#clingy reader

[pink-petal-horns]

Go on baby—Get outta my hair

Shane Walsh x Fem!Reader

Rating 18+ SMUT

WARNING: D/s themes, dom!Shane, subby!clingy!Reader, dumbification kink, rough sex, semi-public tension, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare.

You’d been following Shane around like a lost puppy all day. Again.

He was fixing a fence post—again—and you were hovering three feet behind him with your hands clasped behind your back, watching like he was putting on a show just for you.

“Shane?” you chirped.

He sighed. “Yeah, baby?”

“You want me to… go pick some berries or somethin’? Or maybe I can sweep the porch again? Or—oh! I can refill your water jug. It’s gotta be warm now, right?”

He wiped sweat from his brow, cast you a look over his shoulder.

You were smiling. Wide. Like it was the best part of your day just being assigned some meaningless task by him.

Shane ran his hand down his face and muttered, “Yeah, alright. Porch could use a sweep.”

You gasped, delighted.

“Yes, sir!”

And off you went. Practically skipping.

—

Ten minutes.

He got ten minutes.

Then:

“I swept it twice just to be sure!”

You were back, beaming, barefoot now for some reason, proudly holding the broom like it was a weapon you’d conquered.

Shane squinted up at you.

“You done already?”

“Uh-huh! Wasn’t even that dusty.”

He stared at you for a long second. Then sighed again.

“Alright. Why don’t you go check on the chickens. Make sure they got food. Might be some corn still in the sack behind the coop.”

You nodded. “Yessir!”

Off again.

—

Eight minutes this time.

“They’re all fed! One of them pecked at me but I think she was just confused ‘cause I smell like you.”

Shane looked up from his half-repaired post, jaw clenched.

You weren’t trying to be a pain. He knew that. You were sweet. Soft. Practically glowing with adoration every time your eyes met his. You looked at him like he hung the damn moon. And some sick, selfish part of him loved it.

But another part?

The part that was hot, sweaty, and trying to fix a fence post that wouldn’t set straight?

Was losing his goddamn mind.

“Alright, sugar,” he said, voice tight. “Think you can go… polish my boots?”

“Ooooh, yes.” You grinned like he just gave you an award. “I’ll even shine the little buckles.”

Of course you would.

—

Seven minutes.

He didn’t even hear you come back that time. Just looked up and there you were—knees dirty, holding his boots like a trophy, cheeks flushed from the sun.

“All done!”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You blinked.

“What?”

Shane didn’t answer. Just stood up. Tossed the hammer down in the grass. Marched toward you.

You opened your mouth to ask something else—but before you could speak, he grabbed your wrist and dragged you back toward the house.

“Shane?”

“Inside. Now.”

Your heart fluttered. Your tummy did that little flip it did when he used that tone. You followed in silence, eyes big, breath shallow.

—

As soon as you were inside the bedroom and the door shut behind you, he had you up against the wall.

“Can’t give me ten minutes, can you?” he growled. “Not ten goddamn minutes to myself.”

You whined, eyes shining. “I just wanted to help—”

“You ain’t helpin’. You’re drivin’ me crazy. Baby, I love that pretty little smile and your sweet voice and that dumb-ass giggle—but fuck. I need a break.”

You blinked, mouth trembling just a little.

“Don’t… don’t want you to need a break from me,” you whispered.

Shane stared at you for a moment. Then something shifted behind his eyes. His jaw ticked. His hands gripped your hips.

“I’ll tell you what I need.”

You whimpered as he spun you around and bent you over the bed.

“Shane—”

“Shhh. Be good.”

You heard the buckle of his belt. The zip. The rustle of his jeans.

You wiggled your hips, needy, aching, brain already fogging from the sudden change in tone.

“I was bein’ good, I was—”

“No,” he snapped, yanking your shorts down roughly. “You were bein’ a damn nuisance.”

Your pussy clenched.

“You like bein’ a nuisance?” he asked low, dragging the head of his cock through your folds.

You whined. “N-no… I just like bein’ near you…”

He chuckled darkly.

“Course you do.”

He shoved inside you in one deep thrust and you cried out, clutching the sheets, breath caught in your throat.

“You fuckin’ live for this, don’t you?” he hissed, snapping his hips. “All day, followin’ me around like a goddamn puppy. You just wanted cock.”

