Bad Boy Type

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Synopsis: Girls' night at Billy and Max's new place takes a turn when El insists on you marrying Billy.

Warnings: Mentions of Neil, extreme fluff, mutual pining (because I'm a whore for that shit), language

Word Count: 4056

A/N: This might be the fluffiest thing I've written. It's also the longest. And yes, I still have requests to finish. But life really said, "It's Billy's time," and I'm not mad about it.

You were fiercely protective over Max and El since you met. They became the younger sisters you never had. You’d do anything for them. And you always made sure to plan something with them as often as possible.

Today, you three were holed up at Max and Billy’s new place. It wasn’t much. It was a steal since it’d been so run down no one else wanted it. You and the rest of your group helped fix up what you could. After everything you’d all been through, it created an untouchable bond. And everyone was eager to help in whatever way they could, especially once Max confided in you about Billy’s father. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Neil was a shitty person. He gave off enough hostility to power a freight train. A few months after renovating, the house was finally livable. And between your car and Billy’s, they moved within the hour.

All three of you were on the floor around the coffee table, snacking on candy and discussing very important business.

“Okay, okay,” Max said, trying to rein in her laughter. “El, kiss, marry, kill…The Outsiders.”

You grinned and leaned closer as El looked down in thought.

“Kiss Sodapop, marry Johnny, and…I don’t want to kill anyone,” she said timidly.

And because it was El, you and Max accepted that.

You faced Max. “I’m guessing yours would be the same?”

“I’m killing Steve,” she added, and you snickered. “What about you?”

You hummed, running through the characters before picking three.

“Kill Two-Bit, kiss Darry, marry Dally,” you said with a nod.

“Dally’s an asshole!” Max groaned, slapping her thighs.

“But he’s hot,” you countered.

“But he’s an asshole,” she repeated, giving you a look.

“But he’s hot.”

After a few seconds, you all started giggling. You really loved spending time with these two.

El grew quiet, deep in thought, and she made you and Max stop laughing with her question.

“What about Billy?”

Your brow furrowed. “Billy?”

She nodded. “Would you marry him?”

Your face grew warm. Did El think because you liked the bad boy character in a film, you liked one in reality?

Billy had never been outright rude to you—his attitude rubbed you the wrong way—cocky and smug like he knew he could get away with almost anything. It wasn’t until after the Mind Flayer that you befriended him.

You’d describe your friendship as…quiet. You didn’t hang out together—only in a group with everyone or Steve and the other adults. Usually, though, you saw him most when you, Max, and El hung out.

You were the girls’ friend first and foremost. When you started picking Max up when they lived with their parents, he always scowled at you through the door as she raced to your car. Later, you thought it had something to do with Neil’s reactions to his stepdaughter not being home even though he knew where Max was. You had enough knocks on the door from Billy to put two and two together.

Now, Billy was relaxed when you picked her up or stayed over. You sometimes wondered if he was glad Max had you to rely on now that it was just him and his stepsister. If she ever needed anything, he could count on you to lend him a hand.

So while he wasn’t the same rage-filled boy you knew in high school, his reputation still preceded him. Though now you knew him in a different light—provider, protector, and maybe that was why you started to like him.

You shook your head to rid yourself of that thought.

“I…Well, I…I don’t…” Jesus Christ! How were you supposed to answer this without giving yourself away?

Just then, a car door slammed. Billy’s home.

He threw his jacket on the hook and his keys on the table and stopped when he noticed you, Max, and El.

His eyes seemed to linger on you before addressing everyone.

“Hey,” he said, mentally kicking himself. Couldn’t he think of anything better to say? Maybe “you look nice,” not “hey.”

“How was work,” you asked, still trying to shake off El’s question and the fact that he walked in as if summoned.

“Fine. Didn’t know you’d be over.” He would've cleaned up and made it look nice. Maybe then he could cook you dinner.

He had to stop from asking if this little get-together was overnight. He sure hoped so.

“I dragged her out of her house for girls' day. They’re sleeping over, too,” Max said. Maybe she could read his mind—maybe that was why most of your time was spent at Billy’s place and not yours—because Max knew he needed an excuse to talk to you since the Mind Flayer.

He nodded slowly and gestured toward the bathroom.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Order pizza or I can make spaghetti?” he asked.

You tilted your head at his words. Billy cooked?

It made sense. You’re sure he’s had to fend for himself most of his life. You just never thought about him in the kitchen.

Before you could say anything, El said, “I like spaghetti.” And that seemed to settle it.

When Billy left, Max leaned forward. “Don’t worry, he’s actually a really good cook.”

And to play off your daydreams of Billy cooking you breakfast, you said, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

—

When Billy emerged from the steamy bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, you were both relieved and disappointed your back faced him.

The girls were telling you their boyfriend troubles, and it took everything in you not to imagine the remaining water tracing Billy’s toned stomach.

“Sometimes I think you have the right idea,” Max said, flopping back in the chair.

You blinked, coming back to reality. “Me? What idea is that?”

“Being single.” She shrugged. “Boys are a pain in the ass.”

You rolled your eyes. “While that is true, sometimes I think it’d be nice to have my person, you know?”

“Your person?” El asked, furrowing her brow.

“Someone who’s always there for you, no matter what. They accept every part of you, good and bad.” You sighed. “They're the person you want to be around the most.”

She looked at you seriously. “We are your person.”

It nearly brought tears to your eyes. One of the many reasons you loved El was her heart.

“C’mere,” you whispered, holding open your arms.

She scootched toward you and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“You too.” You motioned Max over.

That’s how Billy found you three, hugging each other on the couch like you were trying to absorb into one being.

“Am I interrupting some girl thing?” he asked, opening the cabinet.

You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. “No, you’re fine.” You looked over the back of the couch. “Anything I can help with?”

He gave you a flirty smile. “Don’t worry. I got it.”

It didn’t take long for him to announce it was ready, and you all grabbed your plates and huddled around the coffee table again. A little thrill went through you when Billy sat beside you, taking your dish from you and setting it down so you could lower yourself.

It was quiet for a few minutes as you all took your first bites. It was only pasta and marinara sauce, but it hit the spot. Maybe it was because Billy made it.

“I’m impressed,” you said, waving your fork around your plate.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Billy mused, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Does this mean you’ll marry Billy?”

