Jeongin // Quiet

Ride Me

PAIRING: Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Reader

SUMMARY: You were always fascinated by Ben’s tentacles and he noticed that. Now he’s going to use that information to his advantage

GENRE: Smut.

WARNINGS: Fem-Reader, lewd, riding tentacles, degrading and praising

WORD COUNT: 980 words

You were always fascinated by Ben’s tentacles. Like how do they work? How does he summon them? Does he feel pain when someone hurts on or the tentacles? How can he summon a specific number of tentacles? Can he summon more than 4 tentacles? And a lot more questions are always roaming on your mind.

Whenever Ben used his tentacles you couldn’t help but stare at them. They were amazing. The way he could control them even if they weren’t part of his body. You tried to be as cautious as possible when looking at his tentacles, but of course he noticed. At first he thought that maybe you were shocked or scared of them, but the more he used them, the more he realized that it was all the opposite. You were admitting them. So he decided to use them whenever he could. Being the person he was, he loved being admired and you were giving that to him.

Of course your thoughts didn’t stop there. The thought of him using the tentacles on you was something you really wanted but you were scared to even suggest to him something like that. What if he felt hurted and thought that you weren’t satisfied at all with only him? So you kept your thoughts to yourself. On the other side, Ben wanted the same. He normally uses his tentacles most of the time and he has been wanting to use them on you for quite some time now but he didn’t know how to come to you with the idea. Yeah, you loved the tentacles, but what if you had limits with them? Life was too short to keep only wondering. And it all came to one day while making out with Ben.

Ben was kissing you passionately, something you really enjoyed since most of the time he was just needy, not that you complained. You didn’t even notice when all of your clothes were on the floor of his room, the kisses he was giving you left you dizzy. You started to leave wet kisses on his neck but he stopped you.

“Wait. I want to try something” you could hear doubt in his voice. As if he was scared of what he was about to do. You wanted to ask about what he was talking about but the tentacle coming out of him caught you by surprise. “Ride it” you were surprised. You stayed in silence for a while, looking at the tentacle that was in front of you. Looking at your response, or well, lack of it, Ben decided to take the matter into his hands.

“Didn’t you hear me? I told you to ride the tentacle” you looked at him in disbelief. Another tentacle came out of Ben, this one wrapping around your waist, making you get up a little bit so the other one could slide between your body and Ben’s. You didn’t need the tentacle guidance to know what to do next. You descended on top of the tentacle. The coldness of the tentacle made you shiver at the contact. “Go on, ride it like the good girl you are” you didn’t need to be told twice. You started to move slowly, noticing the difference from when you rode his leg or his cock. It felt wet, not only your juices help you slide better through the length of the tentacle, but the gooey substance that coated the tentacle was also helping. The sounds were filthy, and that only made you more turned on than you already were.

Ben was staring at you. The way you moved at your own pace, giving yourself the pleasure you needed, the way your face showed the pleasure you were providing yourself, your chest coming up and down due to your erratic breathing, the way you looked into his eyes while riding one of his tentacles. God, you were so hot. Ben grabbed the back of your neck, kissing you. The tentacle around your waist started to move your hips faster. You moaned into the kiss. Ben realized that at any moment you would cum. He managed to move the tentacle you were riding, making the pleasure stronger.

“That’s it slut, cum for me. Be a good girl and cum on my tentacle like the needy whore you are” it took only a few more seconds and you came on the tentacle, your whole vision blurred and heat waves were going through your whole body. A soft moan came out of you. The view of you cumming was a view Ben never grew tired of. And it made him proud to be the reason for your pleasure.

Ben gave you small pecks, praising how good you were for him. Always saying as you were told. Again, the tentacle around your waist moved you up, and you felt the tentacle you just used to get yourself off playing with your entrance.

“Ben…”

“Just do this for me, ok?” How could you say no to him? You nodded and the tentacle started to enter inside you. Your mouth opened up, it felt good. The irregular form of the tentacle managed to fill you up perfectly, but you still preferred his cock. The tentacle started to move in and out of you making you feel overwhelmed due to your previous orgasm. Ben reached for your clit, rubbing it, helping you get closer and closer to your high. It was just too much.

“So tight… it doesn’t matter how many times I fuck you, you still manage to be as tight as possible” his words were what you need. You came around the tentacle.

“That’s my good girl” Ben’s tentacles got off of your body, making you collapse on his body. He held you. You could feel him leave kisses all over your face. Using his tentacles on you was definitely something he’s going to do more often.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

n a v i g a t i o n

see you through my eyes part 2 —b.b.

pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fm mitchell! reader.

warnings: cursing, drinking, unprotected penetrative sex, oral (fm receiving), choking, dirty talk, lots of fluff stuff, bradley bradshaw is a FUCKING TEASE, mentions of poor mental health, mentions of death/immediate family death/funerals. 18+ MINORS DNI

word count: 2.6k

read part one here.

a/n: like always, this is not proofread yet so i apologize for any mistakes. i hope you all enjoy! y’all i love this man!!!!!!!

The night air was warm and welcoming, pushing your hair around with the breeze. Some old rock music, yours and Bradley’s favorite, played from a nearby speaker. The two of you sat on the patio, each nursing a beer. You hummed cheerfully, the slightest bit tipsy.

The backyard was by far your favorite part of your house. You’d hung up a few sets of string lights, and ofcourse had some of your favorite plants scattered around. The entirety of the yard was fenced in, and although you would love to have a real pool, the small blow-up one you bought for Cameron served an equal purpose.

You and Bradley had been talking for nearly two hours. Simply catching up on life and reminiscing on old memories— sharing many needed laughs.

It had been three days since your mother’s funeral and you still hadn’t fully pieced yourself together. Although, Bradley’s company was a great help. He understood your emotions and the feeling of emptiness you couldn’t seem to get rid of. He made great effort to comfort you, and had made sure Cameron was taken care of so you could have some time to yourself.

Cameron had clung to him, maybe not fully understanding who Bradley was, yet he was absolutely entranced by the man. He wanted to go anywhere Bradley went, and even though you’d explained to the child that his name wasn’t really Rooster, he wouldn’t call him anything else. You were beyond happy to see the two of them together at last. It made your soul feel at ease.

“Hey.” Bradley tapped your arm, pulling you from your aparrent trance. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking.” You spoke softly.

He gave you a small smile and patted his leg. “C’mere.”

You stood up, sitting your nearly empty bottle down on the table before taking a seat on his lap. Your arms wrapped around him and you rested your head on his shoulder. He ran a hand along your back, smiling to himself when he felt you relax.

“Thank you for being here.” You whispered.

“No place I’d rather be in the world.”

Bradley had already expressed to you that he’d made a phone call days earlier as a request to transfer back to Oceana where he’d been stationed at years before. It was bittersweet, the thought of possibly having Bradley back— maybe forever.

He seemed content, openly speaking about the idea of the two of you buying a new house closer to base and Cameron growing up with his father. You eyed him, smiling. There had been minimal talk about the future when it came to you and Bradley. Regardless, you were hopeful.

He reached up, pushing a bit of hair from your face and smiling up at you. “So pretty, darlin.” You made your best efforts not to squirm in his lap at his words. If there was one thing about Bradley Bradshaw that killed you, it was how much of a sweet talker he was. His voice was deep and rich, as sweet as could be. He always knew exactly what to say. “Oh hush.”

“You are.” He chuckled, taking a sip of his beer.

“I look like a sleep deprived mother of a three year old.” You corrected him.

“Yet oh so pretty.”

You looked away, cheeks hot and lips turned up in a smile.

“Look at me.” He teased.

“No, because the more I look at you the more I want to kiss your stupid face.”

“Oh.” He laughed, as if he had dug some confidential information out of you. You mentally cursed yourself, letting out a laugh too. “So kiss me then.”

“No!” You started to pull away from him playfully, knowing if he kissed you, you’d be a goner.

He tightened his grip on you, making you look at him.

You swallowed hard, eyes closing as you gave in and let him pull you into a sweet kiss. The feeling of his lips on yours was reminiscent, and had you feeling as if you were going to melt. You felt him smile into the kiss, your tongues meeting languidly. After a few seconds, you both pulled away.

“I think it’s past your bedtime.” Bradley joked, finishing his beer and trying to settle himself down. He wanted nothing more than to take you right there, like old times— but he knew that wasn’t respectful nor appropriate. So, he watched you shyly climb off his lap and start to gather up empty bottles.

“I believe it’s probably past yours too, Lieutenant.” You smiled.

“Oh, very much so.”

When you climbed into bed that night, you immediately knew you wouldn’t be getting much sleep. Your mind was running absolutely rampant, and for a moment you considered taking a melatonin or two. The feeling of his lips and hands on you was inescapable, and your thoughts were well, very improper. Even though you and Bradley had a past, he still made you feel giddy— like you’d never been touched before. The ache was inexplicable. God, you felt like a fucking teenager.

You tossed and turned for a while, tangling yourself in the cool sheets. The lack of tiredness was aggravating to say the very least. Yet, there you laid.

An hour or two passed before you gave up, grabbing your phone off the nightstand and scrolling aimlessly to try to pass some time.

Another hour and a mental pep talk later, you were padding down the hall towards the guest room. Your heartbeat was rapid and adrenaline high.

You slowly opened the door, attempting to make the quietest entrance possible. The room was dark besides a minimal amount of moonlight peeking through the closed curtains. Closing the door behind you, you made your way to the bed. Bradley laid sprawled out in the middle of the mattress, tangled in the soft white sheets.

He stirred a bit as you climbed in next to him.

"You okay?" He mumbled, now awake and looking over at you with tired eyes.

"Yeah."

"Wanted some cuddles?" He teased.

"Something like that."

He turned over as you spoke, watching you scoot closer. He let out a yawn, trying to decipher the look on your face.

"Roos."

"What is it baby?"

"I want you to touch me." You begged. "Please."

You craved him in every way possible. Wanted him all over you. It had been all you could think about since he stepped foot in your damn house.