You sobbed into the mattress. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—Shane—”

“You’re soaked,” he growled. “Don’t lie to me.”

He pounded into you, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Take it, baby,” he grunted. “Take it like a good little fuckdoll.”

You mewled. “I am, I am, I’m bein’ good, I swear—”

“Say it.”

“M’bein’ good! Bein’ good for you, daddy!”

His hips stuttered.

You moaned at the sound of his groan behind you, the way he suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you up so your back arched and you were crying from how deep he hit.

“You gonna be quiet for me now?” he rasped into your ear. “Let me finish my work without you draggin’ your cute little ass back every five fuckin’ minutes?”

You whined.

“Don’t know… need you too much…”

He fucked you harder.

You were close. Your legs shook. Your thighs quivered.

He slipped a hand down and rubbed your clit, fast and filthy.

“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Now.”

You screamed, head thrown back, toes curling, mind going blank.

And he kept going. Hips pounding until he slammed in deep and groaned low, filling you up.

—

You didn’t even realize when he pulled out. Or when he cleaned you up. You were limp, dazed, cheek pressed to the sheets, eyelids heavy.

Shane pulled the covers up over you gently.

“Go to sleep, baby.”

You whined softly, tugging at his wrist.

“Don’t wanna sleep unless you’re stayin’…”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead.

“I’ll be back. Just need to fix that post. You wore me out.”

You pouted, already drifting.

“’Kay… but come back…”

“Always do.”

—

Shane walked out of the room, finally getting the silence he’d begged for all day.

But even as he returned to the fence, hands to work, all he could think about was you curled up in his bed—barely able to keep your eyes open—dreaming about him.

And he knew you’d be back at his side the second you woke up.

God help him.

But he wouldn’t want it any other way.

[deepspacedispatch]

LADS Men x Clingy!Reader

This is something I had started writing right when I started and never finished, and just now got around to it. Please enjoy!

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Xavier:

You had been on a two-week solo mission, and the first thing you felt when you got back to your apartment building was longing. Without even thinking, you climbed the extra flight of stairs instead of heading to your own apartment.

Xavier’s door was exactly where you left it. You knocked once, impatient, then twice.

When it opened, his surprise barely had time to register before you were already there, arms around his neck, face pressed into his chest. He stiffened for half a second, then softened, wrapping his arms around your waist in response.

“You’re early,” he murmured, his smile evident in his voice.

“I missed you,” you said, voice muffled into his chest. You didn’t let go. Two weeks without him had been too quiet, too empty.

He laughed softly, resting his chin on your head. “You could’ve at least said hello.”

“This is my hello.”

You followed him inside without breaking contact, trailing him from room to room like you’d forgotten how to exist without him nearby. You sat beside him on the couch, basically on top of him, legs tangled, shoulder pressed to his arm. When he reached for a book, you leaned into him harder.

“You're touchier that usual,” he teased.

“Correct.”

Xavier shifted, wrapping an arm around you, tighter this time. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smiled against his shoulder, finally home.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zayne:

Zayne was used to solitude. After long hospital shifts, his evenings were predictable, jasmine tea steeping, a book open, a comfortable silence surrounding him.

That routine disappeared the moment you started dating.

Now, when he unlocked his door, you were always there. Dinner already made. Shoes kicked off by the entryway. You greeted him before he could even set his bag down, arms around him, a soft kiss to his cheek.

Sometimes you talked immediately, about your day, your thoughts, things you’d missed while he was gone. Other times, you just held him. Minutes passed like that. Zayne never rushed you.

Tonight, you followed him through his apartment as he moved, into the kitchen, then the living room, hovering close, fingers catching on his sleeve whenever he tried to step away.

“You know,” he said gently, setting his tea down, “you don’t have to stay glued to me.”

You tilted your head. “But I want to.”

Zayne studied you for a moment, then sighed. He pulled you into his lap on the couch, one arm around your waist, the other warm against your back.

“…I suppose I don’t mind,” he admitted.

You curled into him instantly, satisfied. His book remained untouched, forgotten. Instead, he rested his chin against your shoulder, breathing you in.

For someone who once treasured his quiet routine, Zayne realized that this was better.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel:

“I’m clingier,” Rafayel announced confidently.

You scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

He leaned closer, invading your space on purpose, eyes glittering. “I literally hate being alone.”

“And yet,” you said, hooking an arm through his, “you’re not the one following me around the studio.”

