperated, “you’re polar opposites. You’re too damn nice for your own good, and Barnes here is all doom and gloom. He hates people. You love people.”

You turned your eyes back to Bucky, considering the former winter soldier before smiling, and subsequently melting Bucky’s heart. 

“I don’t know, Sam,” you said. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

—

Bucky kept his distance throughout the day. 

Not because he wanted to, but because he had to.

You were too much. Too sweet, it felt like he was getting a sugar rush just looking at you. 

It was overwhelming. 

And it wasn’t just that he liked you. It was worse than that. 

In the short time he had known you, he had already begun craving you.

But you made it worse.

You sought him out, found excuses to talk to him, tried to make him laugh.

And god help him, but he liked it.

He liked the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled at him. He liked the way you said his name. He liked the way your hand traced his metal arm when you spoke to him.

“Bucky,” you called at one point, while Sam worked the grill, “Try this.”

He glanced down at the spoon you were holding out to him, brows furrowed. “What is it?”

You chuckled like you already knew you had him wrapped around your finger. “Just try it.”

He sighed, and then you pressed a hand to his chest, steadying yourself as you lifted the spoon to his lips.

He froze, and before he could even process what was happening, he was opening his mouth, letting you feed him.

You watched him, waiting for his reaction. “Well?”

Bucky blinked, chewing slowly. It was… good. Really good.

But admitting that felt like surrender, so he just shrugged. “It’s fine.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him playfully. “Liar.”

Then, you laughed. 

He didn’t just want to hear it again—he needed to. It was like a drug, a high he had to chase. 

Fuck.

That was it.

That was the moment he was done for.

Because you had no idea what you’d just done. No idea that you had ruined him.

No idea that he had just decided— you were his.

—

Later, after the sun had set and most of the guests had left, Bucky sat at the edge of the porch, elbows on his knees, watching you.

Or, more accurately, he was staring at you.

You were a few feet away, laughing as AJ and Cass ran circles around you, their small hands grabbing at your arms as you playfully tried to catch them.

Bucky couldn’t look away.

He knew you were going to be his downfall, and yet he didn’t even want to fight it.

“What’s up with you, Buck?” Sam asked, sitting beside him.

Bucky didn’t move, he didn’t even respond. He barely even registered that Sam was there at all.

Sam followed his line of sight, and then groaned. “Oh, hell no.”

Still, Bucky said nothing.

Sam snapped his fingers in front of Bucky’s face. “Yo. Terminator.”

Bucky blinked. He only just realised Sam was there. “What?”

“What?” Sam repeated, voice rising. “Don’t what me! What the fuck was that?”

Bucky frowned. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Sam chuckled, teasing. “You’ve been staring at her like you’re about to drag her off to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and keep her there forever.”

Bucky’s muscles tensed. The idea did sound appealing.

“She’s nice,” Bucky said flatly.

Sam let out an amused laugh. “Nice? Nice? Barnes, you look like you want to fucking eat my childhood best friend—what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sam was joking, but he wasn’t wrong.

Bucky did want to devour you. He wanted to claim you, protect you, make sure no one else ever got the chance to touch you the way he wanted to.

It was bad.

Because for the first time in decades, Bucky wanted.

Mine, he thought. Mine, mine, mine.

And god help anyone who tried to get in his way.

—

At first, Sam was just relieved that you and Bucky got along.

And before he knew it, the four of you—you, Bucky, Sam, and Joaquin—started hanging out regularly. When she was available, Sarah was there too, usually when the get-togethers happened at her place. It wasn’t anything official, just casual. You’d grab coffee, go on late-night walks along the docks. Sometimes, the five of you spent lazy afternoons at Sarah’s while Cass and AJ tried to rope you into whatever game they were playing.

On the surface, it was just friends spending time together.

But Bucky was always a little bit too possessive.

No one really noticed.

Like when Joaquin would make a joke and you’d laugh a little too hard, Bucky would step in, resting his arm on the back of your chair. When you and Sarah got into a playful argument, and Bucky would subtly shift between you, his body positioned like a barrier.

Or when someone at a bar got a little too interested in you, and Bucky would just stare at them until they backed the fuck off.

You didn’t seem to notice.

You just smiled at Bucky. You reached for his hand when you were deep in thought, leaned into him when you laughed, gave him hugs without him even having to ask.

And he let you.

Because if he couldn’t have you the way he wanted, then he’d settle for this—for now.

—

One day, you heard a knock on your door late at night. 

When you opened it, you found Sam, Joaquin, and Bucky standing there—bruised, bloodied, and looking entirely too pleased with themselves for three men who had clearly just come back from a rough mission.

You sighed. “Come in, boys.”

They filed in, Sam  grinning as he collapsed onto your couch. Joaquin gave you a sheepish ‘sorry’ look before following. Bucky just hovered near the door.

“Sit,” you told him, already grabbing your first aid kit.

He hesitated, then dropped onto the chair closest to you. you knelt beside him.

His knuckles were raw, a few cuts marred his face, and there was a forming bruise on his forehead. You worked on him, dabbing antiseptic onto his wounds.

“Hold still,” you whispered when he shifted under your touch. When you finished, without thinking, you pressed a fleeting kiss to the bruise on his forehead. “For good measure,” you said sheepishly.

