Season 2 Ep.6 Of Keeping Up With The First Order Sneak Peek

Lifeline - Johnny Depp x reader

if you still write for johnny, could i request either smut or hurt/comfort with him from the prompt lists? (or both lol literally whatever you want) can't really decide so you can pick whatever you're in the mood for!!

either “my boyfriend/girlfriend would kill us.” or "shh. there’s people in the other room.” for smut

orrr hurt/comfort with sth along the lines of “i don't have anyone anymore.“-“you have me.“ / “ you're really all i've got.“ / “you're not doing this alone.“ 🥺 (the whole trial atm just makes me want to hold and kiss him and tell him it's all gonna be okay so bad 😭) request by @ohladymoon

A/n this has kind of become a blurb rather than a fic. Sorry it's posted so late also i think this is written badly. Feedbacks will be really really really appreciated (:

"Johnny? Babe where are you?"

You had left the house when your mom called you to give you some cookies she'd made, now after an hour the house felt dead. Cold as ice. No sign of Johnny, not a single light on. It made your heart beat a bit faster.

Advancing through the numerous rooms, you finally found Johnny. He was sitting on a chair in the balcony, looking over the dark sky, a whiskey bottle by the table and a glass in his hand.

He'd been drinking. You walked upto him and knelt down beside his chair. "Johnny?" You whispered.

He turned to you. His eyes buffy, like he'd been crying. Seeing his condition, you took the glass from his and set it aside. His hand held yours as yours as you pulled his head in your chest.

"Y/n. I'm exhausted." He muttered against your skin, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Putting your head atop his , you ran your fingers through his hair, it would always calm him. It hurt to see him scattered. A man as strong as a mountain, being this vulnerable, it made you scared.

"It's okay, baby. I'm right here." He continued to sob in your chest.

The trials were the reason for the current state of your lover. Everyday, he have to go and face the devil herself. Everyday he's forced to relive the terrifying events that broke him. A year ago, you found Johnny when no one was there for him. You gave him hope of a new life. You gave him the comfort which he so deserves. You were his shoulder to cry on, his calm in the storm.

Johnny reminds himself each day how lucky he is to have you, to hold you, to worship you. You were his. He knew even if the world would be against him, you'd be by his side, holding his hand.

But that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to feel devastated. He was fired from the franchise. Directors wouldn't offer him projects. It wasn't for the money. No he have plenty. The thing is he loves his job. He loves to make his fans happy, to act and make people see from someone else's eyes, from a character's eyes but fate wasn't by his side.

"No Y/n. I don't have anyone anymore."

The sentence made your heart break in a million peices. You knew he was hurt, it hurt you too but he was forgetting you were still here. The things he goes through, you go through that too. Whenever a hater on the internet would call him an abuser, the hurt he'd go through, you'd be hurt as much, if not more.

You pulled away from him, wiping his tears with the back of your hand. He looked at you, his black orbs have lost the bright shine in them. "You're forgetting my love, you have me."

Your words gave him the thing he needed the most. Assurance. He needed someone to tell him he was not alone.

He smiled at you for the first time since the morning. "You're really all I've got."

You continued to comfort him as he talked his heart out through out the night and you were there for him.

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

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@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings

Study Buddy- Billy Hargrove X Reader

Summary: After being paired up with Billy Hargrove on a project for school, all you want to do is get a good grade and get it over with. Knowing full well his reputation, you do your best to focus on the project when he comes over after school to help. But it’s rather hard when he won’t do any work and won’t stop looking at you like that. 

*Warnings: Smut 18+, Unprotected Sex (please use protection. this is fiction.), a lil dry humping, mention of oral sex (m receiving), Billy being a flirty fuck, Billy being obsessed with you, he has a staring problem, cursing, hickeys, mention of divorce, fluffy ending *

It had been a regular day of school when Billy Hargrove first arrived. You had went to your first period as usual. Hearing excited whispers from various classmates. 

You had furrowed your brows and asked Nancy what was going on. She told you simply that ‘Apparently a new guy moved to Hawkins. He is supposed to be really hot. His name is Billy Hargrove.’