He leaned forward without another word or thought, pressing his lips to yours. Tongues met and hands wandered, leaving your head spinning. Bradley gripped your thigh, tossing your leg over his waist and pulling you as close as he could get you. Boy, had you missed this. Ofcourse the two of you were older and the circumstances were much more.. sensual this time. A warm hand ran along your bare leg and up to your hip where he discovered you were wearing only a tee shirt and panties. He groaned lightly, breaking the kiss and moving his lips along your jawline. "What do you want, honey?" He rasped.

"Want your mouth." You said, nearly breathless.

He smiled softly, pressing another mellow kiss to your lips before beginning to trail them down your neck. Hands moved to push up your tee shirt, revealing your bare chest. "So fucking pretty." He said. "Just like I remember." You whimpered, feeling his warm tongue run across your nipple before his lips wrapped around it— his fingers toying with the other. Your skin was on fire, mouth dry and breathing erratic— and he had barely touched you. He repositioned himself to lay between your legs, pressing tiny kisses to your hips and thighs. You were absolutely aching for his touch, squirming pitifully underneath him. "Honey." He mused. "So touch starved, aren't you? Need me to eat this pretty pussy bad, huh?"

You whined at his words, clenching around absolutely nothing. "Please Roos."

Long fingers worked to pull your panties down your legs before he tossed them to the floor. "Gotta be quiet for me, sweet baby. I'm gonna give you what you want— don't worry." You were nearly in a trance at this point, overwhelmed by his touch. He held your legs open, finally running his tongue along you in a long stripe. A long, lewd sounding whine left your lips, which didn't go unnoticed. Bradley found himself grinding his hips into the mattress just to find some friction. "You always make the prettiest noises." He whispered, tongue starting to work mercilessly at your clit. You writhed, wanting to scream as you felt two long fingers slide into you. "Fuck." You cried, eyes clamped shut. He was so fucking good at everything. His fingers made quick work and had you nearly falling apart. "So wet, honey." 

You gripped the sheets beneath you with one hand, the other flying to his hair. Fingers wandered through, yanking gently and making him groan. He could tell you were close, clenching oh so tight around his fingers. "Gonna cum all over my fingers, mama?" He murmured against you, tongue still working relentlessly. You did your very best not to cry out as you fell over the edge. "Fuck yes." He said through gritted teeth, pumping his fingers in and out and working you through your high. "So pretty when you're cumming for me."

You were spent, body falling limp as you tried to catch your breath. Bradley stayed quiet, gently pulling you to the edge of the bed where he now stood. As much as he wanted to see your pretty lips wrapped around him, he couldn't handle much more.

"You sure this is okay, darlin’?" He asked politely, watching you nod in agreeance.

Bradley huffed as he ran himself along your soaked entrance. He already knew he wasn't going to last long. Not with those pretty little noises that kept falling from your lips. He pressed the head in, watching your eyes flutter shut and brows furrow. "You can take it." He promised. You'd never gotten used to the stretch. He was by far the biggest you'd experienced. He pushed in slowly, groaning. You wrapped around him deliciously, so fucking hot and wet. "That's my girl." He cooed, pressing wet kisses to your forehead and nose. "Takin' me so good, sweetheart." He finally bottomed out, heart racing and sweat forming on his brow. You opened your eyes again, looking at him and watching a smile spread across his lips.

"I missed you." He admitted, starting to rock against you slow. He kept a tight grip on your thighs, tight enough to leave little bruises from where his fingertips dug into your skin. You, ofcourse, didn't mind.

"I missed you more."

It was all you could do to stay quiet. Small sounds and his name repeatedly fell from your lips. You watched his face intently, his teeth tugging on his plump bottom lip. His hips smacked against you as he exhibited a pace that had you seeing stars. A warm hand extended to wrap lazily around the delicate skin of your neck. Bradley sighed, keeping up his motions as he toyed with your air supply. You were absolutely in heaven, placing one of your hands over his and meeting his eyes. "My dirty baby. You like being choked don't you?" He said, voice breaking. You nodded, letting out a whine. "So pretty." He cooed.

"Roos." You sounded absolutely wrecked.

"I know, honey." He choked out between thrusts, starting to fall apart himself. "I feel you— Be a good girl and cum again for me." Tears brimmed in your eyes as everything slowly became too much— too fucking good. He reached down, drawing quick circles around your clit as he pressed his lips to your own. You let out a broken cry, coil snapping and your legs shaking the slightest bit as you came apart beneath him.

"Just like that, baby. Fuck." Bradley praised, fucking you through it— thrusts sloppy and fast. He was obviously close himself. You felt out of body, softly gasping for air, eyes fluttering. "Want your cum, Roos." You pleaded, taking in the man before you in all of his glory. There truly was no one like him.

"Ah, shit baby." He groaned, hips snapping against yours a few more times before he pulled out swiftly, hand moving to run along his shaft and the most erotic noise falling from his lips as he came on your tummy. He hummed, euphoria pumping through his veins. His eyes searched for yours and lips turned up in a smile as sweet as honey. "Y'Did so good for me, mama." He said, kissing your forehead. "You are something else."

Rooster dissapeared into the darkness of the room, wandering over to the connected guest bathroom. You could hear a few drawers opening and closing before he made his way back over to you with a damp rag. He wiped you clean lovingly, sharing a smile with you before he laid down next to you. You both stayed silent as you came down. Warm bodies tangled together and soon enough you were unable to keep your eyes open.

When you awoke hours later, the sun was shining proudly through the curtains. The house smelled like coffee and you could clearly hear cartoons playing from the living room. You stretched, reaching down to the end of the bed where Rooster had laid your tee shirt. A smile you couldn't fight formed on your pink lips at the thought of what had happened earlier. You made your way first to your bedroom, slipping on some pajama shorts before you walked towards the living room.

"There's mommy!" Rooster cheered, catching the attention of your son who raced over to you and latched onto your leg. "Hey there, lovebug." You chuckled, kneeling down to press an exaggerated kiss to both of his cheeks, making him giggle.

Rooster watched in complete adoration, sipping his coffee. This— this is what he wanted for the rest of his life. Cameron turned his attention back to the tv and his toys, and you made your way to where Rooster sat.

"Morning, sweet thing." He said. You laughed softly, leaning to press your lips to his. "You hungry? You should be after all those calories you burned last night."

"Oh shut up." You smacked his arm, chuckling.

"I made pancakes. Me and Cam ate already since Mommy was still being a sleepyhead."

"That is alllll Daddy's fault." You joked, sharing a laugh with him.

"Maybe Daddy needs to teach Mommy another lesson." Rooster grinned, watching you walk towards the kitchen.

"Rooster!" You yelled.

"Rooser!" Cameron copied you, yelling out.

You broke into a fit of laughter, as did Bradley. He joined you in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and sparking up conversation as you ate breakfast. It was then that you remembered he’d be leaving in a mere two days.

“I was thinking we could take a little ride to the beach today.” He spoke up. “Then we can come back and make dinner— and I should probably start packing my stuff.”

“Promise you’re coming back?”

“One week and I’ll be back on a plane home to you.” He leaned forward to steal a kiss. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry you have to make so many changes.”

“Nope, don’t you start that. Transferring is my decision.” He stopped you. “Listen, i’m gonna be back here in a week.” He reiterated, gripping your shoulders. “And you and me are going to figure this out day by day. This is where I want to be.”

“You’re sure?” You frowned.

“Yes honey, I’m sure.” He chuckled. “Stop beating yourself up, please.”

“Sorry, it’s a habit.” You half smiled.

He pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and playfully grabbing a handful of ass, earning a little squeal from you.

“I can’t wait to have another baby with you.”

You threw your head back laughing, pulling away from him and hearing him let out an adorable sounding laugh as well.

“Oh, shut up.” You headed down the hall, cheeks a bright shade of red.

“—‘S the truth!”

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𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚 - 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕒

Pairing ⤀ Bang Chan x fem!Reader

Warnings ⤀ groping, somnophilia(not really mentioned, but has been discussed beforehand and both parties consented to it), unprotected penetration, cream pie

All rights reserved © stayhoe 2020. Re-posting, copying and translating any of my works is prohibited.

Pearl Note ⤀ This is actually kind of a hot kink so I had fun writing it. ^.^ Hope y’all like it!

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

      Chan groaned loudly as he stepped inside the apartment. As he made his way into the bedroom, he stretched his stiff limbs. He has been sitting in a chair the whole day working on a song and all he wanted to do at that moment was relax with his girlfriend.

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tattooed heart | biker!austin butler x reader

summary: austin is the club president of a local outlaw biker gang- a one percenter. he lies, he kills and he doesn't apologize for it. he was one weakness- you. when he gets a distressed late night call from you he's quick to come to your rescue. the only problem? your own father was in the same motorcycle club that austin now runs, and after his death you cut all contact. when you two see each other again emotions run high and things get. . . a little out of control.

pairings: biker!austin butler x reader

word count: 12,074

warnings/notes: SMUT! violence, brief mention of dv (your ex), cursing, spitting, choking, blood play, unprotected sex, creampie, austin is obsessed with you, but what’s new? this one is wild and i might have to make it a series if ya'll like it enough, so feedback would be awesome.

masterlist

“That’s why you’re the treasurer, Marcus. You don’t run jack shit around here. You crunch the numbers, give them to me, and that’s what I go off of. That’s the definition of your job around here.” Austin sat up a little straighter in his leather work chair, jabbing his finger into the desk hard enough to rattle it as he spoke. “I don’t need you getting all high and mighty, trying to take charge of things. Xavier let all of you fuckers do whatever the hell you wanted while I was locked up, but I’m back now, so things are going back to the way they were.” All Austin wanted to do was go home and shower. It was nearly one in the morning, and he had barely gotten a wink of sleep over the last three days. The blonde had expected the Vice President to keep up with all of the prospects, club funds, and the general upkeep of the building as well as it’s members. It wasn’t too much to ask, right? Not when you were getting paid handsomely for it. Austin continued to run the more illegal practices himself while he rotted away in prison for two years, not trusting anyone else to do it. This- the mess on his desk- was the exact reason why he didn’t trust anyone. 