Bucky’s breath hitched.

But before he could say anything, you moved on to Sam and Joaquin, fussing over them with the same level of care.

He felt his stomach twist in dread. 

Bucky knew this was irrational. He knew you were just being a good friend.

And yet, as he sat there, watching your hands tend to them—watching you murmur reassurances, watching Joaquin grin at you and Sam chuckle under his breath— with bated breath.

He shouldn’t be jealous. He shouldn’t. You were also Sam’s friend. You were also Joaquin’s friend.

After all, you had taken care of him first. That had to mean something… right?

—

The bar was alive with noise, filled with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional thud of a pool ball being sunk into a pocket. It was one of those rare nights when there were no missions to worry about, no need to be on high alert. Even Sarah managed to get a babysitter for the kids. 

Sarah and Sam stood near the pool table, casually sipping on their non-alcoholic beers. Bucky nursed his whiskey— not that it would do anything to his enhanced metabolism. You had your mocktail, sweet and bright, just like you.

And then there was Joaquin.

He had spent the last hour or so flirting with the bartender, grinning as she giggled and slid him free drink after free drink. He, of course, took every single one without hesitation.

Now, he was absolutely sloshed.

“Joaquin,” Sam teased, arms crossed as he watched your drunk friend lean against the pool table. “You are so lucky you’re pretty.”

Joaquin shot him finger guns. “Gracias, hermano.”

“No,” Sarah scowled, shaking her head, pointing to the blonde behind the bar. “He’s lucky she thinks he’s pretty.”

“Let’s be honest, everyone thinks I’m pretty,” Joaquin declared, before missing his shot so badly that the cue ball bounced off the table.

Bucky rolled his eyes and let out a small laugh. 

You were next, so you stepped up to take your shot. “If anyone fucks up my shot, I am going to scream.”

And then, like a fucking menace, Joaquin swatted your pool cue mid-shot.

You gasped. “You little shit!”

Joaquin cackled.

“That’s it,” you huffed, shaking your head as you set the cue aside. “I’m getting you some water to sober up before you do something actually stupid.”

Sarah took her turn next, and Bucky… felt happy. He was among friends, leaning against the table, watching the game.

Life was good, right?

That bliss lasted all of three minutes before he realised… you were taking too long.

It didn’t take that long to get a glass of water.

He glanced up, scanning the bar for you. 

His stomach dropped. 

You were leaning against the bar, smiling up at some guy. Some asshole who looked way too interested, who was saying something that made you laugh.

Bucky’s chest burned.

Mine, he thought. 

But no. No, no, no. He had no right to feel like this. You weren’t his. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He was just a friend.

Then why the fuck did he want to break that guy’s fucking ankles for being too goddamn close to you?

Bucky knew you were beautiful. But that fucker didn’t get to look at you like that. He didn’t get to act all high and mighty, like he even had a chance—

Bucky’s grip on his pool cue tightened.

CRACK.

The cue snapped clean in half.

Sarah’s head snapped toward him. “Man— what happened?”

Sam raised a brow. “You good?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His breathing was all messed up. 

“I gotta go,” he said hastily. 

Sarah blinked. “You just crushed wood like it was a damn breadstick.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and left.

—

When he got back to his hotel in the heart of New Orleans, he sat on the edge of his bed, fingers twitching.

Then, he texted you.

Got an emergency. Had to go early.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed.

Oh okay!!! Hope everything’s alright <3!

You were so fucking sweet. So fucking clueless.

You had no idea that the emergency… was you.

And that if he hadn’t left, he would have smashed that guy’s face in. 

—

That night, Bucky couldn’t sleep.

It was driving him insane.

The second he closed his eyes, all he could see was you, laughing at the bar, that asshole touching you, and your body leaned just a little too close—fuck.

The obsession burned in his chest. He needed to know. Needed to be sure.

So, like a fucking lunatic, he found himself outside your Louisiana apartment at four in the morning, perched on your fire escape like a creep.

The window was dark, and there didn’t seem to be any movement inside. Maybe you weren’t even home. Maybe you were— No. No, stop. Fuck.

His metal fingers gripped against the railing. If you had taken that guy home—if that motherfucker was in there, in your bed— he didn’t know what he’d do.

"Whatcha doin’?" 

Bucky jumped, damn near slipped right off the fire escape. His heart nearly stopped.

He whirled around, ready to fight, only to see you, standing behind him.

The fuck—?

"Jesus Christ," he rasped, staring at you like you’d just teleported out of thin air. "Why are you on the fire escape?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Why are you on the fire escape?"

Bucky scowled. “I asked you first.”

You shrugged, completely unfazed, and just climbed through the window. "I forgot my keys."

Bucky blinked.

You turned to look at him expectantly. “Well? Are you coming in or what?”

…What the fuck was wrong with you? Why weren’t you scared?

Still, he followed you inside.

—

You made him tea.

He sat on your couch, cradling the mug in his hands while you curled up beside him, watching him with curiosity.

“So,” you started casually, “what was the emergency?”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Nothing much,” he lied. “I fixed it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why were you lurking outside my apartment like some weirdo?”