You had rolled your eyes and went back to your work. You felt as if you left your interest in boys back in Sophomore year when this boy named Alex broke your heart. Now, it was all books and movies. No extra drama. No boyfriends, no flings, nothing.

You were still a teenager. You went to parties and had fun. You just had to roll your eyes every time a stinky, acne faced boy would attempt to get with you. As if.

You had gone onto your second period without giving the rumors another thought. You sat in your normal seat and got out your binder. 

The bell rung and your teacher started babbling on about the test tomorrow. Nancy tapped your shoulder from the seat behind you and asked silently if you would help her study. You agreed. Like she even had to ask anymore. 

The classroom door opened, signaling the arrival of a late student. 

You had to do a double take.

You could tell by the cocky way he walked in and smirked at the teacher that he was the new kid everyone was talking about. But he didn’t look like a kid. No… he looked like a man. A model. Something you only saw on the covers of magazines and in TV shows. 

Let’s just say he stood out among the other boys at your school.

They weren’t wrong about his looks. He was incredibly attractive. Curly, dirty blonde hair that framed his face well. You had never liked the idea of a mullet but damn, he made it look good. 

He had the most beautiful eyes, blue like the sea. Eyelashes that any girl would be jealous of. Eyes that darted around the classroom in search of an empty seat. 

Of course, he’d spot the one next to you. 

His gaze met yours and you quickly averted your gaze back to the teacher who went back to lecturing.

 He sat down and you could hear the whispers coming from the back of the class.

It annoyed you that everyone seemed so obsessed with him all of the sudden. He was the talk of the school. You could tell why. But just because he was attractive didn’t mean you had to like him.

You tried your best to keep your eyes forward. And you succeeded. 

Until you felt a tap on your shoulder, “Hey, could I borrow a pencil?”

You got out an extra pencil and handed it to him, trying to ignore the low timber of his voice. 

You felt your confidence shrink as his eyes raked over you, taking the pencil from between your fingers. 

He smirked, “Thanks, doll.”

You went back to your notes, ignoring the nickname, all too aware that his stare lingered. You could see him staring from your peripheral. 

You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from making some smart ass comment to him about it.

You could make out the pearly whites of his teeth. Smiling like he knew his mere existence was bothering you.

You swear he didn’t even write anything down with the pencil he borrowed from you. 

You felt Nancy tap on your shoulder and pass you a note when the teacher’s back was turned.

You unfolded the ripped piece of paper and froze at its contents, ‘He’s totally checking you out.’

You sighed and chewed on the inside of your cheek while scribbling out your response, ‘Good for him.’

‘You’re crazy! The hot new guy is totally staring and you won’t even give him a second glance!’

You rolled your eyes, of course she would encourage this. 

‘I’ve given him plenty of glances. And I’ve seen enough to know that a dude that hot can only bring trouble.’

You heard her chuckle under her breath. 

You spared a glance to your right, only to be met by his sapphire eyes again. 

He had the nerve to wink at you.

This time, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

-

You were grateful when the bell rang. You swiftly gathered your things. 

Nancy was quick to catch your eye. Ready to talk about him.

She motioned towards Billy and you scoffed in response. You were not going to talk to him any more than you had to. 

You quickly linked arms with her and ushered her out the door. As soon as you reached the hall, there was a tap on your shoulder. 

You gave Nancy a look, knowing full well who it was. She smiled at you and bid you goodbye, leaving you to deal with him.

You turned and raised your brows expectantly, “Can I help you?”

Billy chuckled and held up your pencil, “Thought you might want this back.”

You eyed the pencil warily, “You keep it. You’ll probably need it.”

Who didn’t bring a pencil on their first day of school?

He grinned, “You’re probably right. Thank you… by the way.” he squinted, “I don’t think I caught your name…?”

“You’re welcome. And it’s Y/n.” you wanted to cut this short.

“So… Y/n, I’m obviously new here and I was wondering if maybe… you’d wanna show me around sometime?”

You wanted to laugh. Of course he was asking you out. “I don’t think so. It was nice meeting you though.”

You turned on your heel, heading to your locker. Nancy would have a hissy fit when she found out you turned him down. She was always on you about getting back out there. About wanting you to find someone so you could go on a double date with her and Jonathon. 

But you didn’t care. Billy could, and probably would, find someone else to show him around. 