You nearly choked on the bite you took. You wished she could read minds so you could scream, “Not the freaking time!”

Billy’s face flushed as he glanced between you two.

“Am I missing something?” He tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating. You wanted to marry him? Well, no. It sounded like you didn’t want to marry him. Why didn’t you want to marry him?

“No,” you said quickly. Billy tried to convince himself his chest didn’t constrict at that word.

“(Y/N) would marry Dally,” El said. “And Dally’s an asshole.”

You put your face in your hands. There was no stopping her.

“And I’ve called you an asshole so many times.” Max provided as an explanation.

Billy could only look at you, and as you curled further in on yourself, he smirked—even though he’d been called an asshole twice—maybe there was something to El’s question.

“Didn’t think you were into that type,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

“I’m not. Not really.” You couldn’t look at him, opting to push the noodles around your plate.

“No? Then what is your type, sweetheart?”

He was teasing you. You could push back with teasing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.” And the way he said it, it took on a seriousness you weren’t prepared for—like he really wanted to know because he cared about the answer. Like it meant something to him.

“I—”

The phone saved you. And Max jumped up.

“It’s probably Lucas,” she said. They’d been having a good week.

You took the opportunity to excuse yourself. “I’m gonna change.”

You grabbed your things and closed the bathroom door.

—

Billy watched as you fled. It was cute how flustered he could make you. And that’s when an idea struck him.

With you and Max busy, he turned to El.

“You think she likes me?” he asked, leaning toward her.

“Do you mean like like?” She stared at him with those big innocent eyes.

He nodded.

“I think so.”

“You think so? She hasn’t said anything to you or Max? Girls talk about that stuff at girls' night, right?” He bit his cheek. Was he reading the signs wrong? Were his feelings clouding his judgment?

Since his recovery, you’ve always been there. You made sure he took care of himself and kept an eye on Max. When he told you about the rundown little place he found, you got Hopper on board to pull a few strings and help remodel. Hell, you got everyone to help.

He still remembered the day you painted the walls, and you and Robin put handprints on each other's chests. He and Steve had said, “What about us,” and you and Robin fitted them with their own set. He still had that shirt.

Even the shit that went down with Steve. You were somehow able to mend things between them. It took a lot of work, and arguments popped up, but with you there, he did it. He didn’t have many friends at Hawkins High—they were a means to an end. However, now? He had ones that would have his back in an apocalyptic world. And it was because of you.

You were his rock, even if you didn’t know it. And he wanted to be that person for you.

“She doesn’t tell us,” El said. “But she looks at you the way Nancy looks at Jonathan.”

He knew the look she was talking about, and he hoped she was right.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You…You like her, right?” she asked tentatively.

He smiled fondly. “More than Eggos.”

El giggled.

He shook his head slightly, smile remaining, mumbling, “Just want her ‘round all the time.”

She beamed, but before she could say another word, you and Max returned.

—

Everyone seemed to forget about the conversation before the phone rang. When you came out of the bathroom, El asked if you could start watching movies, and Max quickly put The Karate Kid in.

What surprised you the most was Billy making popcorn and bringing everyone a soda. You thought he’d retreat to his room like he usually did, but he sat next to you on the couch as the girls spread out on the floor with their own bowl of popcorn.

Halfway through the movie, the sun had set, and the air grew cooler. You rubbed your arm absentmindedly, focused on the screen. You vaguely noticed Billy disappearing somewhere, and when he returned, he held a sweatshirt.

Your heart sped up a little at his offer.

You played it off and raised an eyebrow when he handed it to you.

“You’re cold, right,” he asked, putting it in your lap when you didn’t take it right away.

You shook your head. “It’s not that. I’m just shocked you own a sweatshirt.”

He rolled his eyes but held back a smile. “Very funny.” Then when he was settled. “Indiana’s fucking cold.”

You slipped it over your head, the material warming and engulfing you in his scent. Bunching the sleeves into your fists, you leaned against the cushion and tucked your legs under you.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

The movie soon ended, and Max inserted the second film.

Neither you nor Billy spoke after that. It was…nice...being there with him.

Between him and his sweatshirt, you were surrounded by warmth. The noise from the TV lulled into the background, and before you knew it, you were asleep.

Billy noticed almost immediately. He’d been arguing with himself about whether to put an arm around you after he gave you his hoodie.

After the shit he went through, Billy didn’t go after women. He was so in his head about what he’d done—what the monster made him do—he thought everyone was better off if he stayed away. And his body wasn’t the same afterward. Part of him wondered if you’d recoil if he touched you.

And then your head was on his shoulder. Your soft breathing in his ear. And he froze for a second. But then he sunk into you.

If this was the only time you’d be this close to him, he would take it.

He carefully moved his arm to pull you closer, and you shifted in your sleep to snuggle into him. He let his cheek rest against your head for one…two…three…four…five seconds, then lifted back up. He didn’t want Max or El to catch him and ask questions.

It wasn’t long until the movie ended, and the girls were passed out on the floor. And Billy debated staying right where he was, but he knew he shouldn’t.

He did indulge and place a feather-light kiss on the crown of your head before laying you down and pulling a blanket over you. He did the same for El and Max. And once the VHS was safely back in its case, he walked to his room with a final look at you thrown over his shoulder.

—

When the rising sun hit your eyelids, all you wanted was to turn over and go back to sleep. The sizzle of a frying pan and the smell of pancakes made you sit up.

Billy was by the stove, waiting to flip them and keeping a watchful eye on the bacon.

“Smells good,” you whispered, mindful of the two sleeping girls. Billy’s sweatshirt protected you from the morning chill.

He glanced at you and quirked his lips up. “It’s almost ready.”

You gave him a small smile in return, and it took you a moment to realize he had never done this before. Dinner was one thing, but breakfast was entirely different.

“What brought this on?” you asked, pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

He shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to impress you again.” He finally turned around to face you and crossed his arms, spatula in hand.

You let out a breathy laugh, looking down before eyeing the cooking pancakes.

“Don’t let them fold in on themselves when you flip them, and you’re golden,” you teased.

He raised a brow at you, turned around, and seamlessly flipped both over before setting the spatula down and facing you once more.

You held your hands up in surrender. “Consider me impressed.”

“Good.” He pulled a mug out of the cabinet for himself. “You sleep okay?”