“I wasn’t lurking.”

You hummed, unconvinced, and sipped your tea.

Bucky let out a deep breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “I was just… checking on you.”

Your lips curved up. “Why?”

He hesitated. He couldn’t tell you the truth. Couldn’t tell you that he’d nearly lost his fucking mind at the thought of you with someone else.

But then, as if he could read your mind, you said, “If you were worried about the guy at the bar, don’t be. He’s just an old friend from high school.” You tilted your head reassuringly. “And he’s gay.”

Bucky blinked.

Oh.

Oh, he was a fucking idiot.

Embarrassment flooded his chest in waves, but it did nothing to ease the gnawing possessiveness coiling around his ribs. It didn’t matter that the guy wasn’t a threat. It didn’t change the fact that Bucky had wanted to break him in half for so much as looking at you.

You set your mug down, shifting closer. “Bucky,” you murmured, “what’s wrong?”

He clenched his teeth. “I have to say something.”

You tilted your head, adorably waiting.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” The words felt dragged out from his throat like he’d been choking on them.

You took a deep breath. “Oh?”

Bucky let out a huff of air, fingers twitching at his sides. “I think—I know—I love you.”

There it was. The confession he could never take back.

Your eyes relaxed as you put your mug down. 

That’s it. This was your rejection. Bucky was sure. 

But then, without hesitation, you cradled his cheeks gently and pulled him down in a bruising kiss.

Bucky groaned into your mouth, hands fisting in your skirt, pulling you closer.

And when you whispered, “I love you, too,” against his lips—

He was fucking gone.

Love wasn’t supposed to be this… all-consuming. It wasn’t supposed to feel like madness. But that was what his love was.

He was everywhere—his greedy hands, both metal and flesh. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, and Bucky growled, lifting you into his lap like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding against him in a way that sent his brain into overload.

And when you rocked your hips against his again. when you gasped at him, teasing, taunting—

Bucky snapped.

Suddenly, you were beneath him, pinned to the couch, his body trapping you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasped.

You bit your lip, eyes dark. “Then show me.”

And fuck, did he.

—

The next morning, Bucky jolted awake to the ring of your doorbell. 

For a second, he was disoriented, his brain sluggish, mind still drunk on you.

You were sprawled half on top of him, face buried against his chest. His metal arm was wrapped around you, fingers splayed across your bare back.

The bell rang impatiently again. And then— knock knock knock.

"Yo, wake up!" Sarah shouted.

His eyes flicked to the clock— 9:42 AM.

Carefully, he untangled himself from you, doing his best not to wake you as he slid out of bed. He barely managed to pull his sweats on before another knock rattled the door.

He opened it.

“Huh,” Sarah grinned.

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “What?”

“Don’t what me.” Sarah gestured, pointing an accusatory finger at Bucky’s chest. “What the fuck is this?”

Bucky’s teeth clenched. “None of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is.” Sarah crossed him her arms and almost cackled.

Bucky just let out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was still way too tired for this.

Sarah smirked, waggling her eyebrows. “So? How was it? You’re, like, a hundred years old— did your back hold up?”

“Go,” Bucky gritted.

“Relax,” Sarah shook her head, shoving your wallet into his chest. "Your girl left this in my car."

Bucky blinked, but his mind was still buffering on the part when she called you his girl. "Sarah—“

She held up her hand. "Hey, I’m happy for you. Really. But I’ve known her since we were both in diapers, so uh—" she leaned in. "If you hurt her, just know I will kill you."

Bucky huffed. As if. “Yeah, yeah."

"Good talk." She said as she turned to leave.

From the bed, you stirred, mumbling sleepily, “Was that Sarah?”

Bucky climbed back in beside you. “Don’t worry about it.”

You hummed, curling back into his chest. “Mmkay.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Mine, he thought.

And this time, you knew it too.

—

It had been two years since that night when everything changed.

You had since moved to Brooklyn with Bucky, and had since built a home together.

Two years of waking up with you in his bed.

Two years of you stealing his shirts, dancing around the kitchen in nothing but one of his Henleys and a pair of socks.

Two years of Bucky being so obsessed with you it was a goddamn miracle he let you leave out of his sight at all.

His hand was always on you—on your lower back, your thigh, wrapped around your wrist when you got too distracted in public. His eyes always tracked you whenever you so much as moved. 

Bucky knew it probably wasn’t healthy to be this obsessed— but who the fuck cares?

Besides, no one had noticed. Not really.

Sam rolled his eyes when Bucky hovered too close in public. Joaquin just assumed Bucky was overprotective. Sarah thought it was sweet.

None of them knew just how deep it went.

How Bucky watched you when you slept, how he memorised the way your breath hitched when you dreamed. How he could track scent in a crowd, how he could tell the different sounds of your shoes.

How, sometimes, he just stared at you with this feral, carnal need to keep you his forever.

So one night, he did something about it.

It wasn’t a grand proposal. There were no speeches, no flowers, no kneeling at all.

Bucky just slipped a diamond ring onto your finger as you sat curled up beside him on the couch.

"Let’s get married," he said.

It was not a question. It was a statement.

You looked down at your hand and blinked, joy seeping into your chest. You looked back up at him, tilting your head.