-

You had gone through the rest of that day, only to find that Billy was not only in your last class, but to find that he was sitting next to you yet again. You swore the universe had it out for you or something. 

You had made it a point to ignore him for the whole period. 

But again, the cosmos had it out for you. The teacher announced a project in his nasally voice. 

You rolled your eyes as he stated he would be picking partners for the class.

You clenched your jaw in anger when he read out your name.

Great. Your least favorite teacher happened to pair you up with your least favorite person in the room.

You couldn’t believe this shit. You wanted to protest. To ask for a different partner. Anyone else. But you knew that this teacher already gave you a hard time so it would’ve been for nothing anyways. 

You sighed and finally acknowledged Billy’s presence, “Looks like I’m stuck with you.”

He chuckled, “It must be fate.” He smiled charmingly at you. 

“Something…” you muttered under your breath. 

You would think he would be deterred after an obvious turn down. Guess not. He seemed elated to be working with you.

He managed to stay silent for a few minutes and let you re-explain the project to him since he wasn’t paying attention when the teacher did the first time. 

You had a feeling you were going to be doing this one by yourself. And that was fine by you. You preferred it that way. “If you want me to do it and then just put your name on it, I can.”

He raised his brows at your offer, “Now, why would I make you do all the work?”

“Trust me, it’ll be easier that way.” you didn’t mean it to come out so rude, “I mean… you just got here and I know more about this anyways… and-”

He laughed, “I know what you mean, dollface.”

You pursed your lips at the nickname. 

He just licked his lips, amused at your reaction. 

“I’ll help. I insist.” his eyes sparkled with mischief. 

You knew this wasn’t going to be an in-class assignment so that would mean you two would have to meet up outside of school. Just your luck. 

“Fine. Are you free right after school?” you hesitantly asked.

The corners of his mouth quirked up a little, “I have to take my step sister home first but after, yeah.”

Stepsister? You definitely wouldn’t have pegged him for the older brother type.

You ripped off a piece of paper from your notebook and wrote your phone number and address on it. You hesitantly handed it to him, “Okay, here’s my number and address. Just come over when you’re done.”

The grin he gave you told you that he thought he just scored.

“Now don’t think you can just call or show up whenever you want.” you warned, knowing where his mind was going.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” he folded the scrap of paper and tucked it away in his jacket pocket, smiling like the cat who got the canary.

You had a feeling this was a bad idea.

-

As soon as you got home, you were antsy. Looking around the house, cleaning up a bit. Not because you cared what Billy thought. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

You halfway wished your mother would come home. But she wouldn’t be much protection anyways.

Your single mom was always working and when she wasn’t the two of you were hanging out. She was more of a friend than a mother. Worse than Nancy at pressuring you into going on dates. Encouraging you to live your teenage years to the fullest. To love any chance you got. 

You could tell she wished she’d done the same.

She wouldn’t be home until later that night. 

Leaving you all alone in a house where you would be spending the next few hours with a boy you just met, who was clearly into you as more than just a friend or classmate.

You sighed and sat on the couch, waiting for the moment when he would arrive.

-

Your heart almost leapt out of your chest when the doorbell sounded. 

You opened the door to see him standing on your doorstep, hands in his pockets, car parked out front. 

The sunlight illuminated him. Bounced of his golden hair and made the curls shine. Brought out the tanned hue of his skin and emphasized how tall he was compared to you.

You gave him a friendly smile, which he returned. 

“Come on in…” you invited, making way for him to enter.

You watched as he looked around your house. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” You shut the door and kept your eyes trained on him as he observed the place. 

“Looking for something?” you asked quietly

He turned and tilted his head, “Your parents? Siblings? Pets?”

“Oh, uh… it’s just my Mom and I. She won’t be home till later…”

You were nervous as you saw his eyes light up, “Good to know.”

“Right… well my room is upstairs so…” you led him up to your room.

You cursed as you realized your record player was still playing AC/DC from when you were cleaning your room earlier, “Shit, sorry.” You went to turn it off. 

“Leave it.” Billy looked impressed, “Didn’t think you’d be a Rock N’ Roll kinda girl.”