“But I invite you over more because I need you to be by me,” he countered. “Big difference.”

You trailed him everywhere, through his workspace, onto the couch, even hovering behind him while he painted. If he moved, you moved. If he sat, you were already there, pressed against his side.

“You realize,” he said, glancing down at you, “I haven’t taken a step without you attached to me all day.”

You smiled sweetly. “And?”

He laughed. “Unbelievable cutie. You’re stealing my brand.”

You tugged him closer, resting your head against his shoulder. He tilted his head toward yours, brushing his temple against your hair.

“Fine,” he said. “Maybe we’re both clingy.”

You grinned. “So it’s a tie?”

He smirked. “No.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Sylus:

Sylus had to notice everything. Throughout every life, there was always someone, or something out to get him.

So when footsteps echoed behind him in the corridor, soft, deliberate, his hand was on his weapon in an instant. He spun, ready.

“…Kitten?”

You froze mid-step, holding a bag of takeout like a peace offering. “Hi?”

He stared for a beat, then exhaled loudly. “You’re going to get yourself shot.”

You walked closer anyway, unfazed. “You heard me and thought enemy. That’s kind of rude.”

“You’re always there,” he muttered, shaking his head.

And it was true. You followed him everywhere, leaning against doorframes, sitting beside him no matter how big the room, drifting closer like gravity pulled you in. A shadow he hadn’t asked for…bout could never push away.

Sylus crossed his arms. “Don’t you ever need space?”

You stepped even closer, hands resting lightly on his chest. “Not from you.”

He hesitated, then sighed, placing a hand over yours.

Later, when you curled up beside him, head on his shoulder, he adjusted automatically, allowing you closer. Maybe he wasn’t used to having someone always at his side, but now he couldn't imagine another moment without you.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

Growing up, you and Caleb were inseparable.

Same scraped knees. Same shared snacks and whispered secrets under the stars. Being together had always felt natural, effortless.

So when life pulled you apart and eventually brought you back together, nothing felt strange about how close you were.

You gravitated toward him without thinking, standing shoulder to shoulder, sitting on top of him, reaching for him in crowded rooms like it was instinct. Caleb never complained, he just pulled you closer.

“You still do that,” he said one night, smiling softly as you leaned into him.

“Do what?”

“Stick close, pips. Like you’re afraid I’ll disappear.”

You shrugged. “Feels like home.”

Caleb pulled you into a tight hug, arms strong and familiar. “Guess that makes me home too, huh pipsqueak?”

You stayed like that longer than needed, neither of you rushing to let go. After everything, being together again felt right, easy.

[sweetlikenonsense]

Kisses, please loverboy & his clingy girl ♡ • fluff • established relationship

♡ 9:12 p.m. — Hawkins Radio Station, definitely not FCC-approved behaviour You go to visit Steve at work—with only one thing on your mind.

You know you’re not helping. You know you might be a little annoying—at least to anyone else.

Not to your Stevie.

You’ve learned that quickly. You’re honestly not sure what you could do that would annoy him. You like that. You like feeling wanted—like you’re not too much for once. Not only seen, but reciprocated. 

That’s why you swing your legs over the desk, one hand fiddling with a pen, the other drifting into his hair as he leans over the controls, focused in that way that pulls a crease between his brows.

It makes you want to smooth it away.

So you do.

Your fingers slide from his hair to his forehead, brushing over the line between his brows, soft and absentminded. Steve smiles at that—small but no less sincere—without ever really stopping what he’s doing. 

You adjust his glasses slightly where they’ve slipped down his nose. Then, without thinking too hard about it, really without thinking at all, you lean in and press a soft kiss right between his brows. If you needed an excuse, you’d say you were just smoothing the crease—but it’s long gone now, and you never have to explain yourself to Steve.

“…you trying to distract me,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch. His voice warm, a little amused, a faint flush sitting high on his cheeks.

In place of a proper answer, you lift your hand, brushing a piece of hair back behind his ear, your fingers skimming along his cheekbone and down to his jaw.

“Never,” you mumble, soft, not even trying to sound convincing.

Steve laughs under his breath, shaking his head a little—he already knows he’d lose any type of argument with you. It never takes much with you. Just one smile and he’s done for.

His hand finds your knee where it’s hooked over the desk, squeezing lightly—thumb dragging once before it slides up to your thigh, settling there without a second thought.