You shrugged. “Good enough. Didn’t even realize I fell asleep.”

He would have gladly lent you his bed. He didn’t even need to be in it with you. He would’ve taken the small couch he had crammed in his room.

“Good thing you don’t snore. I think Max would’ve suffocated you,” he said.

You bumped your shoulder with his. “She likes me too much.”

You stared at each other for a moment. Something about Billy in the morning, with the soft light from the sun reflecting in his eyes and shading his hair, was almost breathtaking. He was relaxed, and you hoped it slowly became his new normal.

His eyes trailed down to your lips, and you swore you stopped breathing until you glanced away and saw the pancakes.

“Better watch before they burn,” you said, swallowing to rid yourself of your dry throat.

He had forgotten about them as he took you in. From your pajamas to your still-sleepy gaze and the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest—you seemed so…at home here.

He tried to shake that thought as he plated breakfast and set it down at the kitchen table.

You could lean against the counter every morning, sipping coffee as he made you both breakfast. He’d peck your lips each time he passed you for something, and as he waited for things to finish cooking, he would wrap his arms around your shoulders and bury his nose in your hair. Your arms would tighten around his waist, and you’d both stand there, completely content as the warm rays filtered in.

Since last night, since El’s question, a spark had ignited within him. The flicker of…hope, something he hadn’t felt since…since…he didn’t even know when. You didn’t say you wanted him explicitly, but if El saw a connection between him and Dally, then maybe you did too. He couldn’t deny that he’d been a dick in the past. He was still trying to correct those mistakes. But where Dallas Winston had Johnny, Billy had…well…the closest he could think of was you.

And potentially having a life with you? That didn’t sound too bad. Not at all.

You sat across from one another. You could feel Billy’s eyes on you. When you glanced up from your breakfast, he gave you a smirk as if to say, “Impressed?”

You were about to speak, but he beat you to it.

“So, we didn’t finish our discussion last night.”

“Discussion?” You tilted your head.

He nodded and tried to keep his smug smirk at bay. “You into the bad boy type, sweetheart?”

Your eyes widened before you covered your face with your hand. “Didn’t the time for this pass?”

“Nope.” He grinned. “C’mon, tell me, what’s it about him that gets you goin’?”

You shook your head and attempted to suppress your smile. Even though this was embarrassing, you still found Billy cute.

“I’m not doing this with you and that dirty mind of yours. It’s too early. Besides, the girls are still sleeping,” you said, taking a sip of coffee.

“Oh please, Max used to hear me with girls.” He stated it like a fact, without pride or accomplishment in his voice.

“I know. She’s complained to me multiple times,” you said matter-of-factly.

He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing pink. It surprised you.

He shrugged as if to shake off his actions. “Guess Winston and I are different then.”

“That’s not such a bad thing.” You hoped your smile told him that it really wasn’t a bad thing—that you genuinely liked the person he was growing into—that you cared for him.

“Hope so,” he said softly, taking a bite.

You could’ve stayed there and stared at him for the rest of the day. His eyes were so blue, his hair still a bit messy, and he just looked…he just looked content.

You wanted to reach across the table, grab his hand, hold it between yours and trace each finger. Maybe he’d stop you by pulling your hand to his lips. Maybe, you’d follow with your own.

And as soon as that thought reared its head, Max and El strolled into the kitchen.

“You made pancakes?” Max’s face scrunched up.

“We have guests,” Billy said with a shrug. Like he was concerned with being a good host.

At least for you, he was.

“When has that forced you to do anything?” she asked, stacking her plate.

You locked eyes with Billy from across the table and smiled shyly.

—

“So, you coming here next week?” he asked, putting your bag in the backseat for you.

You shook your head. “It’s at mine next week. Parents are away for a few days. I was thinking of making it an all-weekend thing.”

He slowly nodded, disappointed he wouldn’t see you—only to drop Max off and pick her up.

“Just let me know when I can get the shitbird out of my hair.” It’s all he thought to say to hide his discontentment.

You pursed your lips. It was now or never. “Actually, I was thinking—if you weren’t too busy, maybe you could come over, too? I know it’s technically ‘girls' night,’ but…last night was really nice.”

He tried to keep his face neutral, make it seem like he wasn’t experiencing heart palpitations, but his smile couldn’t stay hidden. It made you immediately relax.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

The way he looked at you sent shivers up your spine and heat through your veins. It was like he couldn’t believe you were real. You’d never seen him have this warmth in his gaze. Like he’d happily follow you anywhere and listen to every word you said.

You returned his smile with a gentle one of your own. “Good,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly.

He really was beautiful in the sunlight. His skin full of its own sun. You were so close to each other earlier that you felt it radiating off him. It took everything in you not to rest your head on his shoulder and nuzzle in.

He took a step forward, resting a hand on the roof of your car. “You gonna make me sleep on the floor at yours?”

You lightly bit your lip. And fuck, you were in for the best kind of trouble. “Depends on how much you impress me.”

“And what do I have to do to make that happen?” There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do.

You tried to repress your smile as you leaned to whisper in his ear. His hands instinctively went to rest on your hips. He shivered when your breath hit his skin.

“You’ll have to figure it out.” You pulled back with a little smirk, and he let out a soft chuckle.

His gaze flitted from your eyes to your lips and back again. His hand came up to caress your cheek, grazing his thumb there.

“Not even a little hint?” he asked teasingly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You pushed your head further into his hand.

He hummed. “Guess you’re right. Have to earn it.”

You grinned. “I have complete faith in you.”

And even though you were both joking with each other, that meant more to him than he would ever admit. You believed in him. You had gotten to know him and helped him through the hardest parts of his life without even knowing it. He wanted to prove to you that trust wasn’t misplaced. That he deserved your patience, your kindness, your love.

Without another thought, he pulled you into his embrace. He held onto you like he was afraid to lose you—like you’d suddenly change your mind and not see him.

You could feel it in the way he held you. You struck something, something crucial, something he needed to hear. So, you hugged him back, smoothing your hand up and down his spine.

When you pulled away, you slipped your hand into his. “I should probably get going.”

He nodded. “Get home safe.”

“Thanks, Billy,” you said. “I’ll see you next week.”

Before you could step around him, he encircled your wrist gently and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“See you next week, sweetheart,” he said, a smirk slipping back onto his face.