You turned the volume down a little and got out your supplies for the project, “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. One of them being that I actually do my schoolwork. Now… I could use your help with this.”

He took a seat next to you on your bed, looking at the rough sketch you drew before he got there, “How can I be of service?”

“I need your input on the layout. Where do you think this should go? I was thinking up here…”

When he didn’t respond you turned your head to look at him, only to find him inches away from your face, staring at your lips.

“Billy.” You glared at him.

He blinked a few times, “Sorry, what did you say?”

You repeated yourself. He gave a noncommittal answer.

You sighed and decided you were gonna have to take the reins on this project anyways. 

You avoided asking him any questions. Every time you did, he wouldn’t be paying attention.

Always staring at you in a trance.

You huffed as he, yet again, was not helping. “Are you actually gonna help me or are you just gonna keep spacing out the whole time?”

He looked back and forth between your eyes and your lips. “I’ll pay attention if you do something for me.”

“And what is that?” you asked sarcastically. 

“Kiss me.” he said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Your heart skipped a beat, “Excuse me?”

“Kiss me.” he prompted.

Your heart fluttered again like a thousand butterflies in your rib cage. He couldn’t be serious. 

You knew he was though.

You shook your head, laughing, “Forget it, Hargrove.”

“Come on… what’s the harm?” 

You swallowed and kept your eyes on the project. The harm is that you knew if you kissed him, it wouldn’t be a one time thing. You didn’t want to get involved. He would just end up breaking your heart in the end.

You just kept shaking your head, determined to do this project all by yourself if you had to. 

He turned your face toward his, making you look at him.

You were scared. Scared of how handsome he was. Especially up close. 

You were scared of how good he smelled and how dark his eyes were when they looked at you.

You were terrified at how quickly he seduced you. 

You were inches away from those perfectly shaped lips that were literally calling your name.

“Y/n…” he purred, “I know you want to.” he teased.

“And how do you know that?” You practically whispered.

He smirked, “Because you want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss you. I see the way you look at me… and we both know I have a staring problem. There’s a good reason for that. You’re… distracting…”

Did he just call you distracting?

You sighed and looked down, no longer having the willpower to deny it. You couldn’t deny that you were attracted to him.

He had a certain pull. Something you couldn’t explain. A sexual heat that radiated off of him. There was a thousand times more chemistry between the two of you than there ever was with your ex.

And it was obvious he was attracted to you too.

It was impossible not to feel it.

He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. You met his gaze again.

He was so close. Leaning in, a final whisper on those full lips, “Please…”

How could you deny him? Deny yourself? What’s one kiss?

You turned to him and closed your eyes, sucking in a sharp breath through your nose when your lips finally met his.

Your heart was hammering against your chest. A jolt of hot white lightning struck your heart and traveled all the way down to your core. 

Your lips molded against his perfectly. 

His hand came up to cup your face as he deepened the kiss. Leaning closer, he captured your lips again and again. 

He ran his tongue over your bottom lip and nipped at it.

You let his tongue tangle with yours. Both of you moaning into the kiss.

It was hot. Both of you eager to taste one another.

You pulled back to breathe, but it was hard. You could feel your heart beat in your ears, your lips tingled.

He stayed close, breathing the same air as you and gazed deep in your eyes. You felt… connected.

You had never felt anything so intense. No one had ever kissed you like that. You trembled as he leaned in again. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as his plump lips moved in sync with yours. 

Your hand came up on its own and tangled in his hair. His curls were soft as you pulled him closer to you. Letting your tongue circle his in a dance the two of you seemed to already know.

The taste of him was enough to make you moan into his mouth. He echoed you in response and shoved your project off the bed and onto the floor in an effort to get closer to you. 

You broke the kiss, gasping at his actions, “Billy!”

He chuckled, “Screw the project. The only thing I want to do right now is you.”

You rolled your eyes yet smiled at his antics. You knew this would happen. Oh well. Kissing Billy was so much better than schoolwork.

He positioned himself in between your legs and attached his mouth to yours once more. He seemingly couldn’t get enough of you. The feeling was mutual.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you. You could feel his bulge pressing up against you through his jeans. 

His hips were pressed flush up against yours as you made out. Your core clenched at the thought of making him hard. At the thought of what was in those pants. 