Marcus swallowed thickly, watching his boss nervously, as though he was a ticking time-bomb just waiting to go off. And maybe Austin was. He felt like it was only a matter of time before he absolutely flipped shit and destroyed either something or someone. No one had been keeping up with anything while he was gone. Austin had continued flowing money into this place, while all they did with it was buy booze, women, and lord knows what else. The building was an absolute wreck. There were holes in the walls, half of the toilets in the entire building no longer worked, and to make matters worse an enemy Club had broken into their garage two months ago and had stolen three of Austin’s classic bikes while he was still away. No one had the balls to call him up and tell him. 

What a nice fucking welcome home present. 

“If I come back here tomorrow and these papers aren’t dated and filed when I get back? I’ll have your fucking head,” He stood up roughly, leaning forward so that he could get right in Marcus’s face. “Are we clear?” His voice was eerily calm, using the same tone that he would when speaking to a child. The middle aged bald man hurriedly nodded, fumbling forward so that he could start scooping up the mass of papers. Austin kicked the leather chair he had just stood up from, hearing it clatter into the wall roughly behind him. “And fucking fix whatever the hell I just broke.” He muttered before walking out his office door. A few members were still hanging around, laughing amongst themselves as they sat around a poker table talking. The dumb assholes had the audacity to have their feet kicked up on the table, drinking Jack Daniel’s and shooting the shit as though they hadn’t absolutely destroyed the place. Austin’s eye twitched as he walked behind the bar, grabbing a fresh pack of Marlboros before sauntering over towards them. “What’s so funny guys?” They froze as they heard their President’s voice, all looking up at him with fearful, glassy eyes. “No, don’t quiet down now. I want to know what’s so fucking funny.” Austin had been out of prison for all of three days. The first two days he had tried to readjust to normal life, and today he was expecting to come back to the club, maybe fix a few things that were out of place, and then go about business as usual. 

He could barely sleep in his bed, now completely unused to a regular mattress, which had made it nearly impossible to keep his already ridiculous anger issues under control. Not only that, but he no longer had a bitch-boy bunkie to boss around and wannabe gangsters to treat as punching bags whenever he needed to let off some steam. Then he comes back to this? He was shaking, his sharp jawline ticking as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. He could barely resist the urge to bash the new member’s face into the table until the fuck stopped twitching. 

“You know what. . .” Austin grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He began wagging pointer finger at the group, all of them already shifting in their seats as they waited for the shit show that was bound to start any second. “I think I know what’s funny.” Austin grabbed an empty bottle of whiskey, lazily dragging it across the table before gripping it in his large hand. He stared down at the label for a few seconds, taking a steadying breath in through his nose before he finally looked back at the table. They flinched away from his heated gaze, the older member’s beginning to cower as they recognized the murderous intent in his eyes. “It’s how fucking disgusting this place is!” He reared back and tossed the glass against the wall behind them, the thing hitting the wooden surface so hard that it practically turned to dust. They all covered their heads, pushing their way out of their seats in an attempt to get away. “If you boys want to stay here and drink for the rest of the night, then by all means. Do it. But clean this place up first!” He stalked across the club, slamming the front door closed so hard that it shook the hinges, before straddling his Harley. 

The long drive home did wonders for his mood, but riding always did that for him. The cold air forced his hair off of his forehead and felt good against his hot face. Austin used the time that it took him to get from the club to his house to think. 

He never used to be the type of person to overthink. If something upset him, he’d try his damndest to push it from his mind completely. If the unwanted thought ever bubbled back up to the surface, he’d punch something and move on with his day. He didn’t like wasting time worrying about things that were out of his control. 

But he liked to worry about you. 

In the thirty minutes that it had taken for him to get home, somehow his mind had landed on the subject of. . . well. . . you. He wondered where you were, how you were doing, and for a second he worried about whether or not you had learned to hate him over time. Austin knew that he wasn’t a very well liked person, and for good reason. People either feared him or were taught to. It was how he had functioned his entire life. How he had been raised. Lying, stealing, and killing were just a way of life for him. A means to an end, really. He had learned it from his father, and his father had learned it from his. 

Austin came from a long line of outlaws. They did whatever the fuck they wanted and never apologized for it. You join the Club knowing that there is a possibility that you might not make it out alive. Only the strong survive, and Austin had been bred to be mean because of it. Your father had been the same way. The two of your parents had grown up together, and had both been the leaders of the very same Club that Austin now ran. 

You had been raised up right alongside him, and to say that he didn’t have a soft spot for you would be a damn lie. Austin had one weakness, and that was you. He hated feeling vulnerable. He absolutely couldn’t stand it, but he never could shake you, no matter how hard he had tried growing up. You had hollowed out his bones, and sunk deep deep deep into his marrow. You were just as much a part of him as his own flesh and blood. 

You weren’t cut out for the life that you had been born into though. All that senseless killing always got to you. It got to you bad. This wasn’t what you would have chosen for yourself- The One Percenters. You were tired of keeping your distance from people on the outside, too afraid to get them caught up in all the wrong things. You wanted a normal life. You had wanted to get out. Once you're in the club though, even if you’re born into it, it’s hard to leave. Your father had been the Vice President, meaning you had heard just about all of the comings and goings of the Clubs activities. Having you out of sight was a liability. Austin didn’t know what it meant to live a normal life, but he could understand the attachment you had to the idea. He could imagine that sort of life for himself too, but only if you were involved. There was no point if you weren’t. 

Loving you was the only good thing Austin had ever done in his life. 

Whenever your father died, he knew what would happen. He knew that the door to your cage had been busted wide open, and it was only natural for you to want to fly out. He didn’t harbor any anger towards you for it. It was the way that you had chosen to go about it that upset him so much. 

He wished you would have at least left a note. 

If you were going to disappear, then that meant that you had to disappear for good. That meant that Austin, who was next in line to take his father’s place, had to go. No call, no text, and no warning. He hadn’t even gotten a proper goodbye. One second he was holding your sobbing form at the funeral, and the next second you were gone. It was almost like your old life meant nothing to you at all. Like Austin meant nothing at all. It had crushed him. Totally and utterly devastated him. It was the kind of hurt that you never got over, no matter how many years passed. Time didn’t heal all wounds. You had taken a big piece of him with you, and it was a part of him that couldn’t heal over; couldn’t be replaced. 

Weeks went by. Then months. Then years. He didn’t know if you had moved out of state. He didn’t even know if you were alive. That was the part that kept him thinking. Kept him worried. The thought of you being hurt haunted his nightmares, and caused him to wake up the next morning teary eyed and shaky. He couldn’t protect you if he didn’t know where you were. He couldn’t keep you safe like he had when you were younger. Austin had spent nearly every day with you for twenty- two years. Trying to live without you was like learning how to walk again after losing a leg. It just. . . it was never the same. A day didn’t go by that he didn’t think about you. Austin stayed true to your wishes though, even in his own grief. He didn’t look for you, and if anyone asked him if he knew where you were he’d merely say that you were off studying abroad. He’d lied about having tabs on you. 

So here he was five years later, still thinking about a girl that couldn’t care less about him. Austin didn’t have the ability to open up his heart anymore than he already had. It just wasn’t big enough. Every fiber- every inch: you owned it. You had him in the palm of your hand, and that’s where he’s always stayed. 

Becoming the Club President was the only thing he really could do, unless he wanted to incur his father’s wrath. So he maimed and he killed and he schemed his way to the top. 

But Icarus had flown to the sun on wax wings, and even he had eventually fallen. 

The murders continued to pile up, and no matter how careful he had been with everything, eventually he too had fallen from grace. Prison wasn’t too bad, not when you had seen and done the things that Austin had throughout his entire life. The first thing he had done was pick a fight with the biggest fucker in the place, and no one had messed with him after he had been sent back from The Hole. Sure, some of the men locked up in there were bigger than Austin was, but he didn’t need a shank to be tough. Austin was a mean motherfucker, and he wasn’t opposed to killing with his bare hands. He wasn’t afraid to get messy. He had spent two years like that, holed up in his room with people avoiding him like he was the plague. People who knew who he was began to talk, and the word quickly got out. He didn’t need to click up. Nobody approached him. 

He thought about you a lot while he was locked up. There was no way to escape those thoughts or numb the pain that they brought with them. No, instead he took the brunt of it all. He thought about all of the things he had said to you over the years that he had come to regret. The worst part were the things that he never did get the nerve to actually tell you. He wished that he had told you that he loved you, even just once. Even if you didn’t return the sentiment, then he could have at least gotten the chance to say that he had tried. He thought about what his life could have been like if he hadn’t followed his father’s lead. If you had stayed and had given him a reason to change, maybe then he wouldn’t be in these fucked up situations. 

Because the shittiest part is that Austin would have liked the opportunity to have lived a normal life with you. A life where he didn’t have to kill just to survive. A life that he could have actually been proud of. Sure, the money was great, but it wasn’t worth it. He would have been happy living in a boring suburban neighborhood in a boring little town, and driving a boring family car. He would have found a way to make it all work out. He could have given that all to you. He should have given that all to you. 

But life never turns out the way that you want it to. So he stewed in all that regret while he rotted away in prison. He had been told that he could very well spend the rest of his life there. People from enemy Clubs had heard about him being locked up, and took it as an opportunity to snitch. They rattled off name after name of people that had gone “missing”, stating that he was to blame. 

And he was. 

His lawyer had called him on a Thursday morning and told him that some mistakes had been made with his booking papers, and a lot of the witnesses were suddenly taking back their statements. The trial didn’t have a leg to stand on after that. Austin, after only two years, was a free man. 

But he didn’t feel free. Not really, at least. 

So when he got back to his house after the shit show with the Club, he had stalked right up the stairs and shut himself away in his room. The shower that he took was quick, purely habit as he scrubbed his body as quickly as he could. He barely even took the time to dry himself off, tossing his towel onto the floor next to the clothes hamper, and climbing straight into bed. Austin had rolled himself up in his old duvet and melted into his pillows, and for the first night in almost a week he actually fell asleep. He was a light sleeper though, so the second his phone started ringing he was up, wide eyed and reaching for the gun that he kept tucked in his bed frame. After his heart had stopped pounding from the initial panic, he picked up. “Hello?” He grumbled, rubbing his sleepy eyes roughly with the palm of his hand while he tried desperately to wake himself up. His members knew better than to wake him up this early over something that wasn’t an emergency. “This better be good. What fuckin’ time is it?” He squinted his eyes as he turned his head to look at the bedside table, trying hard to get the blurriness out of his vision as he focused on the digital numbers of his clock: 3:24. He hadn’t even been asleep for two hours. His lips parted, ready to lay into the person on the other line. Then he heard it. 