“You’re trouble,” he says, but there’s not an ounce of weight to it. No warning; just pure, unfiltered fondness.

You lean in again, closer this time, your nose brushing his cheek before your lips hover just at the corner of his mouth.

“Kisses,” you pause, mouth pulling into a small pout, “please.”

Steve doesn’t even pretend to hesitate.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, already turning toward you, his hand sliding from your thigh to your waist to steady you where you’re perched. “C’mere.”

The kiss is soft, easy, wonderful. His thumb brushes your side absentmindedly, keeping you as close as possible. When you pull back, it’s barely anything, just enough to look at him before you lean in again.

And again.

Oh, and again.

Steve lets out a quiet whine into the next one, barely there, a little helpless—like he knows exactly how this is going to go, after all, this isn’t his first rodeo with you. “Y’know I’ve got, like, actual work to do,” he says, not moving an inch away from you.

You nod, already pressing another quick kiss to his mouth. “I know.”

You linger for a second after, just looking at him, the way he’s trying to look serious—brows slightly drawn, mouth set—but it doesn’t quite stick, not when he’s still this close to you, still a little flushed, still soft around the edges for you. 

You press your lips together in a small, expectant pout, eyes wide, head tilted slightly. You know exactly what you’re doing. Steve knows exactly what you’re doing. Neither of you care.

Steve lets out a soft exhale, half a laugh, his forehead dropping briefly against yours. “You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, even as he leans straight back in.

You smile a little at that, because you already know.

That’s the whole point.

“Just like?” You tease, fingers playing with the collar of his sweater.

You lean in impossibly closer, nudging your nose against his before he murmurs, breath fanning across your mouth—

“Love.”

The smile that breaks across your face is immediate. Soft. Impossible to hide.

Steve’s expression shifts the second he sees it, fondness melting straight through whatever was left of his attempt at composure.

“Sorry, honey,” he mumbles. And then he’s kissing you again.

“I.”

A kiss lands at the corner of your mouth.

“Love.”

Another against your cheek.

“You.”

One more, right over your smile as your laugh finally spills out properly, bright and breathless. You push lightly at his chest like you’re trying to stop him, but your hands are still twisted in the front of his sweater, keeping him just as close as he’s keeping you.

“Steve—” you giggle, ducking your head when he leans in again.

“I love you,” he repeats, gentler this time, punctuated by another quick kiss. “So much, honey.”

You’re still laughing softly by the time he finally slows, both hands warm at your waist, his forehead resting against yours while he grins in that helpless, completely gone way that’s become so terribly familiar.

And then—

A loud, aggressive chicken squeak blasts through the station speakers and out to the thirty or so late-night listeners.

You both freeze.

Steve’s eyes close instantly, already knowing exactly what that means—and somehow, you know he’s less worried about the listeners and more worried about Robin.

There’s a beat of silence before—

“Guys,” Robin’s voice crackles over the intercom, flat and deeply unimpressed. “Do you mind?”

She punctuates the question with a sharp knock against the glass separating the rooms.

Unfortunately, that’s what breaks you.

A helpless laugh slips out of you as you immediately hide your face in Steve’s neck, shoulders shaking against him. His own laugh is quieter, more embarrassed, but no less fond as one hand slides up to the back of your head, smoothing your hair down comfortingly.

“Hey, hey, it was a-” he mumbles, failing miserably at sounding serious, getting cut off by a less than impressed Robin.

“Steve, why is the chicken sound effect live right now?”

“It was an accident!” he calls back instantly.

“You literally only press random buttons when she’s around.”

“That is not true.”

“It is completely true.”

You’re still giggling into his neck while Steve absently pats your hair down again, holding you close even as he argues back.

“I can multitask.”

“Clearly not!” Robin shoots back. “You’re one make-out session away from broadcasting a car crash sound effect.”

Steve groans while you laugh even harder, and the two of them keep bickering through the station as the scene slowly dissolves into static, teasing, and Steve’s hand still warm at the back of your head.

loverboy steve masterlist ♡

P.S. wanna see more clingy reader or loverboy Steve? send in some ideas! ♡

[herfinaltransmission]

Sitting on Din Darin's Lap

You slide onto his lap mid-flight like it’s nothing, like the controls aren’t blinking right in front of him, like your hips settling against his thighs isn’t the single most distracting thing that’s happened all week.