You wanted it. You wanted him. Fuck it.

Your hands went to unbutton his shirt, lips still busy. Once you successfully got it unbuttoned, he took it off and threw it elsewhere. The tank top underneath soon following it. 

You didn’t mean to stare but fuck. He was a specimen. He was ripped. Arms that bulged, big and strong. Smooth, tan skin. Buff chest leading down, down, down. You let your eyes rake over him, landing on that little trail of hair that lead into his pants.

You would’ve squeezed your thighs had he not been between them. You licked your lips, wanting to kiss every inch of him. 

Wetness flooded at the sight of him as he leaned back over you, smirking, “See something you like, babydoll?”

You bit your lip and nodded. He ground his hips into yours, going to your neck to leave little kisses down the length of it. You happily titled your head to the side to let him. 

You couldn’t help but buck your hips into his when he bit down, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. Tongue soothing the sting.

He hummed against you and ground his hips in circles, sucking hickeys all over your neck and collarbone. Marking you as his.

He pulled back when your shirt stopped his path. 

You sat up and gladly threw it on top of the long forgotten project. 

His lips immediately fastened themselves to the newly exposed skin. Eager to leave marks everywhere he could. You reached back and unclasped your bra, throwing it with your shirt. 

His eyes widened an inch and he took a deep breath. He groaned at the sight of your bare breasts. Stunned. “Jesus, Y/n. You’re gorgeous.” 

You giggled, “See something you like?” You repeated his words from earlier.

He answered you with a growl and wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking and circling it with his tongue. His hands groped your boobs as he littered them with hickeys.

You let out a breathy moan. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy giving them attention. Your nipples were so sensitive and his erection was moving so deliciously over your clothed core as he humped into you. You could probably cum just like this. 

But you wanted him inside you. Wanted to feel him in every way possible. Wanted to feel good for once. Allow yourself to give into your desires.

You brought his lips back up to yours and went to unbutton your pants. 

His kisses became greedier as if he knew what was to come. 

He unbuttoned his own pants and quickly discarded them as you did too. 

Billy bit his lip and admired you, a hand coming down to cup his bulge. 

You felt wetness pool in your panties at the sight of him touching himself. 

You hooked your fingers in his underwear and pulled him closer to you. Kissing him, you ran your hand over his hard on. His hips bucked into your hand, he groaned as you grabbed him through the thin fabric.

You slowly pulled them down, longing to see underneath. As soon as his length sprang from its confines, your mouth watered. He was perfect. In every way. 

Long and thick, everything your ex was not. Your mouth hung open as you stared hungrily at his member. 

It twitched under your gaze and you glanced back up to see Billy smirking lightly at you. His own eyes staring hungrily back at you. 

You licked your lips, wanting him in your mouth. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to make him feel good. You wanted to lick every inch of him.

He chuckled breathlessly. As if he could read your mind, he spoke in a low voice, “I know that look, doll. And fuck, do I want you to. But I also know that I won’t last if you wrap those perfect lips around me.”

You smirked and took him into your hand, stroking him up and down, “Maybe next time, then.”

You winked at him as his eyes went hooded. “Next time?”

You chuckled and kissed him, all tongues and teeth.

You shimmied your panties down your legs and spread them wide for him.

He looked down and let out a moan when he saw you bare and dripping for him.

His fingers trailed over your clit lightly, circling it slowly. You whined as they spread your slick, “Billy…”

He made a noise deep in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away from your entrance. He slid one of his fingers inside, then two. “Fuck baby… all this for me?”

“For you…” you whispered as he pumped them.

He took them out and gaped at the glistening arousal on his fingers. He circled them over the head of his cock before wrapping his hand around himself. A broken moan escaped his mouth.

It was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. Ever heard. You couldn’t help but moan along with him. 

He bent down to deliver a quick yet heated kiss to your lips. 

“Billy please…” you ached for him. You could feel your sex throbbing with need.

He positioned himself closer in between your legs, running his weeping tip over your clit. Then, up and down the length of your slit. Making his cock even wetter with your juices. You groaned in unison. 

You spread your legs even wider as he carefully slipped the head inside you.