You shook your head slightly as you climbed into your car, waving to him as you pulled out.

He stood there, watching you drive further away from him. And he knew you two were about to be much much closer.

Jealousy Games [Part 3] ( Demetri x reader )

A/N: hello friends, this is the end of this little fic <3

i personally dislike unrealistic first time fics so i attempted to make this realistic yet still as sweet as possible :) thank you to everyone who messaged asking about and requesting this part, you are appreciated <3

Words: 1578

Warnings: Smut, virg!nity loss

Part 1, Part 2

Read on AO3

Demetri visibly gulps as you step in front of him. You raise your hands to lay them softly on his cheeks, bending the taller boy down to meet your lips.

The kiss is tender as you pour your affection in to it, only to take a welcome change of air when Demetri’s hands land on your thighs, caressing their way up to your behind.

“I told you I’m not wearing anything,” you coo in the most seductive voice you can muster.

Demetri’s eyes try to take all of you in, gazing upon you in a way you’ve never seen him before.

You decide to up the ante.

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

5 years ago

weight of paradise (m) | l.jh

— genre ➙ tattooartist!jooheon + taken!reader

— words ➙ 5.1K

— member ➙ lee jooheon

— warnings ➙ graphic smut, dirty talk, dom!jooheon + sub!reader, oral, fingering + unprotected sex + BREATHPLAY, edgeplay, slight masochism, sadism | strong language, (written and editted poorly :)

It was bad enough that you were questioning your broken relationship , the last thing you needed was a seductive tattoo artist ready to consummate your affair.

↳ 01 completed

inspired by “ of sunsets and tattoos “

— ⚠️ DISCLAIMER⚠️ ➙ This contains a very problematic scenario. Please know that this is a story with an intriguing topic to read about, not to act upon. Each fic will have their own set of warnings, look at them and evaluate if they are for you. My intention is not to offend, or trigger anybody, I am here to entertain you and exercise my passion as a writer.

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

1 month ago

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

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

5 years ago

[7:19pm]

You’re exactly where you love to be on a Saturday night, on your couch in your comfiest clothes, sandwiched between Felix and Jisung with Hyunjin on the floor between your knees with all eyes glued to the latest drama on your television set. Nights like this are absolutely perfect.

Hyunjin leans into your touch as you run your fingers through the messy french braid you’ve been working into his hair and smoothing back out repeatedly. Your bookends, Felix and Jisung alternate between laying their heads on your shoulder while sighing dreamily over the unbelievably handsome male lead and battling silently for the attention of your free hand.

“Why are you three always cozied up with my wife every time I come home?” Jinyoung says as he enters the living room behind you, having to announce his presence since you’re all too wrapped up in the whirlwind romance on-screen to notice.

“Dad’s home!” Felix shouts, making you giggle and the other boys light up with excitement.

“For the last time, I am not your dad. You guys are nineteen,” Jinyoung tries, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Dad, why don’t you love us?” Jisung says with the most ridiculous pout that is immediately copied by his two counterparts.

Jinyoung realizes there is no reasoning with the four of you. Not with the three boys making puppy dog eyes at him while you hold them all to you protectively, brows raised, just daring him to break your babies’ hearts.

“Must we adopt all the stray children?” Jinyoung asks, plopping down on the couch next to Felix.

“Yes,” You reply simply while scratching Hyunjin’s head and squishing Felix and Ji’s cheeks in turn.

“Hey, dad,” Hyunjin calls and you snicker as Jinyoung replies with a resigned ‘Yes?’. “Can we get take out for dinner?” He asks, rolling his head back on to your lap and grinning hopefully at Jinyoung while the other two boys nod in agreement.

After a long sigh, Jinyoung only says, “Ask your mother.”

GOT7 M.List | SKZ M.List | Main M.List

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

5 years ago

The Assistant

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

Word Count: 6853

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.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more.

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking.

Keep reading

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

3 years ago

I feel like literally no one watched the show????

Like I’m seeing so many people asking questions because they didn’t understand, when all they needed to do was pay attention?

I saw one ‘how can the echo posses so many humans at once?? It wasn’t explained??’ But it was…

Lucas (the echo) was using the identity key to change over to dodge and Gabe… like it’s not hard to follow.

Girl dodge and Gabe are not real people, like explained in season 2 episode one when Eden tried to change over to Kinsey… she couldn’t do it because they can’t become someone that already exists, they can only become a completely new person.

I feel like so many people are saying they hate the show because of this reason and that reason… but all they needed to do was pay attention.

GOT7 Mafia Reaction: When their fiancee runs away

||| @tory-ah asked: Can you please do a GOT7 version of you their fiancé running away? |||

Jackson Wang

He set off to look for you himself. He had a lot of connections around the city and it didn’t take him long until somebody told him your location. He practically burst into the cafe you were staying at and came up to you in quick steps.

“Y/N!” he said, trying to catch his breath. You could tell he was in a hurry to get here.

“Jackson,” you started. “I’m tired of running,” you sighed. “Let’s just… Let’s just end this. There is plenty of fish in the sea. You will find someone else and-”

He slammed his fist on the table, startling you.

“No! I don’t care what you say but I don’t need anything but you, understand? (bonus points for you if you get the reference 😂) So you either come back on your own or I will just bring you back by force.”

Choi Youngjae

“Again?” he asked, staring at you. It’s been two months since he told you the truth about his job and ever since then you tried to escape exactly 8 times, all of which ended in failure. It’s not like you didn’t try something else but he didn’t want to break up with you and so you were left with no other option but to try and leave.

“I really don’t know why you keep doing this to me? Nothing has changed, has it? You just know more about what I do…”

That’s true but the fact that he has another side to him frightened you and you wished you never had to see it.

“Now,” he spoke again, his voice strict. “Stop causing me trouble or we will need to take some drastic measures again.”

Mark Tuan

You were about to step onto the train when strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you away. You didn’t even need to look back to see who it was, the grip which quickly turned into a warm embrace was all to familiar.

“Mark, I…” you began.

He hushed you and started planting kisses on your bare shoulder, going up to your ear.

“Baby,” he whispered. “I got the whole city under control. What were you thinking?” he asked, sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry but now that we’re engaged there is no place for you to hide.”