“Aus?” 

Your voice. It was your voice. 

The second that the sound of it reached his ears, he nearly doubled over. Austin had heard once before that a person’s voice is the first thing that you forget about a person as time goes on. For the first year he had been terrified that he might forget the gorgeous, unrestrained sound of your laughter or the lilting, melodic pitch to your voice. He had replayed memories over again and again in his head, hoping to hang on to the exact way you sounded, but over time he must have gotten it wrong. Your voice was far more beautiful than he remembered. 

He sat up in bed, quick to push the comforter off of himself so that he could get up. He couldn’t think of a single good reason why would be calling him after five years, and so late into the night. No matter how beautiful your voice was, he could hear the panic in your tone. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. His heart had flown into his throat, and he found it hard to walk as he stumbled around his room in the dark, trying to find a pair of pants. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he had to get to you right away. Everything would be alright if he could just see you. Touch you. He could hear you sniffling softly, tears in your voice as you softly said his name again, almost too quiet for him to hear. It felt like he was breaking. His hands shook as he struggled to pull his shirt over his head, quickly pressing the phone back up to his ear when he heard something loud echoing on the other end. “Talk to me, baby.” He murmured, opening the door to his bedroom so that he could take the stairs two at a time, rushing to grab his motorcycle boots that he had by the front door. “I need you to come get me.” You were whispering into the phone, trying to keep as quiet as possible. 

So you must not be alone. He held the phone against his ear with his shoulder as he tied his boots up, rushing to double knot them before grabbing his keys and wallet. “I-It’s bad.” That was too vague, and he was beginning to spiral into a panic. He was used to making sure that things went smoothly. Austin was an insanely capable person- but he felt helpless. “What’s bad?” He locked the door behind himself before jogging to the back of his house so that he could grab his bike out of the garage. He could hear your distress. “Y/n, please.” He begged after the sound of your sniffles began to get too much for him. His heart couldn’t take it. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t breathe now that he knew you were in possible danger. You didn’t answer him, and for a second he was afraid that you had hung up. He pulled the phone away from his cheek, letting out a breath of relief when he saw that the call was still active. “Alright, tell me where you are at least. I’m coming, okay?” You whispered an unfamiliar address to him, and he was quick to type it into his GPS. 

He nearly died when he saw the estimated arrival time. Nearly bent over and puked all over his beat up old boots. You had been right under his nose the entire time. Twenty seven minutes. He had been twenty seven minutes from you this entire goddamn time. “Stay where you are, alright? I’m coming to get you.” He didn’t hang up the phone, merely shoved it into his back pocket. He had a feeling that if he hung the phone up, he might never hear from you again. He had already lost you one time, he couldn’t do it again. Not after hearing the fear in your voice. 

Austin couldn’t remember a time that he had ever driven that fast before. If a cop had seen him, they didn’t even bother turning their lights on and trying to pursue. He was like a bullet being shot into the dark. Gone in a flash. He almost felt bad for your neighbors when he pulled into your driveway. He was quick to move his foot against the kickstand, swinging his long leg over the bike so that he could slowly begin approaching the house. All the blinds seemed to be closed, so he couldn’t see if there were any lights on inside. He dug into his back pocket, pressing the phone against his ear. “I think I’m here,” His eyebrow raised as he heard some rustling in the background, but nearly dropped his phone when you screamed. The man had wondered why he had been the one that you called tonight. You must have known the way that he had turned out. He was everything that you supposedly hated, and yet here he was. People didn’t call Austin for help unless they wanted their bike worked on or they needed someone dead.

Seeing as he didn’t see a motorcycle in the driveway, he was guessing it was the latter. 

Somebody was in there with you, and you were scared, hurt, dying- fuck, he had no clue what was going on. All he did know was that the front door was locked and he had to get to you. The One Percenters were moraless creatures who usually didn’t give a damn about anybody but their own families. The rules were simple, yet usually easy to work your way around. There was one thing that was sacred though. Never lay your hand on a woman. This was worse though. This was twenty times worse, because whether you knew it or not, you were Austin’s woman. This - whatever was happening in there - warranted death, and if anyone in the Club found out that Austin didn’t kill whatever cock sucker was inside of that house, they’d start to question who he was as a man. 

He didn’t remember kicking the door in. He didn’t hear the wood splintering or glass breaking. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the blood rushing in his ears. “Who the fuck is downstairs, Y/n? Huh? Who the fuck did you call?” Austin jogged up the stairs, and the second that he turned the corner he saw the fucker staring right at him. The blonde was quick to try and look around the other man’s shoulders, desperate to find you. He needed to make sure that you were alright first, and then he would decide what he would do. He had just gotten out of prison, and he didn’t want to go back any time soon. Killing the fucker was out of the question. Half of the neighborhood must have heard him break down the door, and he was sure that he had a time limit. The cops would pull up any second.

“Who the fuck are you?” Austin liked it when people tried to act tough. Your boyfriend must have thought that he actually stood some sort of a chance. 

Austin didn’t answer at first, just squared off his shoulders as he waited for you to come out of the room. He could see you in the shadows, trying to walk up to the door, but the other man was quick to hold out his arm, using his body to keep you trapped. That didn’t sit well with Austin. “Hey!” He screamed, blue eyes narrowed on the other man. “She’s coming with me.” For a second the other guy just stood there, his arm pressed against your chest as he kept you trapped in the room. 

“Are you fucking stupid? I’m not letting her go anywhere with you.” Austin had only gotten a quick glance of your face, what with the house being so dark, but he could see a bruise on your cheek. Whether it was fresh or old, he didn’t know. All he knew was that you had been hit. In the blink of an eye Austin had lunged forward, grabbing the man by the front of the shirt and ripping him out of the doorway. He used the man’s weight against him, tossing him onto the floor like a ragdoll before climbing over the fucker. He began bringing his tattooed fist down, connecting it with the other man’s face again and again. Your boyfriend must have hit his head during the fall, because he was too stunned to move for a few moments. Too stunned to fight back. He tried to buck Austin off of him, but the blonde was like a rabid animal. His eyes were wild, his breathing was erratic, and he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. 

He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this sort of thing in front of you though. He had to stop for your sake. Austin grabbed the man by the front of his shirt again, hearing the stitches beginning to pop with the strength of his hold as he yanked him up, wanting them to be face to face to get his point across. “If she wasn’t here right now I would fucking gut you. Do you understand?” Austin had popped blood vessels in both of the man’s eyes, and he could tell that he was having a hard time focusing on anything else other than the immense pain in his face. The President was used to vocal answers at his orders. “Speak!” Austin screamed right into the man’s back, watching him flinch back. “Y-Yes.” Your boyfriend’s voice was quiet, but it was something. Ever so slowly the blonde stood up and off of the man’s chest, stepping around him so that he could get to you. 

You had been crying at some point, but had stopped right around the time that you had heard Austin arrive. He made sure that his grip was light on your wrist as he reached out to grab you, bringing you into his chest so that he could wrap his arm around you. He had you, and you were safe. He kept repeating that to himself, trying desperately to contain his anger. Austin started to walk you down the hall, but stopped as he noticed the man on the ground, watching you closely as you walked past. 

“Don’t fucking look at her.” Austin let go of you, motioning for you to make your way down the stairs. For a few seconds it looked like you weren’t going to obey him, almost like you were worried for the other man’s safety. The look in Austin’s eyes pushed you forward though. Made you want to get the hell out of that house and away from that horrible, horrible man. Austin looked at you like you mattered. You were safe with him, you knew it. Once you were down the stairs and out of sight, Austin reared his foot back, aiming for his upper chest. It didn’t take too many pounds of pressure to break someone’s clavicle, and he could tell by the satisfying wet popping noise that he had done just that. 

“God, I’ve barely even touched you and you’re screaming like a little bitch.” Austin crouched down, resting his elbows against his thighs as he took in the sight of him. He wanted to make sure that he memorized the fuckers face, because if he ever saw him out in public. . . 

“If you so much as breathe her name again and I find out? I will hunt you down like the dog that you are and skin you alive. I’ll rip every tooth out of your goddamn head and burn you down until you’re nothing but ash and I’ll make sure you’re still alive for all of it.” And with that Austin calmly stood up and made his way down the stairs, feeling around in his back pocket for his keys and phone. You were standing outside beside his bike, your arms wrapped around yourself tightly. “Hey,” He called out to you, reaching out to rub your shoulders up and down. “You’re going to be okay.” You melted into his soothing touch, because it was Austin.

Leaving Austin behind had been one of the hardest decisions that you ever had to make, but you had done it in the hopes of being able to actually live. Now that he stood in front of you, his blonde hair wind mussed and eyes wide, it really hit you just how much you had missed him. The way that he was looking at you now, you also realized that he was still very much your Austin. Just. . . with a lot more tattoos. “I want to make sure that you’re alright, but we have to get out of here. The cops will be here any minute, and the last thing I want is to be charged with breaking and entering along with assault and battery.” He was quick to hop onto his bike, turning his body to gently pat the leather seat behind him. “Come on. You remember how to do this, right?” He teased softly, trying to lighten the mood. It was becoming hard not to stare at you. Even bruised and tearstained, you were still the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. 

He thought that he might go mad with tenderness at the mere sight of your face. You wiped at your cheeks roughly with the back of your hand before flashing him a shaky smile, climbing on back and wrapping your arms around him. He tried not to allow himself to get too excited as he felt your cheek press against his shoulder. He tried not to allow himself to hope. 

Unbeknownst to Austin, you were currently feeling the exact same way. You didn’t want to allow yourself to get sucked back into the Outlaw lifestyle, but if you thought that it was hard to say goodbye to Austin back then, now it would be soul crushing. No one had ever cared as much about you as Austin did, and seeing the way that he had protected you tonight? It put thoughts in your head. It made you doubt whether or not the life that you had been trying to live was really for you or not. You had tried your hand at being the dotting, innocent girlfriend in the hopes of getting everything you had ever thought that you wanted. A white picket fence, a stable future, and a loving partner that you could settle down with. You wanted to get married and have a family. 