For a moment, he’s quiet.

Dead silent.

His hands stay locked on the yoke, tension bleeding up his arms and into his shoulders.

Then— His arm curls around your waist, solid and possessive, pulling you in just a little tighter.

His voice drops low behind the modulator, a dangerous kind of rough:

“Cyar’ika…”

The word slides out like a warning and a prayer all in one — tender and wrecked and reverent. And soaked in restraint.

“You trying to get us both killed?”

You grin, all innocent. “Just wanted to sit somewhere comfortable.”

He exhales hard, a growl half-hidden in the helmet. “You’re not helping.”

Another shift of your hips, this time completely intentional — and he feels it. Hears your breath hitch. His grip tightens. You don’t even have to see his face to know he’s biting down hard behind the helmet.

Then, softer now. A whisper:

“Keep this up, cyar’ika… and I won’t wait ‘til we land.”

And that’s not a threat.

It’s a promise.

[starrrlite]

Downtime // D. Whitaker

Summary: You bother your boyfriend after his nap.

Word Count: 1195

GN reader

Days off with Dennis like this one were exceedingly rare.  Usually we both planned for a date: the movies, a cafe, a day in the park, dinner at a fancy restaurant…  Something to remind us that there was a world outside of the PTMC.  But as of today, the only world that existed was between us in my bed.

“Mn,” my name left his mouth in a sleepy rasp.  “What’re you doing?”

I lightly squeezed his waist under the faded t-shirt he was wearing.  “You’ve been napping long enough.  I want some of your attention.”

“Not enough.”   

I chuckled when he tried to swat my hand away, and pressed my face into his nape.  “It’s been four hours, Den.”

He shifted towards me.  “Shit.  Really?”  His body temp ran warm from the time he spent under the blankets.  “Kinda feel bad now.  Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“You needed the rest.”  I hooked an arm around him and eliminated any space between his back and my chest.

Dennis firmly rubbed his eyes.  He had this little habit of scrunching his face in a certain way whenever he overslept.  I watched him from where I was propped on his shoulder, brushing a finger along his twitchy cheek.

“Are you with me now?”

He breathed out a laugh.  “Almost.”  I gave him some space to stretch, admiring the taut pull in his biceps.  My eyes dipped to where his shirt raised over his midriff.  Then to his bare thighs.

“Hey, I see how you’re looking at me.  Give me a few minutes at least.”  Dennis was smiling when he pulled my face in for a kiss.  

I succumbed immediately, exhaling softly through my nose.  Heat rippled through my chest when his leg hooked over my calf, trapping us together.  I pulled away for a moment.  His hand slid over the back of my neck.  The light squeeze that followed was a scolding.

“It seems like you’re more eager than I am.  I just like looking at you.”

Dennis swept back a few strands of my hair.  “Yeah.  With lust.”

I laughed quietly.  “Shut up.  How low do you think of me?”  

I took in those features that I had grown to love more with each passing day.  I traced along his soft jawline, then moved to his chin before swiping over his bottom lip.  They curled upward, exposing that cute gap between his two front teeth.  It wasn’t until my thumb followed the low slope of his nose that he spoke.

“You’re so weird.”  His tone was little more than a sigh when he took hold of my wrist.

“Can’t help it.”  My smile lifted as I watched the warmth swirl under his cheeks, painting roses on a canvas.

Dennis interlaced our fingers and began trailing his lips over the back of my hand.  The flutter of his lashes beat as gently as his kisses.  “Feels good when you look at me like that,” he muttered in between them.

“I can look at you like this forever, if that’s what you want.”

Dennis nuzzled into my hand.  Usually he only got this clingy when tired or at the end of a bottle.  I indulged as long as it would last.  It made me giddy to think that I was the only one who got to witness this side of him.

I grinned.  “Are you seriously falling asleep?”

“No.”  He didn’t open his eyes.  “It’s your fault for being so comfortable.”

“Good to know that you find my company boring.”  I flicked his nose and he flinched.

“You’re such a brat.”

Dennis looked up at me with slightly glazed eyes when I pushed him down on his back.  His fingers slid around my wrist when my hand settled over his chest.  He made a soft noise in his throat when I pressed our lips together.  The kiss was meant to be short, but Dennis chased for another.  And then another.  