He hissed through his teeth, pausing, sweat upon his brow. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

You clenched around him as he steadily pushed all the way in. He watched, mouth hung open in a continuous moan as inch after inch disappeared inside of you.

He bottomed out, pressing his forehead against yours. You cursed at the feeling of him stretching you.

“Fuck…” you leaned up to kiss him, “You feel so good.”

He let out a mixture of an incredulous laugh and a moan. “You feel so fucking good, Y/n. Oh my fucking god.” 

He slid out slowly, pumping his hips forward as soon as he got halfway out. He breathed heavily, thrusting at a faster pace. 

He was torn between looking at where you two were joined, to your marked up tits, to your face that was scrunched beautifully in pleasure. 

“So wet…” he murmured under his breath. “So gorgeous…”

You turned your head so you could nip at his neck as he plowed into you. This only seemed to spur him on, his thrusts gaining speed. “Fuck, Y/n-”

You hummed, his salty skin between your teeth. The taste of him was heady. Pheromones released rapidly, making you feel high.

You were certain he was feeling it too, pupils blown, filthy noises coming from those sinful lips as you worked on his neck.

You watched in awe at his muscles shifting under his sweaty skin with every movement. Every thrust hitting your g-spot, his pelvis rubbing against your nub. Cries of pleasure escaped you. 

You clasped your hands around his neck, overcome by the pleasure he was sending through your body. He grunted loudly into your neck, “Fuck, you are such a good girl. So good for me.”

His words of praise made you clench around him, your orgasm was building fast. He pulled you flush against his sweaty body and slammed into you over and over, making your eyes roll back.

“Billy… baby I’m gonna cum.” you whimpered, the pressure building.

“Fuck yes princess, I want you to cum for me,” he moaned into your neck, never ceasing his relentless pace. “Let me hear you…feel your sweet fucking pussy squeeze me…”

You were going to cum and you knew it would be intense. You braced yourself as he pounded into you. 

You threw your head back as pure ecstasy flooded through your entire body. Your stomach contracted and you moaned with every hot pulse of your climax. 

You screamed Billy’s name, your walls squeezing hard around his length.

It was unlike any sensation you had ever felt before. Pure euphoria. 

He let out a guttural moan, his own orgasm hitting him hard. His noises were enough to send you spiraling once more.

His thrusts became sloppier and his groans and whimpers became quieter as the two of you slowly rode out your highs together. 

He sucked a bruise on your shoulder, aftershocks flowing through both of you.

You stayed connected for a minute. You bit your lip, feeling his breaths fan over your skin as he panted, catching his breath.

Your eyes widened as you just realized what you had done.

You just had sex with Billy Hargrove. And you loved every second of it. You never knew it could be this good. This passionate. This satisfying. 

You wanted to laugh as you spotted your half finished project laying on the floor. 

He pulled out slowly, head turning to rest on your chest. His weight was grounding as he wrapped himself around you.

You lay content. Billy started to draw patterns on your skin, brush his fingers lightly over the marks he made. 

You could feel him smile against you. 

You rolled your eyes, but smiled fondly. “You never had any intention of helping me with the project, did you?”

He was silent for a moment, but looked up at you with a pouty lip and glittering eyes, “If I said ‘no’, would you be pissed?”

You shook your head, “No. I figured as much.” 

He chuckled against you.

The question of ‘What happens next?’ lingered in the air like the aroma of sex.

You didn’t want to ask it. You wanted this moment to last forever. All you wanted was to lay there with him. 

Why did everything have to be so complicated?

The pair of you startled as a loud crack of lightning sounded from outside. Thunder rumbled and rain started to pour. 

You could feel Billy’s heartbeat increase against you.

The drops of water pattered against your window. A surprise storm raging outside.

You went to sit up. Billy reluctantly rolled off of you.

Getting up from the bed, you reached for your clothes.

“Hey…”

You turned to Billy and caught the shirt he threw you. His.

You tried not to smile as you slipped it on, suddenly enveloped by his scent. 

“Thanks.” you went to exit the bedroom.

He quickly slipped on his underwear and grabbed your hand, “Where are you going?”

His eyes were wide. Was he scared? You fought back a smile at the thought of a guy as tough as Billy, scared of a little thunder.