You weren’t shocked by how far out into the wildness Austin lived. He was up on a mountain, the roads long and winding. Anybody that didn’t know the twists and turns like the back of their hand would get lost. The biker had always felt most comfortable in nature, and it made sense that he would want to be away from the hustle and bustle of their overpopulated city. Not only that, but it would make it near impossible for anyone that Austin didn’t want to know where he lived to find out. 

His house was a humble two story wood cabin with a large porch and dark green shutters. Time and weather had caused the paint to begin to chip off, and the grass and weeds in the front yard were overgrown. The place was still beautiful, but in need of some basic repairs and upkeep. “I’ve been gone for a little while, so it doesn’t look the best.” He mumbled, sticking his house key into the knob before opening the door wide for you. You could feel his eyes on you the entire way up the porch steps. It made your skin heat up and the hair raise on the back of your neck. After being tightly pressed against his back for nearly thirty minutes, you were finding it hard to look at him. You hadn’t allowed yourself to really stare at him since that first time you saw him walking up the stairs to you, because what you had seen, even in the dark, had knocked the breath out of your lungs. He had always been gorgeous, what with his sandy blonde locks and bright blue eyes. His lazy smile had always lit a fire inside of you, and the nervous habit that he had of biting his lips always left them plush and oh so pink. 

So as you brushed past him you couldn’t help but look up. You let your eyes soak up the sight of him. 

And you instantly regretted it. 

Never in all of your life had you ever seen a more beautiful man. His eyes were still that same antique bottle-blue that you loved so much, framed by thick, heavy lashes. Under the light of the porch his hair looked like liquid gold, now wavy and wild from the wind. His gorgeous, boarding on effeminate facial features were a stark contrast to the rest of him. He had filled out over time, his shoulders broad and strong. You could see his muscles even through the black shirt that he wore. His arms looked more than capable, the veins visible after the physical strain of the fight- and they were completely tattooed. There wasn’t an inch of skin that was visible to you that wasn’t covered- aside from his neck and face. Even his knuckles were tattooed, albeit badly bloodied, and suddenly you were overcome with the urge to grab his hands and examine them. You wanted to trace the line of all of his tattoos. Ask him what each one meant to him. 

You knew that you were being obvious with your staring, but you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down. He was wearing light wash jeans on his long legs, the hem of his pants tucked over his bulky black boots. You had wondered what that rattling sound was that you heard when he jumped up onto the porch earlier, but you could now see that he was wearing a chain wallet. After a second he cleared his throat, closing the door behind you. “You’re probably exhausted. Uh. . . Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” He nodded almost to himself, his throat working as he thickly swallowed. “Let me just take a shower, and then I’ll move down to the couch.” He grabbed the banister as he walked up the stairs, his boots thumping loudly against the wood. 

The spell hadn’t been broken, but you took a second now that he was out of sight to look around the living room. He had a leather couch, a dark brown blanket tossed over the black of it haphazardly. The coffee table had a few beer bottles on it, but other than that the house looked clean. He had always taken good care of his things. Austin was a man of pride, and he liked to keep the things in his life orderly. The cabin was warm and cozy, the polar opposite of the home that he had been raised in. Austin was what some would consider Outlaw royalty, and with the kind of jobs that they took, the money poured in quickly. His childhood home had been a gaudy palace; extravagant walls had been built sky high to help hide the skeletons that had been stuffed into every closet. 

This house felt lived in though. This felt less like just a place for him to sleep, and more so a safe haven for him to crawl back to after a long day at work. It made you feel more comfortable as you slowly made your way up the stairs behind him, following him into his bedroom. This room was also clean, aside from the overflowing clothes hamper. His furniture was black and minimalistic, and directly to the side of his king size bed were french doors that led out to a small balcony that overlooked his backyard. “You have a nice house. . . It’s very you.” You complimented, moving over to the bed so that you could awkwardly sit down. He was in the bathroom, riffling around in one of his cabinets before he found what it was that he wanted. He moved back into his bedroom, showing you a small washcloth that he had wet with cold water. “Let me clean you up a little bit.” He mumbled, sitting down next to you on the bed so that he could run the cloth over your cheek. You hissed, flinching back and out of his touch. Your bruised cheek was starting to get more and more sore as the seconds passed, the initial adrenaline finally working it’s way out of your system. He apologized under his breath, reaching out to grab the back of your head so that he could keep you in place. He was gentler this time as he ran the cloth over your face. “That’s going to be a nasty bruise tomorrow, but other than that you look-” He stopped himself for a second, as if he just realized how close he was to you. For a few seconds the two of you just stared at each other, taking in the small changes that time had made to each other’s features. “Aren’t you going to go take a shower?” Your voice sounded small. Unsure. The trauma of the night was beginning to sink in, and even though you wanted to ask him a hundred questions, you knew that a few moments alone in the room would do you some good. You needed to breathe, and maybe cry a little bit. You didn’t want him there for that. You wanted to be able to fall apart in private. 

He seemed to get the hint. Austin nodded his head, wordlessly standing up and tossing the wet cloth into the laundry basket. He started to close the bathroom door behind him, but you were quick to call out to him. “Wait!” He paused, whipping his head back as he stared at you expectantly. He was eager to hear what you wanted to say, almost like he was waiting for something in particular. “Can you leave the door open?” You weren’t sure why, but the room almost felt too big, like it might swallow you up if you were left alone. You at least wanted to know that he was just another room away. He looked a little confused for a second, but nodded anyway. He understood that there were things that had happened before he had gotten there. Things that had been said to you that were beginning to weigh heavy. Your bones felt too brittle to carry the burden of them. “Of course.” He left the door open a crack, and you politely turned your head, letting him get undressed without your watchful eyes. 

You could hear his clothing hit the floor, one garment at a time. First it was the loud thudding of his boots hitting the checkered tiles, then the soft fluttering of his t-shirt. Ever so slowly you leaned back against the bed, letting your feet dangle uselessly over the side. Your heart began to pound as you heard the zipper of his pants, then the soft jingling of his wallet as he placed it down on the sink counter. “Are you alright?” He finally spoke up. You turned your head then, looking through the doorway of the bathroom. You caught his reflection in the mirror, and he held your gaze. It wasn’t just his arms and hands that were tattooed. Your suspicions had been correct- he was absolutely covered. He let you stare at him, watching you patiently as your eyes moved from one tattoo to the next. He seemed to be a fan of the old american style, all thick black and red lines. He had always been perfect, but now? Your eyes felt like they would start to burn if you stared at him for too long. The sight of him was almost too much. 

He felt the same way about you though. He watched the way your hair was spread out around your head, your lips glossy and parted slightly as you thought about how to answer that question. He could feel his pulse in his throat, and the sight of you laid out on his bed? He had to take a step away from the mirror, turning on the showerhead to hide himself away. “I will be. I’m just glad you got there when you did.” Because you were sure that it would have gotten worse. Your ex boyfriend had always been self conscious, and he liked to take it out on you. When you were home just a few minutes late from work, he thought that you were cheating. If you turned your phone over after texting a friend, then you must be talking shit. It was a never ending pattern of pointing fingers, accusations, and brutal screaming matches. You were raised to stand up for yourself though. You refused to allow yourself to be spoken down to or made to feel like a fool. Tonight. . . tonight was the straw that broke the camel's back. You always knew that he could be ruthless with his words, but you never suspected that he would ever hit you. The One Percenters were horrible people, but you’d never seen your father raise a hand to your mother. There’d be occasional bickering and drunken screaming matches, but the next day they would be attached at the hip like nothing ever happened. You just expected that was how things were supposed to be. 

This new life that you had insisted on living wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. Maybe you had screamed too loud, or maybe you had pushed your boyfriend too far. . . but he hadn’t pulled his punch either. You absentmindedly pressed your finger against your cheek, feeling how hot the bruise was under your touch. You were sure that tomorrow it would be swollen and purple, but for now it was just an angry red. 

“Did he do that a lot?” Austin closed the shower curtain behind him as he spoke, ducking his tall frame under the shower head. He closed his eyes tightly, letting the water soak through his hair and warm his face. “Hit you, I mean.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer, because it might make him want to turn right back around and finish the job. “No. . . tonight was the first time.” A beat. “And the last.” He nodded his head softly, placing his shoulder against the cool tile. The stark differences in temperature made his skin raise with goosebumps. He knew that tonight wasn’t the night to question you. You had been through enough, but he wanted answers. 

He wanted to know why you had to shut him out so completely. There were things that you wanted to know about him too. Things you had been wondering over the years but were never able to ask. 

“So you’re the new boss, huh?” He scrubbed at the crusted blood on his hands, chewing on his lower lip as he hesitated. “Yeah.” You filled your cheeks with air, closing your eyes tightly before releasing it with a loud sigh. “Is the Club doing well?” Austin wasn’t sure if you really cared about how they were all doing. You hated it enough to leave, but you were trying to make small talk, so he humored you. “It’s a wreck. I nearly broke Marcus’s neck this afternoon when I saw the state of things.” You hummed, remembering the older man’s laziness. Your father had hated him.  “So I guess you’re not doing too hot as the president then.” He let out a quick laugh, the sound echoing in the bathroom. Your lip twitched up into a small smile at the sound of it. It was the first time you had heard him laugh in years. It was a nice sound. 

“I was locked up for two years. They know to act right when I’m around. They took advantage of the fact that I wasn’t there to watch over them.” You sat up quickly, looking into the bathroom. The mirror was beginning to fog up, and the shower curtain was drawn shut. “Prison?” You questioned. “Yeah, prison. I set fire to one of Howard’s buildings. Burned up at least a million dollars worth of product. It was originally arsen, but then some of his men started snitching. A couple of other charges were pinned against me. They got dropped though, don’t worry.” You rolled your eyes, letting out a small huff. This was exactly what you didn’t want for him. He was too good for all of this bullshit. Too smart. “Well I’m glad you’re out then.” You weren’t sure what else to say. He could tell by your tone of voice that you weren’t pleased, and he didn’t take too kindly to feeling judged. He clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking as he tried to stop himself from saying something. He never did have a filter though. 