“Okay,” you smiled.

Of course you were gonna marry him. Of course.

It was the most obvious thing in the world.

And Buck felt something primal and dark settle inside him. 

“Good girl,” he said, grabbing your chin and tilling them up to kiss you. 

—

The ceremony was small — just a few close friends and family.

Sam stood at the front, grinning like an idiot, though he was definitely in tears. He tried to deny it, but everyone knew when Sarah dramatically announced she was out of tissues and had to make a store run.

You wore a simple white dress, the sunlight making the lace look holy. 

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off you. He wasn’t sure how he could even breathe. You were so goddamn beautiful, and all he could think was mine.

Mine, mine, mine. 

He held your hands tightly, every vow he spoke was drenched in devotion.

When Sam pronounced you husband and wife, Bucky crashed his lips against yours, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you so desperately it was like he thought you'd disappear. Joaquin cheered, Sarah covered AJ and Cass’ eyes, and Sam muttered something about needing another box of tissues.

But Bucky didn’t care. You were his wife. 

His. 

Later, at the small reception, he barely let you out of his sight. His hand stayed glued to your waist, his lips brushed against your temple every other minute. He religiously watched the way you smiled, the way you laughed, admired the sparkle of your wedding ring — a ring he’d spent months obsessing over.

“Mine,” he whispered against your skin more times than you could count.

—

A year after the wedding, Bucky somehow found himself on the campaign trail. Sam had roped him into it, convinced the world needed someone like him in Capitol Hill— someone with a backbone, a heart, and a no-bullshit attitude. And because Bucky couldn’t say no to his best friend (or to you, when you’d smiled and told him he’d be perfect for it), he ran.

And won.

He was now Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

But no matter how powerful or important he became, you were still his priority. You were the first person he called after every meeting, the one who made the stuffy suits and long hours bearable. 

And fuck, did he spoil you rotten. He got a four-bedroom Brownstone when you both moved to DC. For the kids to grow up in, he had told you, when you were ready, of course. The house was under your name.

He bought you designer dresses, diamond earrings, the kind of perfume that smelled like liquid gold. Anything you so much as look at, Bucky was ordering it before you even thought to ask.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you’d say, laughing as another velvet box showed up at your doorstep.

“I want to,” Bucky would grumble, nuzzling into your neck, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “I’m your husband. I want to make sure you have everything you want.”

And he meant it.

Then one day, you asked for something that actually made him think.

“I want a pretty knife.”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“For self-defense,” you explained casually. “You know. Just in case.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed. “You?” He asked, still trying to make sense of it. “But Sweetheart, you’re—” He paused, searching for the right word. “You’re so… sweet.”

You smiled at him…. And that fucking smile.

Bucky swore you could’ve asked him for the moon and he would’ve tried to lasso it down for you. But a knife? He wasn’t sure whether you could even use it.

Still, you wanted it. So you got it.

Bucky made a few calls, and soon you had a beautifully crafted knife with a marble handle. He even made you practice holding it, standing behind you with his arms wrapped around yours, guiding your hand in slow movements.

You caught on so quickly. He was so proud.

But despite all the lessons, Bucky wasn’t entirely convinced you’d ever actually use it.

“Baby, if anyone even looks at you the wrong way, I’d handle it,” he insisted one night, watching you twirl the knife in your fingers like a toy. “No one’s gonna touch you.”

You giggled, leaning up to kiss him. “Just in case, okay?”

Bucky nodded, nipping at your collarbone, “Okay.”

—

Sometimes, the world forgot Bucky Barnes had always been a dangerous man.

Sure, to the public, he was a polished congressman— the war hero turned politician, a man who fought for justice and all that. At the state galas, he smiled for the cameras, shook hands with donors, and played the role of the perfect politician. And with your radiant and sweet charm on his arm, everyone ate it up. You were the darling wife of Congressman Barnes, the woman who could make the room hold their breath.

But they didn’t realise how violently obsessed Bucky was with you.

He watched every interaction you had at those events. He eventually had a little notepad where he hastily scribbled the name of every man who looked at you too long,  an arrogant politician who thought they could pry you away from him. They thought you were too innocent to be with the former winter soldier— They thought they could whisper something suggestive in your ear or brush their hand along your back without consequence.

But Bucky always noticed.

He’d smile, even laugh sometimes, as if the petty attempts didn’t bother him. But they did. They fucking consumed him. His teeth would grind against each other, his grip on your waist would tighten, and his eyes would darken into a stormy blue— all while the poor bastard standing in front of him had no idea just how badly he’d fucked up.

Bucky had a routine. After the gala, he’d walk you out and hand you to his driver.

He would lean down, whispering softly into your ear.

“Head to the car, baby. I’ve got something to take care of.”

You never questioned it. You’d smile, kiss his cheek, and do as he asked.

And once you were gone, Bucky would… pay them a visit.

The man who let his hand wander a little too low on your back? The one who called you “darling” like he had any fucking right? 

Bucky found him in a secluded corner of the marbled building of Washington DC, his steel-blue eyes cold and calculating.

“You think you can touch what’s mine?” Bucky growled.