“I’m going to call my mom, she definitely won’t drive in this shit.” you laced your fingers with his and pulled him closer, “You should probably call someone too… it doesn’t look like the storm’s gonna give out any time soon.”

He raised his brows, “You’re letting me stay?”

“You can stay the night if you’d like. Wouldn’t want you to get caught out in the rain.” you winked at him.

He smiled wide and let you lead him to the phone downstairs.

After calling your mom, she stated that there was a warning out anyways and that she wouldn’t be home until tomorrow morning. 

You let Billy use the phone, sitting on the couch to give him some privacy.

His conversation was short and he was back with you in minutes. You tried not to stare when he waltzed into the room in just his undies. 

He plopped down next to you and rested his head on your shoulder. He sighed but you could hear the smile in his voice, “I guess you’re stuck with me. Again.”

You chuckled, “That’s fine by me. Maybe we can actually get some work done on our project.”

 He groaned at the thought. Like he would be doing any of the work anyways.

-

The next morning, the sun was shining and Billy’s body was still pressed up against yours. Naked of course, due to another round of not being able to keep his hands to himself. 

You slipped out from under his grasp and started getting ready for school. Pulling out some of your over-sized clothes that you assumed would fit him, you set them on the bed for Billy to wear.

Once you were ready, slowly laid back down next to him. You admired his features. Appreciating the fact that he looked so relaxed. So at peace.

You ran a hand through his hair and stroked the side of his face softly, “Billy boy… it’s time to get up.”

He groaned and hid his face in your pillow. 

You rolled your eyes and rubbed a hand over his back, “Billy…”

He grunted in response. Obviously he wasn’t a morning person.

“Come on, we gotta get to school.” you prompted.

He rolled over and eyed you, “Fuck school.”

“It’s your second day.” 

“Still.”

You sighed, “Would you get up if I told you I made you breakfast?”

He sat up, intrigued, “For real?”

You nodded, heading downstairs to eat your own. Knowing he wouldn’t be too far behind.

-

A few minutes later, he stomped down the stairs wearing your clothes you had set out for him.

You paused, fork halfway to your mouth. He looked good. 

It was a simple black sweatshirt and grey sweatpants but fuck.

“You look nice…” you complimented. “Glad they fit.”

He rolled his eyes and took a seat next to you, grabbing a piece of toast and munching on it. “They smell like you.”

You laughed, “Is that a good thing?”

“Yeah, except for the fact that I’m gonna be smelling you all day and I’ll start to miss you…and these pants don’t exactly look like they’d be good at hiding a boner.”

You shook with laughter. “I’d love to see that.”

-

When you arrived at school, you felt like you had this huge secret. 

You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell anyone about what happened. Although you were sure someone would find out sooner or later. 

Specifically Nancy. She kept glancing at you during first period.  She was suspicious no doubt.

Halfway through, she nudged you, “Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You seem… different. Distracted. I don’t know.”

You shrugged your shoulders and pushed your hair behind your ear, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her face dropped. She gasped. “Y/n!” she whisper-yelled.

“What?”

You realized she could see the hickeys that littered your neck. You were quick to cover them, “Shit…”

“Looks like someone had fun last night. Who was it?” she demanded an answer.

You kept your lips sealed.

As soon as she saw Billy the next period, she put two and and two together. 

She gasped and leaned forward to whisper in your ear, “Is he wearing…?”

You shushed her, trying to suppress a blush that was surely rising.

You heard her tear a piece of paper from her notebook. Writing fast.

‘You have to tell me everything!’

‘I’ll tell you during lunch.’

You were low-key excited to talk about it. To talk about him. Talk about the whole experience. 

You bit your lip and tried to pay attention to whatever the teacher was saying. But your thoughts kept drifting back to last night. 

Another piece of paper landed on your desk. Nancy was insatiable. 

You furrowed your brows when the note had different handwriting on it.

A messy, yet unique sprawl that had a simple message on it. 

‘I can’t stop thinking about you.’

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. You glanced up to find Billy already staring at you, a grin of his own on his face. 

A warm feeling erupted in your chest. Maybe being stuck with him wasn’t such a bad thing.