Park Jinyoung

One week. That’s all it took for him to find you. You watched him enter the room, he said something to the guards and you two were quickly left alone. He came up to the table and took a seat in front off you.

“Y/N, look at me,” he said but you didn’t listen. “Why?” he asked again after a short silence.

“Why?” you chuckled, finally looking at him. “Are you seriously asking me that?! You never told me about your so called real job! I can’t-” you stopped when your eyes met his.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t be with a dangerous man as you,” you said, turning your gaze away.

He tapped his fingers on the table, deep in thought.

“Babe, there is no way I will let you go this easily,” he finally said, standing up. “We’re getting married and that’s final.”

JB/Im Jaebum

You unlocked the door to your new apartment and threw the bags down on the floor. You went to the bedroom and turned the lights on.

“Hello Y/N,” somebody spoke from the couch. “I have been waiting for you.”

“Jaebum?!” you stuttered. “H-how did you find me?”

He looked at you with that ‘really?’ expression on his face. He leaned his head on his arm, checking you out.

“You cut your hair? Were you that desperate to avoid me? You know, you could have just told me if you didn’t want to get married anymore.”

“Alright,” you said, standing in front of him. “Jaebum, I don’t-”

“Aaand no,” he said, scooping you up from the ground.

“Jae! Put me down!” you struggled in his grip.

“That’s also a no,” he continued, throwing you over his shoulder. “We’re going home. Then we will talk.”

BamBam

“What is it?” he asked his men, annoyed that they called him out from an important meeting.

“It’s Y/N,” one of the men said. “We lost her, sir.”

“You lost her?!” he shouted. “How can you lose a grown up woman? She’s not a child!”

“We’re sorry but she outsmarted us and-”

“Shut up,” he interrupted them. “How long has she been missing?”

“Two hours.”

“Two hours?! Then what the hell are you doing here? Go find her!” he ordered. “I don’t care what it takes. Bring her home tonight!”

Kim Yugyeom

You had everything planned. You knew he will come back home later today, so you decided to use this opportunity to run away. But it seems even walls have ears in this city.

You took your suitcase and were about to head out when he walked in through the front door.

“Going somewhere?” he asked tauntingly, throwing his keys on the nearby dresser. “Did you really think it will be that easy?”

“Yugy… I can explain…” you said, setting the suitcase aside.

“Sorry baby but you’re not leaving me,” he said, taking a step towards you with every word. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever,” he finished, cornering you between the wall and his body. He leaned in so close you could feel his breath on your skin. “You’re mine, don’t you ever forget that,” he whispered.

A/N: Haven’t written for Got7 in a very long time. Makes me kind of sad tbh. I should be more active 😕

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

2 years ago

Join Me - Peter Ballard

Show: Stranger Things

Pairing: f!reader x Peter Ballard/Henry creel/001

Tags: short (ish) fluff, Peter one-shot, fanfic

Warnings: mention of blood, violence, st4 spoilers!

Summary: Peter is under the impression that you died. Peter knows he cant live without you, but he soon wants revenge. Little does he know, you weren’t really gone after all.

Notes: This was so rushed I’m sorry if it ended up being terrible, feel free to correct me on any mistakes!!

This is also my first post on here!! I actually kind of like tumblr, and I’m planning on writing more here. Feel free to ask for requests. Preferably Peter Ballard but I also wrote down some more fandoms in my bio :)

Keep reading

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

4 years ago

Factions Pt. 2 - Lee Minho

Lee Minho: Candor

Faction Born In: Erudite (The Smart)

Faction Chosen: Candor (The Honest)

-This boy just is so brutally honest that I don’t really have any large doubts that he would belong to Candor

-He has his smarts from his birth faction which helps him in some aspects of Candor as well

-He uses his smarts to manipulate the words he chooses to keep all of his secrets to himself and yet not lie or not truly with hold information

-This is how he passed Candor initiation without losing any reputation and being very respected, unlike his fellow peers who let all of their secrets lose on accident during different stages of training

-Can be, and will, be very straightforward if he disagrees with you or simply doesn’t like something you do

-After 3 years of being apart of Candor, he has a stable job in the law system in the city inside the walls, and has become a very respected high up in the faction and among many other factions

-The day before the years choosing ceremony, one of the faction leaders comes to Minho’s office to inform him that he will be conducting a segment of the initiation by injecting the new ones with truth serum and questioning them on different aspects of themselves to see who they really are and if they are good enough to be apart of Candor

-Doesn’t want to do it because, ew kids, but agrees anyways (Not like he can say no)

-Once the newbies arrive he tries to stay in his office and board rooms as much as possible to avoid any interactions with “stupid people” as he refers to them

-But he does have to leave his office for food, so he does leave for about 20 minutes during his break

-On one of those fateful lunch breaks he meets you for the first time

-Well….. rather sees you and admires your beauty

-Beauty does belong to beauty after all

-Doesn’t speak to you at all, but when you catch him staring at you he gives a polite wave

-Doesn’t know why he waved at you because he normally would have just given anyone else a cold stare

-As the process of testing the initiates continues, he keeps seeing you whenever he leaves for the large ‘lunch room’, and it has become a custom that you two at least smile and wave to each other every day

-(Even though you two have yet to say a word to each other)

-Finally though, the day of the final test comes and Minho is summoned to demonstrate and lead it

-He keeps his calm as he injects each initiate one by one, and watch as the struggle to hide their dirty secrets (And some would make even Minho blush if he had to admit those)

-Then it’s your turn

-For some reason that he doesn’t understand he doesn’t want you to embarrass yourself and he doesn’t want to inject you or even come near you with a needle

-He starts to slightly sweat because this is the first time he’s actually been up close with you before, and he can definetely say that when he imagined you all those nights in his dark apartment with his hand around his cock that he is not disappointed

-His hands shake slightly as he injects you and forces himself to remain steely as he watches you squirm under his gaze

-He starts to try to rush through this, to at least hopefully save you from some misery, but is thoroughly surprised when you admit to nothing shameful

-You were actually really innocent

-That only served to make his mind wonder and his dick to start to wander up in his underwear

-After you there were only a few more tests to complete and they went by in a breeze although he thought he had caught blue balls by the time the second to last kid burst out in tears from shame

-Now it was just the party for the graduates into Candor

-He would make sure he would not be attending by whatever means to make sure he could still feel his dick

-He had managed to get away just in time before he thought he might actually burst his pants, when you came strutting around the corner

-You both stop and take eachothe rin

-You notice his suit that fits him perfectly. Dressing in all black with some silver lining. It fits perfectly

-Almost a little too perfectly

-You take note of the way his pants tent up in a strain

-”That looks painful.”, you comment with a sly smirk growing on your lips

-You may be innocent but you do have curiosities that you know how to conceal

-He grunts taking in your comment wondering if he should take you hear up against the wall or in his office

-He just felt this strong need to take away your innocence and replace it with his cock stuffing you full, and filling you with only him

-”Are you going to help me or should I get one of your little friends to suck me off instead? Hmm?”