He sucked in a small breath when I trailed my lips over the bridge of his nose and down one cheek.  The occasional jump of his heartbeat against my palm was invigorating.  When I pulled away, his eyes were pleading for more.  My attention zeroed on his parted mouth.  I laughed under my breath.

“You’re teasing me.”

My eyes drifted down to his neck.  I wanted to run my finger over his Adam's apple, but he was always so squeamish there.  That would be cruel.

“It’s your fault for getting flustered easily.”

His expression scrunched in comedic offense.  “Since when have I ever gotten flustered?”

I rested my arm next to his head and moved in close, stopping just a few inches away.  “Do I need to get a mirror?”

Dennis cupped a hand over my mouth, forcing some more distance.  “I stand by my words.”

I laughed into his palm before moving it away and curling up on top of him.  His arms wrapped around me instantly.  His nose prodded my hair.

“Can’t believe the day’s basically over.”

I hummed in agreement.  “Would it be evil if we both called in sick tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it would,” Dennis rubbed my arm.  “They could probably survive a day without me, but you?  You’re part of the backbone.”

I shifted to look at him.  “Hey, don’t put yourself down like that, Dr. Whitaker.”

He smiled wider.  “Stop.  I’m still not used to it.  It sounds special coming from you.”

“Because it is.  You should be proud of how far you’ve come.  I know I am.”

“I am proud.  I’m happy.”  Dennis placed a kiss against my head.  “I just meant-  I meant to compliment you.”

I gave his side a light squeeze, to which he shivered.  Early on in our relationship, I was surprised (and delighted) to find out how ticklish he was around his stomach.  “You can compliment me without insulting your capabilities.”

I could feel the gratitude when he tightened his grasp.  “Alright, yeah.  You’re right.  I’m sorry.  It’s a bad habit I need to cut.”

My lips found his jaw.  “And I’m here to help with that.”

Dennis gently pushed me down, and now I was the shy one under his wandering eyes.  “I love you.”  I cupped his face when he traced my collarbone.

This next kiss was deeper than the previous ones.  The tip of my tongue brushed the seam of his chapped lower lip, earning a noise of approval.  His black shirt bunched up at his waist from where I was holding onto his back.  Every exhale further pushed his warm body against mine.  When we pulled away with a soft ‘pop’, Dennis simply watched me for a moment.

I huffed an amused sound.  “What?”

“I like looking at you, too.”  My face softened when he brushed some of my hair out of the way.

“You know,” My fingers glided over his ribs.  “We still have time.”

His brows raised a little as his cheeks reddened again.  “Yeah?  What did you have in mind?”

“What all hypocritical doctors do: order take-out.  And put on a movie.”

Dennis sighed.  I couldn’t suppress my cheeky smile when he shook his head.  “Yeah.  Let’s do that.”

[heldbybarnes]

Clingy reader trying not be clingy with Bucky because she doesn’t wanna scare him off but that man loves feeling needed (plus he’s touch starved hello?)

oh im so here (i am clingy reader)

-----------

You were trying to be normal about it.

You swore you were trying.

You told yourself, you can’t hang off him all the time, he’ll think you’re obsessed. You’d read enough advice columns, watched enough friends give each other pitying looks after getting “too attached.” You’d learned the hard way that too much affection could make people pull back. So you promised yourself you’d play it cool with Bucky Barnes.

Except “cool” lasted about four minutes.

Because Bucky wasn’t just any guy—he was warmth and quiet laughter, calloused hands that traced lazy circles on your thigh when he thought you were asleep. He smelled like cedar and soap and something that made your chest ache. Every time he leaned close, every time his metal fingers brushed your waist by accident, you felt gravity shift.

So yeah, keeping your distance? Impossible.

Still, you tried.

When he came home from training, sweat-slick and tired, you stayed curled on the couch instead of running up to greet him. When he went to shower, you didn’t follow him with some flimsy excuse about needing to “borrow” his razor. You kept your hands to yourself when he sat beside you, even though your skin buzzed from the effort.

You didn’t notice his frown until it was too late.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice soft, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You okay, doll?”

You blinked. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

He tilted his head, studying you like he could read every thought you didn’t want him to see. “You’ve been… quiet. Not that I mind, just—feels different.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just giving you space.”

That made him pause. Really pause. “Space?”

You shrugged, hoping you sounded casual instead of heartbreakingly needy. “I don’t wanna be all over you all the time. You probably need room to breathe.”