He had always been clever. He had always chosen a corner with no cameras. No witnesses. Then, he’d whisper a threat, one that left grown men trembling.

But sometimes threats weren’t enough.

One time, he got fed up with a senator’s son who had too much to drink. He’d cornered you by the bar, his hand grabbing your arm and waist, lips curling into a wicked smirk. 

You’d laughed politely, excused yourself, and found your way back to Bucky. But the damage had been done

Later that night, Bucky found him.

It wasn’t pretty.

The next morning, the senator’s son was seen with a cast on his wrist, stammering about a “bad fall.” 

No one questioned it, 

After all, accidents happen.

That sick, satisfied feeling always found its way to his chest. Though the real satisfaction always came when he hopped in the car. 

He’d find you taking off your heels, waiting for him in the back seat. You’d smile at him, oblivious to the violence he’d just left in his wake. And when you asked, “Did everything go okay?” Bucky would just smile, lean down, and kiss you.

Because Bucky Barnes was a kind person, a great friend, a wonderful husband, and an honest man. But after decades of isolation, torture, and conditioning, he would never truly be a good man again. But for you, he would pretend to be.

—

Still, like any other job, Bucky had bad weeks. And this week had been hell.

Bucky had come home late every night.

Between his work in Congress and the bills he was trying to push through, the DC police department had asked for his help in identifying some vigilante called Siren.

Now, he barely had time to breathe.

You hated seeing him like this. He was always so strong, so put-together, but lately, stress had carved itself into his shoulders, a permanent tightness in his back muscles.

It didn’t help that Senator Mitchell was being a prick, as usual. The man thrived on opposing Bucky’s every move, shooting down every proposal like it was his life’s mission to make your husband miserable.

And then there was Congressman Davis. From what you’ve heard, he was an arrogant, insufferable bastard who had spent the last few weeks blocking one of Bucky’s most important bills.

So when Bucky had muttered “God, I fucking hate that guy” over breakfast one morning, you’d simply nodded.

The next day, Congressman Davis didn’t show up to work.

Broke both legs in a freak accident, according to the news.

Bucky had stared at the article. “That’s… weird.”

“You think?” you tilted your head.

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. “Honestly, I don’t have time to care. Mitchell is still a pain in my ass, and now the DC police want me to help them identify some masked vigilante tearing through the city.”

That made your stomach flip, but you kept your eyes neutral as he tossed a thick file onto the table.

“Siren?” you asked, watching him flip through the grainy surveillance images. The black-clad figure was barely visible. The only clear detail was the glint of a knife in her hand.

Bucky snorted. “What kind of name is Siren, anyway?”

You shrugged. “I think it’s kinda sexy.”

Bucky shot you an amused look.

You shrugged, leaning on the counter. “What do they want from you?”

“They want me to analyse the footage, see if I recognise any combat techniques,” Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples. “As if I can ID someone from a couple of blurry images.”

You hummed in response, flipping through the file again. 

“Maybe she doesn’t wanna be found.” you offered.

“No shit.” Bucky frowned. 

—

That night, Bucky sat at his desk, eyes narrowed at the open file in front of him. His fingers tapped against the wood as he studied the images again. Something about her was… familiar. 

You watched from the doorway, wrapped in a silk robe.

He needs a distraction, you thought. 

You walked across the room, slipping behind him, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you pressed fluttering kisses to his neck.

Bucky sighed, leaning into your touch. “Baby…”

“You’re stressed,” you whispered, biting the lobe of his ear.

“I just— I can’t get a read on her,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. “On top of that, I have to deal with Mitchell tomorrow.”

You glanced at the photo he was studying—Siren, breaking the arm of an arms dealer. Poetic justice.

You said nothing, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 

Your fingers trailed lower, sliding down his chest, nails lightly scraping against his skin through his shirt. “I think you need a break.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Baby, I—”

When you stepped back, his words died in his throat.

Because you had untied your robe.

And underneath, a lingerie set that he’d picked out for you weeks ago, the one that had him practically drooling when you tried it on.

The chair scraped back so fast it nearly toppled over.

Then, Bucky was lifting you onto the desk, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up your sides, mapping out every inch of exposed skin as if he hadn’t memorised everything already. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, lips ghosting over your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re tryin’ to kill me, sweet girl.”

You giggled, threading your fingers through his hair. “I just thought my dear husband needed a break.” You batted your eyes innocently.

Bucky’s lips met yours in a bruising kiss. His hands kneaded your hips, pulling you flush against him, letting you feel exactly how much he wanted you.

“S’not fair,” he muttered against your lips, his lovely Brooklyn drawl slipping out. “I was workin’.”

“Oh?” You smiled innocently, nails raking down his back. “You wanna go back to your case?”

Bucky growled, lifting you effortlessly as your legs wrapped around his waist. “Fuck no.”

And with that, he carried you to your bedroom. 

Siren was forgotten, for now. 

—

That night, after you stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body, you casually said, “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

Bucky frowned immediately, towel-drying his damp hair as he leaned against the doorframe. “Alone?”

You’d done this before, but never this late. 

You rolled your eyes. “I can handle myself, honey.”

He crossed his arms, “That’s not the point.”

You sighed, stepping forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let you go—reluctantly. At least you had your knife with you. 