-You slowly walk up to him and wrap your arms around his neck

-”Your going to take me on a proper date after this though, okay?”

-He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe you

-He loved it though and let out a low amused chuckle pulling you up by your thighs and pushing you up against the wall

-”Of course love”

—————————————–

Oh. My. God.

After a full month I was finally able to fix my links! I will be continuing this series and I hope you stay with me and check out my other works as well! Thank you!

-Kookie5002

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letthefuckeduptimesflow

2 years ago

Prom? (Elvis Presley x Reader)

summary: Elvis and reader are in high school together but are constantly annoying one another (Enemies to lovers?)

word count: 3.8k

warnings: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+)

I was walking down the hallway of our high school when I heard heavy footsteps pounding behind me as someone ran down the hallway.

“Y/N!” Elvis sang, jumping in front of me, halting my steps. He had his grin on full display.

I rolled my eyes “Yes, Presley?”

“Go to prom with me.”

I scoffed, shaking my head at him “No.”

I side stepped him and continued walking.

“Why not?” He pouted, walking next to me.

“Aren’t you dating Dixie?” I hissed at him “Shouldn’t you take her to prom?”

“I’ll break up with her if you want doll.” He smirked.

I pushed his shoulder “No! That poor girl!”

“She won’t care.”

“She loves you. And we’re late for class!” I pushed him into our Math classroom.

“I see Mr. Presley has a bad influence on you Miss L/N! You’re both late, take a seat.” Mr. Sanders said as we walked in together.

Elvis sat down and grinned, pointing at the seat next to him.

“You wish.” I mouthed to him and went to sit next to my friend Rachel.

Elvis and I weren’t friends by any means but he’s been one of my classmates since freshman year and we were both seniors now. I think his favorite pastime was annoying me because he’s been doing it ever since.

“Your test scores! Some good, some very bad.” Mr. Sanders said as he started passing out our test papers.

I smiled seeing the A+ on mine. I looked at Elvis when I saw him put head now down and slam it softly against the desk. I couldn’t help but feel bad for him, he probably got a bad grade.

The bell rang, dismissing the students and the professor but Elvis stayed with his head on his desk.

“You coming?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, you go ahead.” I replied.

I picked up my back, swinging it over my shoulder and walked towards Elvis.

“Hey.” I said softly, placing my hand on his shoulder.

He slowly lifted his head up and looked at me “I failed.”

I sighed and sat next to him, taking the paper from him and looking over at his answers.

“Y/N, if I fail the final I’m not going to graduate.” He said and went to slam his forehead back on the table but I put my hand on the desk so that he wouldn’t hurt his head.

“Why are you being nice to me?” He asked, lifting his head back up again.

“I’m always nice to you.” I lied, biting back a smile.

Elvis chuckled and shook his head at me.

“There’s that smile!” I poked his cheek.

His cheeks flushed, turning dark red when I poked him.

“I’ll tell you what, to show you how nice I am to you. I will help you prepare for the final and make sure you have enough points to graduate.”

His eyes softened as he looked at me “You’ll do that for me?”

I shrugged “If you stay sad about your grades then who’s gonna annoy me every day?”

He grinned “I knew you loved it!”

I laughed and got out of my seat “You wish Presley!”

“My place?” He asked.

“Sure. Give me your address.”

“Now I can tell everyone I’m taking Y/N home.” He winked.

“You know what, you can forget it.” I replied, starting to walk away when he grabbed my hand.

“Wait, wait, wait. I’m sorry.” He laughs, squeezing my hand.

I felt electricity shoot up my hand from him grabbing me and we both let go as if it just zapped us.

I cleared my throat “I’ll see you after school.” I mumbled and left.

I didn’t dislike Elvis, I actually thought he was cute and had a really nice voice but we were constantly annoying each other and trying to top one another. He had changed so much, he used to be so shy. He still is but not with me, he’s definitely outspoken when he’s with me. Always asking me out on dates or leaning in to kiss my cheeks just for a laugh. I swear I wanted to strangle him sometimes.

Later that evening I took my father’s car and headed for Elvis’ place. I knocked on the door and waited.

“I got it!” I heard Elvis yell, followed by loud footsteps of someone running “Hey.” He grinned once he opened the door.

I smiled “Ready to have the worst tutor you’ve ever had?”

He laughed, opening the door wider for me to walk in “Definitely the prettiest tutor I’ve ever had.” He smirked leaning against the door frame.

“Shut up Presley.” I shoved his shoulder, biting back a smile.

As I walked in Elvis’ mom walked out of the kitchen and smiled once she saw me.

“Hi, you must be Y/N! Elvis talks about you all the time!” She said and pulled me in for a hug.

“Mom.” Elvis grumbled.

I laughed and hugged her back “I bet its all bad things.”

“Thank you for helping my son out, that’s very kind of you.” She said once she pulled away from the hug.

“I’ll make sure he’s right next to me at graduation.” I smiled.

“Okay, come on. Let’s go to my room.” Elvis said, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards his room. There’s that electricity again, it felt so weird but I pretended like I didn’t feel anything.

“It was nice meeting you Mrs. Presley.” I said, as Elvis pulled me with him.

“Call me Gladys, honey.” She smiled and walked back to the kitchen.

“Can we make out now?” Elvis asked, once he shut his bedroom door.

I grinned, wanting to mess with him. I walked towards him and placed a hand on his chest “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

“What?” He asked, looking at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“In your dreams Presley. Now, where’s your Math book?” I said, leaning back from him.

He pouted and pulled out his book from his backpack. We sat on the floor and I pulled out his midterms to see his weak points.