Something in his expression cracked. “Room to breathe,” he repeated, almost like he was testing the words.

You nodded, though it hurt a little to do it.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he laughed softly—just one short breath of disbelief before he reached for you, tugging you effortlessly into his lap.

“Doll,” he said, low and steady against your hair, “you think I don’t like it?”

“I don’t want to smother you,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

He smiled into your hair, his voice a little rough. “Sweetheart, I spent years without anyone even touching me. You could hang on me all day and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Your breath caught. You pulled back enough to look at him, to really see the sincerity in his blue eyes—the way they softened, like he was afraid you’d stop believing him.

“I like when you reach for me,” he said quietly. “Makes me feel wanted. Human.”

Your heart cracked open. “Bucky…”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You think I don’t notice when you stop holding my hand? When you sit just far enough away that I can’t touch you? Feels like someone’s turned off the lights.”

You huffed a tiny laugh, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “I didn’t wanna scare you off.”

He shook his head, cupping your cheek with his metal hand, gentle as anything. “Scare me off? Doll, you’re the only thing that doesn’t scare me.”

That was all it took. Your restraint snapped like a rubber band.

You buried your face against his neck, arms winding tight around him. He let out a low, pleased sound—a sigh that melted into a hum—as his arms wrapped around you just as fiercely. He held you there, broad hand smoothing up and down your spine like he was trying to memorize every curve, every breath.

“Better,” he whispered.

“Better?” you teased softly.

“Mhm.” His lips brushed your temple. “Could stay like this forever.”

You smiled against his skin. “You say that now, but give it an hour—you’ll need to stretch, or—”

“Or what?” he murmured. “You’ll still be here. That’s what matters.”

He shifted you gently, so your legs were thrown over his and your back hit the couch cushion. You thought he might get up, maybe grab water or something, but instead he settled in right beside you—his arm a solid weight around your waist, his fingers tracing lazy shapes over your hip.

“See, this is what I mean,” you said, giggling when he pulled you closer.

“What?”

“You’re too good at this. Makes it hard to be cool.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Don’t be cool then.”

“Easy for you to say.”

He tilted his head, metal fingers brushing your chin up until you met his gaze. “You don’t gotta hold back with me. Not ever.”

The air between you went soft and heavy. Your hand found his chest, right where the steady thump of his heart lived. “You sure?”

He nodded. “You could ask for a hug every ten minutes and I’d still come running.”

You laughed, curling up into him again. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

“Please do,” he said, the smile in his voice making you melt.

You stayed like that, tangled up and warm, the afternoon sun spilling across his metal arm where it rested on your hip. His fingers traced patterns you couldn’t name, but you felt each one like a promise.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t fight the urge to hold on tighter.

He leaned down and murmured, “You know, I think I’m worse than you.”

You glanced up, amused. “Worse?”

He nodded solemnly. “You’re trying not to be clingy, and I’m over here planning how to glue you to me permanently.”

You snorted. “That’s not how relationships work, Buck.”

“Then we’ll make it work our way.” He kissed your cheek. “You hold on as much as you need. I’ll never pull away.”

Your throat tightened as you looked at him—this man who’d learned to crave softness after so many years of going without it. You smiled, pressing a hand to his chest again, just feeling the rhythm of his heart.

“Deal,” you whispered.

“Good.” He grinned. “Now stop pretending you don’t wanna cuddle me and get over here.”

So you did—because how could you not?

And if you fell asleep there, wrapped up in him while his thumb traced slow circles on your skin, neither of you mentioned it. Because being clingy, as it turned out, was exactly what both of you needed.

[rafeyssugar]

CHERRY GLOSS AND CIGARETTES

bf!rafe cameron x bimbo reader

she walked like sin on satin heels. bubblegum gloss, glitter on her lids, and that tiny pink mini barely covering her ass. everything about her said trouble, but rafe? he was the kind of boy who begged for it.

she twirled her gum around her finger like it was a cigarette and rafe cameron swore she was made in a lab. a doll. a daydream. a walking heart attack in heels that clicked when she walked toward him, always toward him.

“hi baby,” she purred, soft and sweet like cotton candy melting on the tongue.

he was leaning against his truck, hands shoved in his pockets, but the second she got close, all that fake nonchalance went out the window. she was wearing his varsity jacket over her outfit. god, she looked like a fantasy — his fantasy.