“You still had my number saved in your phone.” He finally spoke up, his voice huskier than it was just a second ago. You swallowed, licking your lips nervously. This was one of the questions that you didn’t want to answer. You knew exactly where this conversation would go, and you didn’t have the energy for it. “Yeah, I did.” 

“Why though?” You heard him suck in a small breath. “No call. No text. Five years is an awfully long time.” You took a second to breathe, taking in the smell of the soap that he was using. It was wafting out from the bathroom, mixing in with the natural pine scent of his home. “I didn’t want to confuse you.” You regretted phrasing it that way. You even went as far as to bite your tongue the second that the words left your lips. It was true though. You didn’t want to confuse him or yourself. You set boundaries. Hard boundaries, and it was painful for the both of you. He let out a humorless laugh, the callous sound making you flinch. You wanted to cover your ears and curl up into a small ball. You hated how cold you were suddenly coming off. This wasn’t how you guys used to act around each other. You were both walking on eggshells. The two of you were acting like strangers, and it physically hurt. Your words tugged at Austin’s heart. Kinda made him want to cry. 

“Yeah. . . Yeah. You definitely wouldn’t want to confuse me. You’re right.” He spat the words out like they were poison, pulling the showercurtain to the side so that he could lean his head out. He stared at your blurry reflection in the mirror. “That’s such a half assed response, and you know it. Bull-fucking-shit. You wanted to live some perfect little life, and I didn’t fit the bill, right? I wasn’t good enough, so you cut me out like I never existed at all.” Your jaw dropped and you were quick to stand up and off of the bed. Your heart was beginning to pound again, your adrenaline kicking back up as he raised his voice at you. “I’m not going to accept that response, so you better come up with a better one, Y/n. We grew up together. You tossed me to the side like I was garbage and then only called me when you wanted me to knock a few of your ex’s teeth out.” He pulled the showercurtain shut roughly, the fabric rustling. 

You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t want to play into this. You took a few steadying breaths, picking at the skin of your nail with your thumb before speaking up. “I don’t want to do this with you, Austin. Not tonight.” Even though he couldn’t see you, you still threw your hands up in the air. Austin had a temper. You should have known saying something like that would have gotten him riled up. 

“No, I’ve waited five years for this conversation. Five. So no, this can’t wait until tomorrow.” You rolled your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose as you tried to keep your own anger under control. “Can’t you be a little bit more sensitive to the situation? Jesus christ, Aus. Tonight isn’t the night. Leave it!” He laughed then. Loud, uncontrolled laughter. The kind with absolutely no humor behind it. All emotions. “You’re crazy. . .” You mumbled under your breath, taking a step closer to the bathroom. 

“Yes! Yes I am.” He was quick to snap back, supposedly hearing you even over the running water. “Crazy for thinking that you actually cared about me. I gave you the space that you so desperately wanted. . . but god dammit- I would have taken anything you had given me. You could have texted me. Emailed me. You could have called me from a payphone. Send me a mother fucking smoke signal! Scraps. You’ve got me begging for scraps, Y/n.” He was acting as though the two of you had been something more than just childhood friends. Nonetheless, your stomach still churned with guilt. You were beginning to feel like a wounded animal being backed into a corner. You were in the wrong. You knew that you were, but you weren’t going to be made to feel like an asshole twice in one night. 

“Well fuck me for wanting a fresh start, Austin. Fuck me for wanting to feel safe for once in my god damn life! I knew what would happen eventually. I didn’t want to get myself mixed up in this fucked up lifestyle any more than I already was.”Could he really not see where you were coming from? He was talking about setting fire to a drug lord’s storage building like it was nothing. How could he not see how messed up this all was? “You knew what would happen? Meaning. . . you knew how I would turn out. Am I getting that right? You just knew I’d turn out like my father, so instead of mentioning it to me and giving me the chance to talk to you, you just disappeared. Yeah, cause that’s a normal response.” Your jaw dropped. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Are you really trying to tell me what a normal response is? Seriously?” He scoffed, but you continued. “You kill people, Austin. Kill them.” 

He didn’t respond, but you kept going. “What you just said? It's a moot point. You turned out just like your father.” He was the one that had brought it up, so he didn’t really have a reason to be so angry. He still ripped the shower curtain back open though, sticking his whole torso out so that he could stare at you through the crack in the door. “Don’t you dare fucking say that shit to me. Don’t even try it.” His voice shook as he tried to keep himself from shouting. “You have no idea what plans I had for my life. You know I didn’t want to do this shit. You knew I wanted to try and get out too. It might have been easy for you, but it sure as hell wouldn’t have been that way for me.” Austin had always talked a big game while growing up, but he never acted on it. Was it so wrong that you never took him seriously? 

“I thought that you were just blowing smoke up my ass.” You were torn. Seeing him again was nice. . . too nice. It made you want to stay and suffer through whatever aggression he had saved up for you. This was getting to be too much though. You didn’t have a way of escaping, and your boyfriend had broken your phone after he saw that you were talking to Austin. You ran a shaky hand through your hair, feeling your eyes well up with unshed tears. “I fucked up, okay? I did you wrong, I know. Can you not see why I did all of it though? Can you not see where I’m coming from, even just a little bit?” You kept your voice quiet and even, and it seemed to work. You could hear Austin taking steadying breaths. You knew that he cared about you- maybe even in a romantic way- but you had no idea that it was to this extent. You loved Austin. You had ever since you were kids, but you saw what kind of a person his father was. You didn’t want to put yourself in that situation. You didn’t want to end up like your mother, yet here you were, standing in his bathroom with a bruised cheek and an even more damaged ego. 

“I would have gotten out with you. I would have found some way to hide the both of us. Burner phones, hideaway houses- anything. Fuck. . . anything.” He had probably stopped bathing a while ago. He was using the shower as an excuse to hide himself away from you. If he looked at you he was sure that he would break down. Get too vulnerable. The anger was steadily burning away, like alcohol to a flame, and all that was left was a crippling sadness. He leaned his forehead against the tile, closing his eyes tightly. You both knew where this was going, and neither of you were ready for it. It had to be said though. It couldn’t wait anymore. 

You had to lean against the bathroom doorway, your legs feeling too shaky and unstable underneath you. “But now you’re in too deep.” Your voice was thick with unshed tears, the realization of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. 

Because Austin loved you. And you loved Austin. He was caught in a trap, and there was no getting out. “I’m branded for life. I-I’ve done so much shit, Y/n.” He was trying hard not to cry. He hated crying more than anything, even if it was you that he was doing it in front of. He refused to appear weak. 

You didn’t want to know how many people he had hurt over the years. How many people he had killed. “There’s no way you would have meant it, Austin. You would have eventually regretted it. I did what I had to-” “I loved you. I really fucking loved you.” 

The words hung in the air for a second. Echoed around the bathroom and reverberated in your chest. There it was. The words the two of you had never had to say out loud because it had been crystal clear your whole lives. No matter who the two of you dated, it was always there. It was the reason why nothing ever worked out. Nothing ever stuck, and feelings never evolved. Because he was always there with that wide childlike smile and those big blue eyes. Austin was always there to save the day, always there to help you out when you needed him the most. He had never complained either. Not even once. No one could ever replace him. He had always been the love of your life, and for him it was the same. “I wouldn’t have left you. Not ever. I wanted a life with you. . . were you really that blind? Was I not as obvious as I always thought that I was? Do you need me to spell it out for you now?” You stumbled away from the door and into the bathroom, reaching out for the showercurtain and gripping it hard in your hand. “I would have risked my life trying to get the both of us-” You ripped the showercurtain back in one swift move, staring at him wide eyed. 

He didn’t shy away from your gaze either. He turned to face you, his sandy hair clinging to his cheeks and neck as he looked at you. Despite all of the anger and all of the sadness that was settling into the pit of his stomach, his eyes still softened when he looked at you. It was almost as though you two were seeing each other for the first time that night. Really seeing each other. Austin looked at you like you were the only thing that really mattered. Like you’d hung the fucking moon. No one except for Austin had ever looked at you with eyes so sad and yet so lovely. You didn’t just hear the words that he had said, but you had felt them too. It sent your heart into overdrive.

You stepped into the shower, clothes and all, and wrapped your arms around him tight. You had done twenty seven years of waiting. 

No more. 

No more. 

You pressed your lips against Austin’s, and the second that you did he had you pinned up against the tile wall, the cold ceramic pressing hard against your back while the water relentlessly streamed down your front. You were soaked within seconds, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the feel of his warm, naked body pressed up against you. Your lips moved against one another’s in a furious display of passion- all teeth and tongues. The two of you kissed as though you had been doing it for years- everything fell right into place. His soft lips moved in sync with yours, warm water pouring into your open mouths, but you swallowed it all. You wanted to take everything that he was willing to give you. His strong hands grabbed at your hips, fingers pulling against your wet clothes that were acting like a second skin. He pressed even harder against you, breathing you in. 

You took the opportunity to move your hands down his strong shoulders, to the muscles of his back, fingertips dragging against his skin as he softly took your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking it into his mouth. The noise you made spurred him on. He wondered how he could have survived so long without having you this way. 

He felt that if you ever stopped kissing him that he might die. He needed you like he needed air. Your hands explored his exposed skin, fingertips pressing against every ridge and sharp edge of his muscle. They made their way down until they were pinned in between your chests, slowly inching inching inching- “Please.” He gasped into your open mouth, blue eyes opening to look into your own. He wasn’t above begging you. Wasn’t above falling to his knees if it meant that he could have you. Your fingers brushed against his length, thumb sliding along his head. It felt like the air had been punched out of him. The feeling of your small hand wrapped around his cock was almost too much. Because it was you. 

You were touching him. You were touching him. 