We worked on solving some problems for the next two hours, Gladys coming in to bring us snacks and drinks every once in a while.

“Okay, last question for today. Very important because you didn’t get any points on it on the midterm.”

“Finally.” Elvis replied.

“What? Are you not having fun hanging out with me Presley?” I teased.

“Oh I’ve imagined you in my bedroom a thousand times but not like this.” He replied.

“How do you imagine me in your bedroom?” I raised my eyebrow.

He grinned and crawled over to me “I imagine you naked, under me.” He whispered, his face so close to mine. His hands on either side of my body.

I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, his scent hitting me hard. He smelt so good and manly “Do you imagine me instead of Dixie?”

Elvis grunted, releasing a breath.

“Now can we go back to this so that I can go home?” I said, pushing him away from me.

Elvis cleared his throat and went back to siting next to me while I explained the last problem.

I explained the problem and asked him if he got it, without looking up at him.

I turned to look at him to see him staring at me intently with his mouth slightly open.

“Presley.” I said.

He nodded.

“Hey.” I said and waved a hand in front of his face.

“Huh?” He asked, blinking and refocusing.

“Did you get it?”

“Uh, no. Can you repeat it?” He asked.

“Yeah, pay attention.”

Elvis and I spent the next couple of months with the same routine. I would come over twice a week and tutor him. He stopped flirting as much and we had actually started becoming friends, I enjoyed hanging out with him but I think I started developing a crush on him. However, I would never do anything to pursue because he had a girlfriend and it was unfair to Dixie. Even my best friend Rachel started teasing me about my newfound friendship with Elvis saying that I never hated him and never found him annoying. She said we’re meant to be and it’s going to happen eventually. I told her she was insane and nothing could ever happen between Elvis and me. Obviously I didn’t tell her about my crush but I know Elvis does not look at me like that.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to prom with me? You know I’m a good dancer.” Elvis said leaning next to my locker.

“Oh I’ve seen how you dance.” I replied, taking my books out of my locker.

“So you agree?!”

“Yeah, I’m not blind.” I smirked, looking at him.

“Does it make you want to throw your drenched panties at me?” He smirked, leaning closer to me.

“I don’t even dare to wear panties to your performances because they’re ruined the moment I see you.” I replied, batting my eyelashes.

Elvis squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, grunting “Fuck doll, don’t say things like that.” He rasped.

I laughed, shutting my locker and walked away from him.

“Seriously though, are you going with someone?” He asked, running up to catch up to me.

“Yup.” I replied.

“Really?” He asked, sounding slightly upset.

I furrowed my brows and looked at him, why was he upset.

“Who’s the unlucky guy?” He asked.

“I might go with my friend Rachel, if she doesn't find a date.” I replied, rolling my eyes. Rachel most probably was going with someone.

“Oh poor Y/N, can’t get a guy to take you to prom?” Elvis pouted, poking my cheek.

I frowned and smacked his hand away “I can get any guy, I just don’t want to.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You want me to prove it?” I asked him, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

“No.” He frowned “You don’t need to prove it. I believe you.”

“No, it’s fine.” I smiled at him “I can prove it.”

“Y/N. I believe you.” Elvis growled.

I looked around and spotted one of Elvis’ friends Reiner. He was cute and I used to have a small crush on him.

“Oh look, there’s cute Reiner.” I smirked, pointing at Reiner where he stood by his locker “Do you think he’d like to go to prom with me?”I smiled sweetly.

“Y/N. I was kidding.” He said.

“Hey Reiner!” I called out.

“Y/N. Stop.” Elvis said, scowling. He gripped my arm when I went to walk to Reiner.

I shrugged his hand off and walked towards Reiner.

“Hey Y/N.” Reiner smiled “What’s going on?”

“Are you going with anyone to prom?” I asked. Praying he didn’t already have a date because it would be so embarrassing to have to face Elvis after that.

“Uh no.” He smiled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Do you want to go with me?”

“Um.” Reiner hesitated, looking back at Elvis “He’s gonna kill me.” He muttered more to himself which made me frown.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing! I would love to be your date!” Reiner grinned.

I looked back at Elvis and grinned. Elvis clenched his jaw and stormed off.

I had to let Rachel know that I was going with Reiner which she was so excited about because she knew about my previous crush on him, she wasn’t upset whatsoever especially since a guy from our grade ended up asking her to prom. Reiner and I matched our prom outfits with one another. I wore an emerald green poofy dress that reached right above my ankle while Reiner wore a black tuxedo with the same shade of green tie.

“Hey.” I smiled at Reiner when he came to pick me up.

“Wow. You look amazing, Y/N.” He smiled.

“Thank you. You look good!” I opened the door wider for him “Come in, we’ll take some pictures and head out.”

Dad ended up giving him a shake down to make sure no shenanigans were going to happen which he had nothing to worry about, I wasn’t about to lose my virginity to a guy I barely know.

We walked in and right away I spotted Elvis with Dixie, he looked so handsome. He wore a pink suit and it was really cute. For some reason, him wearing pink made him way more attractive to me. I know if any other guy would’ve done that, they wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I felt guilt and jealousy creep onto my chest once I saw him dancing with Dixie. I shouldn’t have flirted with him when I knew he was with someone else. I felt like a horrible person because I knew if someone did that with my boyfriend I would be furious. Technically, flirting was considered cheating.

Elvis and I made eye contact and quickly looked away from each other.

“Let’s dance?” Reiner asked, stretching his hand out to me.

“Yeah.” I breathed and forced a smile on my face.

Here I am, dancing with a sweet guy but my thoughts kept drifting back to the devil with ocean blue eyes.

Elvis and I avoided each other the entire night, choosing to only hang out with Rachel and her date. Reiner would also go to his friends and come back to us. Just as Reiner walked off to go to the bathroom, a slow song started playing.

“Can I dance with you doll?” I heard Elvis’ voice float from behind me.

I turned and smiled “Sure.”

He smiled back and wrapped his arms around my waist while I wrapped my arms around his neck. I loved the feel of his strong arms around my waist.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked him after a little while.

“No.” He sighed.

“You look beautiful by the way.” He said, looking sincere “The most beautiful girl actually.”

I smiled slightly, looking into his blue eyes which made my heart race. I couldn’t help but glance down at his pouty lips.