—

By the time you got back, you were sweaty, chest rising and falling like you’d just finished a workout.

Bucky, who was sitting on the couch, immediately stood up and walked over to you. He looked at you, studying in the slight flush in your cheeks, the damp strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

He tilted his head. “You said you were going for a walk.”

You wiped at your brow. “Yeah, well… guess I went for a jog instead.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Since when do you jog?”

You shrugged. “Felt like I had some energy to burn.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, trying to assess the situation, but then you stood on your toes and kissed him.

Suddenly, he wasn’t questioning anything anymore.

—

The next day in Capitol Hill, Senator Mitchell had a black eye.

A nasty one, too. It was swollen and bruised, red against his pale skin.

Mitchell barely spoke all session, and when Bucky had the floor, the senator didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t sneer. Didn’t open his mouth to object.

He just sat there, shifting uncomfortably, trying his hardest not to look at Bucky.

Weird.

—

Before heading home, Bucky had one last piece of business to handle.

An overconfident diplomat from last week’s charity gala had overstayed his welcome in the city, unlucky for him. 

He had touched your arm without permission, his fingers lingering just a little too long on your skin. Bucky had been across the room that night, but even distance couldn’t dull his rage. 

By the end of the night, the bastard had vanished into the crowd.

That had been frustrating. But patience was something Bucky had in abundance when it came to protecting what was his.

So when he overheard a passing remark today that the diplomat was still in town, he found out where he was staying and simply went to the hotel lobby.

Bucky sat comfortably in a leather armchair, looking like just another guest winding down from a long day. He even smiled when his target stepped through the elevator doors.

Bucky stood and intercepted the man, placing himself just close enough that escape wouldn’t be an option. “Nice to see you again,” Bucky greeted, his voice almost pleasant. The diplomat barely had time to register the danger before Bucky leaned in, that same eerie smile still in place.

“If you so much as look at my wife again, I’ll break your fucking nose so badly, they’ll have to rebuild it from the inside out. And even then, it’ll never sit fucking right ever again.” Bucky said, though his tone was conversational. To anyone else, it would look as if he was commenting on the weather. “And that’ll be the least of your problems.”

The man swallowed hard, his overconfidence crumbling.

Satisfied, Bucky patted his shoulder once, before walking away. On the drive home, he pulled a pen from the glove compartment and calmly crossed the man's name off his list.

When he finally stepped through the door, he smiled to see you finishing up dinner. Bucky told you he could just hire a personal chef, but you insisted that you wanted to make his meals, to be his perfect housewife. 

Without a word, he tugged you into his lap, burying his face against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, “You know you’re mine, right, baby?” he said, his hands tightening around you. “Only mine.”

—

The next morning, you found him in the kitchen, reading over yet another Siren case file.

You pouted, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his back. “Buckyyy.”

He chuckled, placing his hand over yours. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I lost my knife,” you mumbled.

Bucky paused. “Lost it?”

No. No, you wouldn’t be so careless. 

Did someone take it from you? Did someone touch you?

The mere thought sent Bucky into a violent spiral, his fingers itched for blood.

Because if someone had taken it from you—if someone had dared to lay their filthy hands on what was his—they were going to wish they were never alive.

You nodded against his skin. “I think I dropped it during my morning run.”

He turned, relieved that you were just a bit careless. He lifted your chin with two fingers, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you gave him your best adorable pout. 

“My sweet girl,” he said. “You gotta be more careful.”

You blinked up at him, a little upset. “I liked that knife.”

He chuckled before letting out a deep breath. He could never be mad at you. So he just exhaled, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ll get you another one, baby. Whatever you want.”

You beamed. “Really?”

“Of course.” His fingers tightened slightly on your chin. “But you tell me next time you go for an early run. Don’t like you out there alone.”

You grinned, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You worry too much.”

—

Within a week, Bucky gave you a new knife— a replacement for the one you lost. But calling it just a knife would be an insult.

It was stunning.

The handle was custom-made, dark metal inlaid with delicate floral, perfectly molded to fit your grip. The blade was wickedly sharp, and yet, it wasn’t just a weapon. It was art.

You turned it over in your hands, marveling at the craftsmanship. “You spoil me," you said, testing the weight in your palm. It was perfect.

Bucky smiled, satisfied. "Darling, I haven’t even started."

And just when you thought he couldn’t get any worse, he handed you something else— a little holster, custom-made to hold your new knife. The leather was buttery soft, made to fit against your thigh or tuck neatly under your jacket.

“Specially made for you,” he said proudly, brushing his lips over your cheek, then your jaw. “Gotta keep my good girl safe.”

Your stomach flipped.

What you didn’t know was that, because Bucky was a completely unhinged, lovesick lunatic, he had slipped a tiny tracking device into your holster—one discreet enough that you’d never notice. But that wasn’t all. The device also had a built-in listening function, so it was silently transmitting your location and every sound around you straight to a hidden app on his phone.

Not because he didn’t trust you.

But because the thought of you out there, alone without his protection— drove him insane.

So he made sure that, no matter where you went, he’d always be able to find you.

So now, if anyone so much as breathed wrong in your direction, Bucky would hear it. 