You pumped your hand a few times, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. He melted against you, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he pressed his forehead into the top of your head, nuzzling his nose into your wet hair. “Let me fuck you. God, let me fuck you.” His muscles shook as he tried to hold himself back. He squeezed his eyes shut so hard that he saw stars behind his eyelids. He wasn’t used to steering off his own urges. He was used to acting out on his anger. Acting out on all that hate that had turned him surly over the years. He felt you nod, and in a second he was fumbling to turn the water off. In the blink of an eye he had your legs wrapped around his waist, the two of you dripping water. He didn’t care. Not at all, because he had you laid back against the bed before you could even object. His eager hands were ripping at your wet clothes, peeling them off of you as quickly as his shaky hands would let him. His chest was already rising and falling at a rapid pace, eyes half lidded, lips a bright pink from your constant lip-locking. You let your eyes dip down, and god you nearly came just at the sight of him. You pushed your wet hair out of your eyes, arching your back as you tried to help him remove your pants. His eyes were darting across your body, trying to look everywhere- memorize every inch of you. “You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful.” He assured you as he slipped your pants down your legs, tossing them into a soggy heap on the floor. 

You wanted to tell him to just go ahead and take you. You needed his cock inside of you. 

You didn’t care about the foreplay. You just needed to feel him. You couldn’t think of anything else aside from him. Your mind was like a broken record. Because the sheer size of him alone was bringing you to near tears, but it was the desperation in his eyes that was your undoing. It was the way his strong, large hands shook as they danced over your body. They grabbed your hips, ran across your heaving stomach as you gulped back deep breaths, and squeezed your breasts tight. You couldn’t find the words to tell him that you wanted him to go ahead and make love to you. Couldn’t shape the syllables. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, and your throat felt like it was closing up. 

He gave your lips a warm kiss, trailing them down your chin and along the front of your throat. He paused there, feeling your pounding pulse against his mouth, letting his tongue lap against the wet skin. The sensation of his lips against you had you tilting your head back, your thighs pressing against his length. The both of you moaned at the same, his deep voice vibrating against your throat. His hands moved down your body, sliding easily along your soaked skin. He stopped once he found what he was looking for- and good god you thought your heart was going to stop. Austin pressed his fingers against your folds, feeling your slick, feeling everything. “Ah, fuck.” 

Everything about you was beautiful. Your body, your expressions, and the little noises he seemed to be effortlessly pulling out of you. The feel of you wasn’t enough though- he couldn’t survive off of that alone. He needed to taste you. He slid down your body removing his hands so that he could place them at your thighs, pulling them apart so that he could get a good look at you. You raised up on your elbows, watching him with half lidded eyes as he just laid there on his stomach and stared. If this had been anyone else you would have been self conscious, but you saw the look in his eyes. Saw the way his tongue darted out and licked his lips. “This is the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He was in complete awe of you. He knew that if he ever got lucky enough to see you laid bare in front of him like this, that you would be beautiful, but this? It was too much. You were too much. Even if this was just a one time thing for you, there couldn’t be anyone again for him. Not after this. You had ruined him. Completely. 

You had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart, and he was alright with that. 

He separated your folds with his fingers, really drinking you all in before he finally pressed his lips against you. You were quick to cry out, back arching up and off of the bed as your hand flew down, gripping at his wet hair. He set a devastating pace, his tongue flattening out as he licked along your clit, two fingers moving up to slip inside of your entrance. His fingers immediately curled inside of you, pressing against all of the right places. You were glad that he didn’t have any neighbors, because you screamed. How long had it been since someone had taken the time to pleasure you? Too long. Your thighs tried to close, the pleasure becoming too much. It was building too quickly- and you didn’t want to cum yet. 

“Stop. Stop- please.” He didn’t stop though. His eyes flew open, watching you as he felt your walls begin to flutter. He wanted to watch you come undone. “I want to cum on your cock- please.” That made him pause. You tightened around his fingers as he slowly pulled his face away from your core, his needy eyes pinning you down. “You asked so nicely,” He slowly pulled his fingers out, crawling back over you like a wild animal. His gaze was too heated. You had to turn your head to the side and shut your eyes tight. “Please, Austin.” He purred. Purred. 

“Such a good girl,” He pressed his fingers against your lips- the ones that had been inside of you- and you opened your mouth. He pressed his fingers against your tongue, watching you hungrily as you sucked them clean. “So perfect.” He mumbled. You couldn’t take it. You’d never felt so needy in your life. Your quivering thighs moved to wrap around his middle, positioning him at your entrance yourself. That was the final push that he needed. 

“Fuck! Austin!” You screamed as he thrust into you. Every. Inch. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel anything else but him. He was the only thing that existed. Your eyes shut tight, but the hand that wasn’t holding himself up quickly moved to your face, grabbing your chin in his hand tightly. “Eyes open.” And you obeyed. You hated authority. You always fought against it, but there was just something about him. You couldn’t deny him. 

His hips snapped against you at a pace that you didn’t think was possible. He fucked you like he was hoping your bones would meld. Like he could somehow absorb into your body. He was inside inside inside. Pressing against every part of you. He continued to hold your face in his hand, his grip tightening as he let out a growl of pleasure. His eyes fluttered, mouth dropping open as he pressed you into the bed. It had been years since he had been with a woman, and even if he hadn’t the pleasure would still have been too much for him. Because you were his woman. 

His one. 

He raised up on his knees, reaching down to grab your hip so that he could take you with him. The angle. The angle. He was fucking you so deep that it hurt. Brought tears to your eyes. But it was good. Too good. His other hand reached out, grabbing the headboard for leverage, his torso leaning over you as his hips continued their near impossible pace. “Oh fuck.” He wished he could have taken a picture of your face, but he settled with storing it deep into his memory. He wanted to relive this moment. Again and again. His cock twitched inside of you, you bliss stricken expression almost too much. He didn’t want to cum. He wasn’t done yet. His hold on the bed frame tightened, and you let out a yelp as you heard the wood crack behind you. He hissed, clenching his teeth in pain as he felt the splintered wood dig into his palm. 

You turned your head just in time to see a few drops of blood soak into the sheets, dripping off of his hand. Your eyes widened, and you were quick to turn your head. You were going to ask him if he was okay, but the second you saw the look on his face you knew that he was more than okay. The pain kept his orgasm at bay- snapped him out of it. He tightened his hold on the splintered wood, the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. After a second he put all of his wait on his knees, fucking up into you so that he could remove his hand. He took a second to look down at the deep gashes, licking his lips before his eyes found you again. He could have needed stitches- he didn’t care. He dropped his injured palm down to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat. You could feel the hot blood smear against your skin, and you weren’t sure why- but never in your life had you ever experienced anything quite so sensual. So personal. 

Because he was marking you. 

He added pressure to his hold on your throat, cutting off airflow. You reached up, clawing at his arms and his chest, mouth opening as you let out a strangled cry. You were cumming. You could feel it. 

He could too. It pushed him to fuck into you harder, his large palm still pressed against your throat, two of his fingers moving up to pull at your bottom lip. He hooked his fingers into your mouth, pulling it open for him- and then he spit. Spit. 

You swallowed it too. 

Then you came undone. Eyes rolled back, head pressed hard against the mattress, and thighs quivering. He pulled an orgasm out of you so earth shattering that you were sure that you wouldn’t have been able to breathe, even if he wasn’t still choking you. Your walls clamped down around him, and that was all it took to have him following close behind. He came with your name on his lips. Again and again he said it, driving his cum deep deep deep inside of you. He loosened his hold on your throat, and you sucked in a breath, choking on it. Your chest heaved as you tried to regulate your heart, and he was in a sad state as well. He was gulping down air, blue eyes wide, his arms shaking as he loosened his hold on you. 

Slowly he pulled out, looking down as he watched with grave interest as his cum began leaking out of your entrance. He moved his hand down, using his fingers to gather it up. Pushing it back in. For a few seconds the two of you just stayed there, staring at each other, trying hard to calm yourselves down. “L-Let me get a towel.” He could barely speak. His mouth felt numb and his eyes felt wet. “No,” You shook your head, licking your dry lips. You shut your eyes for a second, listening to the pounding of your heart and his panting breaths. “Leave it.” 

“Okay. . .” He trailed off, and you opened your eyes just in time to see the realization dawn on him. “Okay.” His eyes softened, his lips twitching up into a small smile. You wanted him. All of him. It was acceptance, no matter how vague. You wanted this.  You loved him. You loved him so much it felt like you might burst, your ribs aching under the pressure of it all. You were fucked. This life- no matter how messed up you thought it was- you could make it work. You would make it work, because it was Austin.

Your Austin.

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Take It Like A Puppy (M)

Summary: You and Hoseok have been best friends since you were young. Your friendship with him, was struck as odd since you were a cat hybrid, while he was a dog hybrid. But that didn’t matter, that is until you both start attending university. What happens when one of you unexpectedly goes into heat?

Pairing: Jhope x Reader

Genre: Smut (M), hybrid!au, Cat hybrid reader, Dog hybrid Jhope

Word Count : 5.5k

A/N: This story contains graphic descriptions of sex, cum play, bondage, oral, etc. Heavy dom/sub undertones. Lmao this is just a sinful read. I’m a sucker for hybrid aus, so i had to make one ;) Anywho, this is a mature read! You have been warned!

You’ve known Hoseok since you were nine years old. At the time, you were just a quiet little kitten, who didn’t have many friends. Hoseok, was an annoying hyperactive puppy, who everybody adored in your class. He didn’t really bother you that much, until you became desk partners. That’s when he thought it was okay to pop your ‘personal space bubble’ and sniff you, every second he got.

“Why do you keep trying to smell me!” the nine-year-old you shouted. This was the third time you caught him in the act, ever since you became seat mates a week ago.

“I’m part canine! That’s what we always do!” Hoseok explained, with a smile on his face. He didn’t really know you that much, only that you were always super quiet. But he wanted to change that, he wanted a feline as a friend for once.

“Well can you stop? Its kinda weird,” you replied uncomfortably.

Including you, there were only two other cat hybrids in your class, the rest were a split between bunny, dog, and fox hybrids. Thus, you were extremely uncomfortable with this puppy trying to get up all in your space. Besides, you were quite afraid of dog hybrids since they could become aggressive easily.

“No, you’re weird,” the puppy joked.

You finally turn to glare at him, then let a hiss seethe through your teeth.