“Elvis.” I sighed “We can’t flirt with one another, even though its all jokes.”

Elvis frowned “Who said its jokes?”

“Look, it’s not fair for Dixie.”

“Dixie and I broke up.” He sighed.

“What?” I looked at him with wide eyes “Just now?” My heart sped up in excitement.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” I asked “I mean sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“She’s not the one I want. I want someone else.” He replied, his arms tightening slightly around my waist.

His words felt like a punch to the gut and my heart hurt with the thought of him pining over another girl.

“Can I cut in?” Reiner said, coming into view.

“No.” Elvis replied.

“Dude, she’s my date.” Reiner replied.

“So?” Elvis scoffed, his hands still around my waist “You asked a question, I answered.”

“The question was directed to Y/N. Not you.” Reiner growled.

“Presley. It’s okay.” I smiled softly at him and whispered to him, making sure Reiner couldn’t hear “Go look for that girl you want and dance with her.”

Elvis gulped and reluctantly let go of my waist. I saw sadness and hurt flash in his eyes. Was the girl he wanted with someone else?

Elvis walked away with his head down as Reiner took his place. I kept my eyes on Elvis as he walked to drinks table and sipped on a cup of punch. Slowly Reiner leaned in to kiss me. I leaned back and cleared my throat “Um, I’m sorry Reiner. I-I have to go.” I said when saw Elvis walk out of the gym.

I ran after Elvis but when I reached the parking lot, he was already gone. I sighed and went to a payphone calling home for my dad to come pick me up.

We had a few weeks before our maths final and Elvis was kind of avoiding me. He would leave class early and show up late so I didn’t have the chance to see him.

I instead went to his house and knocked on the door.

Gladys opened the door and smiled warmly when she saw me.

“Hi Gladys.” I smiled “Is Elvis here?”

“Yeah, come on in.”

“Elvis! Y/N, is here!” She called out while I waited in the living room for him.

“Hey.” He said, walking out of his room “What are you doing here?”

“To study?”

He shook his head “Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to tutor me anymore.”

“But we only have a few weeks left.” I frowned.

“It’s okay, you’re off the hook Y/N.” He said and started to walk away.

“Hey!” I said and grabbed his hand “Come on. You can do it, I believe in you Elvis.”

He turned and looked at me with a shocked expression “What?”

“What?” I asked him, confused.

“You called me Elvis.” He smiled softly, his demeanor changing.

“Would you prefer if I called you Presley?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head “I like hearing my name on your tongue.”

I chuckled and shook my head at him “Can we go study now, Elvis?”

“Fine.” Elvis rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

The day before the exam, we ended up pulling an all nighter. I was on his bed while he was siting on the floor.

“Okay, I’ll give you 30 minutes to complete the practice test.” I said, he nodded and started solving. I was lying down on his bed and closed my eyes just to rest my eyes because I was exhausted. I ended up falling asleep while Elvis solved the math problems.

I yawned, my eyes fluttering open. I frowned, my eyes roaming around to see where I was. Then I spotted Elvis asleep next to me, his arm over my waist, cuddling into my back.

“What the hell!” I exclaimed and slapped his arm, getting up and off the bed.

“Ouch!” He mumbled, slowly opening his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing Elvis!” I said and checked the time, it was 3AM. My parents are so going to kill me but I told them I might pull an all nighter to study and that they shouldn’t worry because both Gladys and Vernon were home.

“You were on the floor solving the practice questions!”

Elvis sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes “Yeah and when I was done you were asleep, you looked too peaceful and cute. I didn't dare to wake you up.” Elvis shrugged.

“Okay, how did you end up on the bed next to me?” I asked, placing my hands on my hips.

“I was cold.” He shrugged, smiling sheepishly.

I rolled my eyes and took a seat on the floor “I’ll check your answers and then I’ll leave if its good. I think we studied enough.”

“Are you ready?” I asked him as we stood outside of the classroom right before going in to take our maths final.

“No.” He said, slightly shaking.

“Hey.” I said and held both of his hands. He looked at our hands and looked back up at me, his eyes slightly glazed with nerves “You got this! I believe in you and you did so well on the practice questions.”

“Really?” He asked, squeezing my hands.

“Yeah. Come on, let’s go in.” I said.

He gripped my hands tighter when I went to pull my hands “Will we still be friends after this?”

“Huh?”

“I mean now that you don’t have to tutor me. Will I still see you?” He asked.

“Of course Elvis. I hope you consider me as your friend, because I certainly do.” I smiled at him.

“Okay good.” He smiled back “Let’s go in.”

Elvis and I compared answers after the final and I think he did well if I did well because we had the same answers. We got our grades later that week. As we were leaving the class, the professor handed us our grades.

“What did you get?” I asked Elvis, waiting for him on the side of the hallway.

“I got an A! I’m graduating!” He grinned and pulled me into a hug.

I laughed and hugged him back while he twirled me around.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.” He smiled softly, placing me on the floor but keeping his hands around my waist.

I smiled and rubbed my hands up his arms “I’m so proud of you Elvis.”

“Go out with me.” He blurted.

“I don’t know if you’re kidding or not.” I replied, talking slowly.

“I’m not.” He replied, tightening his arms around my waist “Please go out with me. I’ve been in love with you the moment I saw you, freshman year.”

I looked at him with wide eyes, my mouth gaping open.

“No girl had ever come close to making me feel what I feel when I see you, or when I touch you. I want to be around you all the time Y/N.”

“Elvis-“ I started, feeling very overwhelmed with what he said. My heart was beating out of my chest.

“Please.” He pleaded, his eyes filling with tears “Just one date.”

I cupped his cheeks and smashed my lips onto his. He pulled me into him, closer while I wrapped my arms around his neck, playing with the little hairs on the nape of his neck.

“I might have just been pretending to be annoyed by you Elvis.” I whispered over his lips.

He grinned “I knew it.” He said and kissed me again.

“Did you know that I have a crush on you?” I asked him once we pulled away.

“You had a crush on me?!” He looked at me bewildered.

I laughed “God we’re idiots.”

“Kiss me again. I don’t think I’ll ever get over your lips.” Elvis said and pulled me back into him.

“So you’ll go out with me?” He asked.

“No.” I smirked, kissing him while he laughed over my lips.

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