And he’d handle it.

—

The next morning, Bucky’s phone rang. It was an unlisted number from DC Police.

He sighed, already dreading whatever mess was waiting for him. But before he even thought about leaving, he had to take care of something far more important.

You.

Still hazy from sleep, you barely had time to blink before Bucky was on you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, his lips peppering gentle yet desperate kisses across every inch of exposed skin. Your cheek, your shoulders, the delicate curve of your throat.

"Just reminding you how much I love you before I go to work,” he nuzzled you.

You hummed, tilting your head to grant him better access. He took full advantage, dragging his mouth down your throat, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there. His teeth grazed your pulse point, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Be good, baby,” he whispered against your lips, still unwilling to leave. 

You smiled, all sweet innocence. “I’m always a good girl.”

Bucky groaned, pressing one last kiss to your lips before reluctantly pulling away.

For now.

—

The moment Bucky stepped into the precinct, conversations halted. Officers froze, whispering behind their hands.

Bucky’s eyes flickered around the room, landing on the open file waiting for him on the table.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

Detective Ramirez, a no-nonsense woman who had been working in DC longer than most high schoolers have been alive, flipping through the folder. “We did a lot of digging last night… and Siren’s been operating a lot longer than we thought.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as she laid out the evidence.

“We traced activity back a couple years. Louisiana. Then Brooklyn. And now, D.C.” 

Huh. What a weird coincidence. Those are all the places you’ve lived in.

She shook her head. “She’s been at this for a long time.”

The grainy surveillance images showed the same shadowy figure— always disappearing before authorities could get close. But it was clear now. This wasn’t just some local vigilante.

“She started with street-level criminals—gangs, traffickers, arms dealers. But lately?” Ramirez slid a new set of photos across the table.

Congressman Davis. Senator Mitchell.

What?

“Both men had been attacked in the last three months. Different incidents. Different locations. But the same signature,” she explained, shaking her head. They’re terrified,” Ramirez continued. “Refused to talk, barely gave us any details because they’re convinced Siren will come back and… finish the job.”

Bucky stayed silent, his mind racing. 

Something wasn’t adding up.

“And then there’s this in the crime scene. We believe it’s hers.” Ramirez reached into an evidence bag, carefully unwrapping something small wrapped in cloth. She placed it on the table and slid it toward him.

Bucky’s stomach dropped.

A knife.

Not just any knife.

Your knife.

The one he had given you.

The one you had lost.

He reached for it, turning it over in his gloved hand. It was unmistakable in its design.

Bucky clenched his teeth, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

Because if he let anything slip—if they saw even the slightest reaction—he wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this.

—

Bucky came home late that night, his mind clouded and fearful.

The evidence was stacked against you, but he refused to believe it. You couldn't be Siren. No—maybe she had stolen your knife. Maybe someone was trying to frame you. Maybe—

Then he saw the note.

"Went for a run. Be back soon <3"

Bullshit.

His gut twisted with the kind of instinctual, primal warning that had kept him alive for decades. Maybe he thought the handwriting was too neat, or maybe just knew when you were lying to him. He always did.

Metal knuckle curling into a ball, he pulled out his phone and tapped into the hidden tracking signal embedded in your holster.

You were nowhere near a park, or a public road for that matter. Instead, you were in a wealthy neighbourhood on the other side of town.

Then he turned on the listening device.

A second later, your voice crackled through the speaker. You sounded eerily calm. “A little birdie told me you were planning to block the new Veteran Act."

Bucky’s breath hitched. He had told you about that bill he had been spearheading. About how Jones—that corrupt prick—was going to block it before it even had a chance.

And now you must be standing in front of him, threatening him.

He heard the unmistakable whisper of a blade slicing through the air.

Jones hesitated. “You’re insane—”

"Approve it,” he heard you sneer, “Or I’ll come back and finish the job."

Bucky’s heart slammed against his ribs. He was torn between wanting to go to you—to drag you away from this, to keep you safe—and just listening.

In hindsight, he should have known.

The "walks." The "runs." The way you had picked up knifework too quickly when he had first put a blade in your hands. The first night he kissed you, he had found you on your fire escape—because you had been doing vigilante shit after the pool bar. 

And then you spoke again, this time in a sweet sing-song tone, “If you don’t, I’ll put your head underwater until the bubbles stop."

Jones went silent.

Bucky knew you had taken mixed martial arts as a kid for self-defense, but he had never thought much of it— never imagined you still practiced, still used it.

And then, “O-okay, okay—I will.”

Fuck.

He had to admit it now. You were Siren.

Sweet, innocent you. The woman who pressed sleepy kisses against his collarbone in the morning. The woman who curled up in his lap at night, blinking up at him with wide, trusting eyes.

But that wasn’t all you were.

You were this, too. You were a predator hiding in plain sight.

And instead of being freaked out—instead of feeling betrayed or angry—Bucky was… turned on.

His breaths were uneven, chest rising and falling with arousal.

Because he knew this wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t corrupting you.

You were always like this.

Maybe, you were just waiting for someone who would be just as sick as you are.

And you found him.

—

The second you slipped through the back door, you felt his eyes on you.

You had been careful. So fucking careful.