Keep reading

overhear ; Kim Namjoon

pairing: kim namjoon x female reader

words: 1,470

genre: angst, fluff??

summary: you accidentally hear namjoon call you clingy.

a/n: i missed writing again. yooo im so mad bec i had to write this twice bec my laptop suddenly shut down, its so annoying bec i liked the first version better :<

masterlist

(gif not mine)

You pushed open the front door to the boys’ apartment. Hoping to visit your boyfriend, Namjoon, who you haven’t seen in about a week. Voices echoed throughout the house, confirming that the boys were indeed home. You clutched the bags of food in your hands, figuring that they were probably hungry so you bought some on your way here. As you neared the living room, where they were all staying, you heard Namjoon’s voice. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop but his voice was booming loud.

“I’m so sick and tired of her!” Namjoon’s voice yelled out, making you halt and frown. “I can’t go through an hour without Y/N spamming me with texts and calls. She uses my clothes all the time as if she doesn’t have her own. It’s starting to annoy me,” You almost dropped the bags you were holding but you stopped yourself before anyone would notice you were standing just outside of the room they are in, “I just want my own space and time but she’s just so clingy. I wished she would just stop.” You heard him mumble the last part. Your eyes brimmed up with tears upon hearing his statement. You had no idea he felt this way.

You heard enough so you decided to creep into the kitchen and leave the food atop of the counter, leaving a small note saying to enjoy the meal. You left the dorm without further notice.

You made your way home, shutting yourself into your bedroom before letting your held back tears fall down. You had no idea Namjoon felt this way about your affection. You thought back about the days where you would question him how he was doing or if he was getting enough sleep and rest. You grabbed your phone, deciding to read all the texts you’ve been sending for the past week. Frowning, finally seeing why he called you clingy. You sighed, calming down, deciding to switch things up.

You stood up, heading to your closet, removing all of Namjoon’s article of clothing from your cabinet. Folding each and one neatly before returning it back to his closet. You tucked your phone away, not wanting to be tempted to message him once more today.

Namjoon came home later that night, dead tired from all the practicing he was required to do. The house was quiet and dark which was very unusual but he decided to shrug it off, thinking that maybe you were in the shower or sleeping. He silently made his way towards your shared bedroom, in case you were indeed sleeping, he didn’t want to bother you. Pushing the door open to the bedroom he saw your figured hunched up at your side of  the bed completely. Scared that you would almost fall off if you moved one inch, he dropped his bag on the floor before approaching your frame. Namjoon wrapped his arms around your body, fixating you so that you would be able to get proper slumber by having a better posture. His actions caused you to jerk awake, eyes fluttering open.

“What are you doing?” You mumbled, letting out a small yawn. Namjoon smiled at your sleepy state, pressing a light kiss on top of your head.

“You were almost falling, baby.” He informed you, letting go of your body to change his clothes into much comfortable ones. As he opened his closet, he saw how his clothes were neatly folded and piled upon each other, he thought of it as you just clearing out his clothing so he let it go. Once Namjoon was done preparing for bed, he saw you trying to fumble away from his side of the bed which made him confused so he walked towards the bed, sliding in. Expecting for you to climb in his arms, but you didn’t which was odd. “Are you okay?” He asked, worriedly.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You said so quietly that he almost didn’t catch it. Namjoon once again shrugged it off, grabbing onto you before pulling you close to his chest. His movements made you let out a tiny yelp at the suddenness. His words earlier once again echoed through your mind, “Uh, Joon, can you let me go? I-it’s too hot for me.” You excused.

“What?” Namjoon frowned at your words.

“Please.” You whispered, trying not to be too loud because you knew he had a tiring day. He listened to your command, letting you go of his arms. Once he did, you moved further away from him, clutching your pillow instead, “Goodnight.” Your back facing him.

Namjoon didn’t reply, instead he watched as your back greeted him instead of seeing your lovely face like always.

A week has gone by and you were astounded with how well you were on being less clingy. You had work almost everyday so it helped on being a distraction. Sending Namjoon a simple ‘good morning’ text when you saw that he left for work in the morning. Greeting him with a kiss on the cheek when he arrived home and preparing a small meal for him to consume before disappearing into the bedroom to give him enough space and time for himself.

Namjoon was starting to notice the sudden change of your behavior. He sometimes caught himself staring at his phone, waiting for your affectionate texts as usual. Staring at the studio door, hoping for you to walk right in. His expectations got his hopes up and only to be left disappointed when you weren’t appearing. Once Namjoon arrives home at your apartment, he expected for you to bounce right at him to engulf him with a hug and pamper him with kisses like how you usually do, but instead he was greeted by silence and cold air.

“Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” Namjoon finally piped out once you left a meal on the table and was about to head out, to leave him alone again. You froze on your spot, thinking of the right words to say.

You let out a small laugh, back still facing him, “Of course not.” You shrugged before continuing to walk once again but you were pulled back by his hand on your arm making you jump at the sudden contact.

“Stop that.” You studied his face, noticing how he had a stressed look plastered on.

“Stop what?” You questioned.

“Stop leaving me alone!” Namjoon’s hands went up to his hair, gripping on it lightly. “I miss you so much and I know something has changed. You barely speak to me anymore, you don’t cuddle with me when we’re about to sleep. You don’t even tell me you love me anymore.” He mumbled the last part, arms falling down to reach for you, encasing you with his arms. “Please tell me what I did wrong, Y/N. I want to fix everything.”

Tears started forming in your eyes at his words, “I-I overheard you telling the boys how clingy and annoying I was,” You started, “so I decided that maybe I should lessen my affection so I could give you the space you needed.” You felt a tear slip down your face. “I, uh, also stopped wearing your clothes as you were complaining that I wore them all the time.” You let out a shaky breathe, “I’m sorry if I smothered you too much.”

“No! No no no.” Namjoon lets out rapidly, “That was so fucking stupid of me to say. I was so stressed and I know that shouldn’t be an excuse for me to speak of you that way. I’m so sorry Y/N.” His hands reached up to caress your back softly. “I love your constant affection, it makes me feel so special and loved. I love seeing you pass by the studio just to make sure we all have proper meals, and I absolutely love seeing you wearing my clothes, you look adorable in them. Please don’t take my words from that day so seriously. I’m sorry I hurt you, my queen, I promise to never hurt your feelings ever again. I love you so fucking much.”

You both agreed to head to bed after the small talk you had. As you were getting ready, Namjoon handed you his hoodie that had his all familiar scent on it, “Wear it, you look lovely.” Was all he said before he returned the bathroom to do his nightly routine. You did what he told you to, slipping the hoodie on your body before climbing into the bed.

Namjoon shortly slipped beside you and you let him hold you in his arms once again, “I missed this, I missed you.” You heard him mutter quietly.

“I missed you too.” You admitted, snuggling closer to him. “I love you, Joonie.”

“I love you so much more than you imagine, Y/N.”

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.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings

four christmases

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings:  Slight Violence, Angst, Fluff, Smut - Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Vaginal Sex, Slight Breeding Kink && SPOILERS

Word Count: 15,992

Description: CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. You’ve been working for the Thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead Hugh Ransom Drysdale. These are the four Christmases you’ve spent with the Thrombey/Drysdale clan during your times of service. 

A/N: This story is brought to you by season 4 of Schitt’s Creek and maybe 12 cups of coffee. It felt like it took forever to write, but I’m happy to bring it to you. This is the follow up for my other Ransom one-shot ‘the assistant’. I hope you guys like it! 

the assistant 

2018

What a fucking asshole. 

“You have to be there, it’s your job.” Ransom huffed indignantly. You rolled your eyes from the passenger seat of his beamer, tablet open in your lap as you scrolled through your sister’s amazon wishlist. 

“I have a family too Ransom. I can’t just abandon my own family on Christmas just because you can’t get along with yours.” His knuckles turned white against the gear shift. Nothing else mattered, only him it seemed, and his whining Mommy complex. 

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oblivious. (m)

♥ [10.3k words ; 𝐬. +  (a little bit of) 𝐟.+ 𝐚. ; royal!au ; bodyguard!chan & princess!reader feat. businessman!hyunjiin & princess!reader - this is a mess ngl; don’t say i didn’t warn you] ♥ [warnings ~ explicit unprotected sex (wrap it up!!), thigh-riding (hyunthighs… *sighs*), oral sex (f recieving), strong language, all the usual shit oofles] ♥ [in which chan has feelings that even he is oblivious about… (i ADORE royal aus and then that mf chan came in with the mama awards performance… man, idk anymore.) PLEASEEE ignore the occasionally weird vocabulary, i tried to make this sound old and failed 🤡] ♥ [tags >>> @aliceu​ (bestie i’m sorry 🤠) and @chanluster​ (bcos i’m annoying and a sucker for your feedback qween hehe 👑💌)]

The guard clenches his teeth, eyes darting around the market square for the small figure in the grey hood. He pulls his hood around his head a little tighter. However, it doesn’t distract those around him from noticing him, mainly due to his unusually muscular build.

A hiss escapes him as he finally sees you, eying up and chatting to the tall yet timid flower stall owner. You put your hand up to your mouth and giggle, trailing your fingers over the bouquets which Chan was positive you had exactly zero interest in.

Chan stalks over, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you away. You widen your eyes underneath the hood, not even getting to wish your latest object of affection goodbye.

“By God, let me down!” You try to escape his grip, which simply tightens at your struggle. “We were getting to know each other! Minho, I hope I see you again soon!”

“Not a chance.” He tugs you harder, clicking his fingers at the two horses he had waiting for him behind the marketplace as the flower boy looks on in shock.

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Raw Desire

Synopsis: Something is wrong with him. Something none of the Avengers, including Thor, understand. When Loki turns into his Jötun form unwillingly and begins to act in a very primal and aggressive way, their solution for the problem is to lock him up in a cell below the compound until it’s all over. It’s a disease, perhaps, one which only Frost Giants can develop. Only Loki is not sick. Loki is in heat–and his Jötun body will not rest until his most carnal desires have been satisfied…

Words: 9176 Warnings: Jötun!Loki, smut, fluff, symptoms of addiction

A/N: You wanted some Jötun!Loki, I wanted some Jötun!Loki… so here we go. Enjoy, everyone! 😏

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