 (Feedback is greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoyed. Let me know if you have anything you’d like to see me write.)

friends don’t

Characters: Jisung x female reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Type: Friends to Lovers, fluff, smut, college!jisung

Warnings: unprotected sex (always use a condom!), oral (female receiving)

This is intended for mature audiences. Do not read if you are under the age of 18.

Keep reading

|| sugarbaby.com || bang chan

Summary: Struggling college student Y/n is on her last year of college as the bills stack she’s in a tough situation. Her roommate recommends her a website for local sugar daddies. That’s where she meets Mr. Bang Chan a producer who is just a nice guy that has a lot of money.  

word count: 5.1k || genre: smut, lots of smut, kissing, dry humping, light choking, praise kink, soft dom chan, like soft, like he’s a caring daddy btw, light barely their daddy kink. 

a/ n: the end plot is so sloppyyyy but I put lots of plot and love and smut this could be better but its 5k of hard work so enjoy yall~

Keep reading

— crime of passion.

request: “Hi! May I request having passionate sex with angel!Johnny 🥺”

word count: 0.476k

warnings: smut, fluff, angel!johnny au

a/n: this isn’t super smutty i know i’m sorry it’s a bit different from your request but i couldn’t help but make this one soft and passion ridden with not just sex but love. i hope you enjoy it regardless!! <3

Angel!Johnny watched over you every night; he was your guardian. Soon after he was assigned to guide you he was falling in love with you, to the point where he was ready to expose himself. And when he did you were surprisingly calm, happy even, that there was someone, or something, out there looking out for your well-being.

He loved you deeply. You fell in love with him as well.

He especially loved the way your thighs felt in his hands when he was in his human form, the way they melted at his touch. You enticed him the way no other human had, or ever will. He loved the way you spoke his name when he was inside of you, making love to you with such passion it could make you cry.

“I love you so much.”

The first time he said it you both cried. How could an angel love a human? It was a crime against nature, some would say. They were not meant to be together.

“I love you too.”

But then you said it back, and it was like every missing piece of each other’s lives fell together, filling in for what was broken. You mended each other. He may be your guardian, but to him, you were the angel.

The cries you let out when he was buried deep, hitting your sweet spot so nicely, whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, were music to his ears. And the noises he made when you put his member in your mouth, and bobbed your head up and down at just the right pace, were like a symphony to yours.

Crime against nature? Not so much. But a crime of passion, yes, you supposed that’s what you could call it.

The nights you slept with him, his arms wrapped around you, were your favorite. Though he didn’t sleep, he lied awake for hours, keeping track of your breaths while he grazed your hair. The nights where he felt you were having a nightmare, so he would place his hand on your head, and take the fear away. The nights where you were sick and couldn’t sleep, so he made you some warm tea and showed you some of your favorite past memories.

It was not just lust he was after. Though he was to guide your heart without bias, he couldn’t help but point it in the direction of himself.

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.

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚 - 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕒

Pairing ⤀ Bang Chan x fem!Reader

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

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

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

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

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

Keep reading

𝕷𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖒𝖆𝖘

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart,

But the very next day, you gave it away.

With lockdown keeping them in on Christmas, a member of the Kira Task Force wonders how they will return to their inconvenient significant other. 

Word Count: 5236

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*

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Enemy - two

johnny x reader (this is mostly smut with some fluff thrown in because im soft for this man)

THIS IS BASED ON ENEMY AND WHILE YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ IT TO UNDERSTAND YOU PROBABLY SHOULD

it’s been three months since you got fucked by johnny in the elevator of your apartment building. and much to your own fault, you can’t stop thinking about him

UNEDITED

word count: 4k (this is literally so long for no reason)

warnings: language, fingering, degradation, choking, hair-pulling, overuse of the word kitten and sir and probably baby too, mentions of sex toys, vibrators, mutual masturbation for like a second, size kink if you squint, mentions of punishments, idk what to say… theres probably more because im a whore for johnny

You hadn’t spoken to Johnny since the incident. In fact, you’ve tried to avoid any encounters with him at all. You try to plan your day around whether he has already left or not, and while that’s proven rather difficult with your classes, it’s been working out ok. You had been avoiding him for a solid 3 months, only seeing him occasionally and practically sprinting away when you spotted him.

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