You had changed in the garden shed.  You wiped the sweat and dirt from your skin, slipping into an oversized hoodie, leggings, sneakers that were scuffed just enough to sell the illusion. By the time you stepped inside, you looked like nothing more than a tired, unsuspecting wife coming home from an innocent late-night run.

So you played your part.

You plastered a sleepy smile onto your face. “Hey, honey."

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

He just sat there, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped together.

What’s going on?

"How’s Senator Jones?" He said calmly, too calmly. 

Your stomach plummeted.

The room felt like it had shrunk, walls pressing in. Everything was suffocating.

You blinked at him, feigning confusion. “What?"

Bucky tilted his head, the ghost of an amused smile playing at his lips.

"I know you’re Siren."

Your breath stalled.

A million reasons went through your rolodex of excuses, each one weaker than the last. But when you looked at him, at the certainty in his eyes, you knew there was no use denying it.

He knew.

But two could play at that game.

So instead of panic, you kept yourself calm. 

“Oh?” You arched a brow, voice smooth as silk. "And how’s that diplomat from that gala? Heard you took care of him."

For the first time since you came back, Bucky faltered.

“Y-You knew?” He stammered.

You saw the moment it hit him, the way his pupils blew wide.

"Of course I knew, baby,” you said sweetly, stepping closer. You could see the tension in his shoulders, "I know about your list, Bucky. I see your murderous rage every time."

Bucky’s muscles tightened. His breath became shallow, heart thrumming against his ribs.

You sighed, walking past him to a compartment under the island kitchen, pulling out a small, battered notebook. You flipped it open, then placed it in his hands.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around it as he scanned the pages.

What was this?

It was his list—mirrored.

The same names. The same faces. The same fucking targets. So you could keep track of who he was after. 

But alongside them, you had your own notes. Your observations.

Log entries tracking him— where he had been sighted, what areas he had stalked, what time he usually came home. Notes on when he was distracted. When he was asleep. When you could slip out and do your little crime fighting routine. You had copies of all the numbers in his contacts— classified or otherwise.

You even had pictures of him from the goddamn Capitol Hill security cameras. From his usual coffee shops. From his favourite supermarket.

His hands started shaking, because between the scribbled words, between the ink and the scratched-out sentences, there’s something familiar.

Not just in the thoughts.

But in the way they’re written. They were scrawled in a rush, like they were obsessive.

And then, just beneath one of the messier lines, there’s a word—so small, so easy to miss. ‘Mine.’

Sweet, darling, unassuming you, had a dark side.

You were just like him.

A perfect reflection. A mirror image of his own madness.

His throat felt dry. "You—" He swallowed. "You kept track of me?"

You tilted your head innocently. "Oh, sweetheart."

But if you thought that was something—

Bucky moved, crossing the room and yanked open the bottom drawer of the TV stand. His movements were almost aggressive as he pulled out a thick, leather-bound book.

Not his little notebook. 

This was different.

And then he handed it to you.

The second you flipped it open, your heart stopped.

It wasn’t names.

It wasn’t targets.

It was you.

Pages upon pages, filled with cramped, meticulous handwriting.

Your detailed wardrobe, all of your perfumes, observations of what you smelled like after a shower versus after a long day. An analysis of how your voice changed when you were lying. The exact shade your lips turned when you were cold. Your coffee orders in all the cafes you’ve ever been to, your favourite snacks. There was even a paragraph of the way you twirled your fork when you ate pasta. The names and addresses of all of your exes— where they lived, where they work, where they shop.

Your entire existence, laid bare.

A record. A worship. A fucking obsession.

Then, you both realised. 

You were just two absolute fucking lunatics, hopelessly, unhealthily obsessed with each other.

The two of you had been circling each other like predators for years— watching, tracking, leaving breadcrumbs of obsession in each other’s worlds without even realising it.

You weren’t just people to each other.

You were religion.

You were scripture.

Two minds running parallel, equally deranged, equally consumed— until you inevitably collided. 

You licked your lips slowly, the corner of your mouth curling as you looked up at him through your lashes. You knew what you were doing— of course you did.

With a voice as saccharine as it was wicked, you whispered, "I’m still your good girl."

Bucky fucking shattered.

A wrecked groan tore from his throat. His grip felt like iron chains as he gripped your waist, shoving you against the nearest surface— the kitchen counters. But you barely noticed, too focused on the way his hands clawed at you, like even after all these years, he still needed to mark you, ruin you.

His lips were on you in an instant, first on your lips, then trailing down your throat.

And then he dropped to his knees.

A fucking worshipper at your altar.

A zealot ready to die a martyr.

His hands gripped your thighs, firm enough to bruise, and he tilted his head up to look at you, pupils blown wide, his lips slightly parted.

He was completely undone. Completely yours.

A satisfied smile spread across your face as you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him whimper.

"But you’re also my good boy,” you teased, “aren’t you?"

His groan was ruinous.

His eyes were wild, desperate, and fucking feral.

"Yeah, baby," he nodded, voice wrecked, hands trailing up, gripping the curve of your hips. "Yours. All yours.”

And then—

He showed you.

Because Bucky Barnes will never be a good man again.

But for you?

He’d be anything.

-end.

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