“you wearin’ that just to kill me?” he asked, voice low, gravelly, eyes drinking her in like she was his favorite kind of poison.

“no,” she said, giggling. “but if i did, would you die happy?”

rafe smirked, stepped forward, cupped her cheeks in those big, rough hands and tilted her head back like she was something precious. “i’d die fuckin’ euphoric, princess.”

she gasped all dramatic, plush lips parted like she was in one of those old romance films. “you’re soooo obsessed with me.”

“can you blame me?” he murmured, eyes flicking down to her lips. “look at you. you’re like... the end of the world.”

she blinked up at him, lashes thick and fake and flirty. “i don’t even know what that means.”

he laughed. soft. stupid. completely enchanted. “means you’d be the last thing i’d wanna see before the apocalypse.”

she tilted her head, letting that process with her glossed-up, bubble-brain pout. then she grinned like sunshine. “aww, baby, that’s soooo sweet.”

rafe kissed her like a man possessed. slow and messy and full of hunger. her gum got caught between their tongues, but she didn’t care. she moaned into it, fingers tangled in his golden hair, hips bumping into his, all heat and perfume and pink-sugar chaos.

he pressed her up against the truck door, his jacket falling off her shoulders, but she didn’t fix it. just kept looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“you smell like strawberries,” he muttered, burying his nose in her neck. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

“duh,” she said, giggling. “that’s, like, the plan.”

he groaned, head thudding against her shoulder. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

she bit her lip. “i do. that’s why i wear the little skirts.”

he looked down at her legs — long, smooth, tan, perfect — and nearly whined. she hooked one over his thigh, pouting up at him.

“you gonna take me to the diner or just keep kissing me till i’m dizzy?”

“both,” he said, without a beat. “diner first. dizzy later. maybe both at once.”

the neon motel sign flickered outside like a dirty promise. room 7 smelled like smoke and lemon cleaner, but rafe couldn’t care less.

not with her sitting on the edge of the bed in her thigh-high socks and panties, reapplying her gloss like they weren’t about to ruin the room.

“you look like a dream,” he muttered, kicking off his boots.

“i am a dream,” she said, smacking her lips. “and you’re so lucky i picked you to have me.”

“i’d thank god if i thought he had anything to do with it,” he murmured, crawling between her legs. “but i know you’re way too good for heaven.”

she giggled, squealed when he grabbed her thighs and dragged her closer.

“careful! i just did my nails.”

“then you better hold onto the headboard, baby,” he growled, yanking her panties down with his teeth, “cause i’m about to make you forget your name.”

she gasped, tossed her head back, eyes all heavy-lidded and pretty while he buried his face between her thighs. one hand in his hair, the other clawing at the sheets, high-pitched moans falling from her lips like a pop song stuck on repeat.

“rafe— ohmygod, rafe—”

he hummed against her, grinning, totally feral. “say it again.”

“rafe,” she whined, “baby, baby, please.”

he pulled back just long enough to look up at her, lips shiny with her gloss and her. “you look so fuckin’ pretty like this. all messy for me.”

she blinked down at him, face flushed, hair a mess, and god, he wanted to take a picture. frame it. tattoo it on his chest.

“come here,” she whispered.

he climbed up over her, hand slipping under her bra, squeezing just to make her gasp. she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she owned him — which she did.

he slid in slow, thick and deep, both of them moaning into each other’s mouths.

“god,” he hissed, “you’re so— tight— fuck—”

“told you i was a dream,” she whispered, biting his lip. “don’t wake up, baby.”

he laughed. “never could.”

they moved together like it was choreography. like a vintage tape left on repeat — her moaning his name, rafe whispering mine, mine, mine in her ear, her pink nails scratching down his back, her lips parted just enough to look obscene.

when she came, it was loud and pretty and perfect. when he did, he swore he saw stars.

after, she laid on his chest, tracing hearts on his skin.

“you’re, like, so obsessed with me,” she mumbled, yawning.

“you don’t even know the half of it,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

and when she fell asleep, lips parted, cheeks pink, hair a mess, rafe just stared at her like she was everything. because to him? she was.

and he'd burn the world down just to keep her soft and spoiled and smiling like that.

taking requests !!

[oh-no-my-worms]

How would Gwen’s character’s handle a clingy reader?

Includes: Larissa weems, Brienne of tarth, Lucifer morningstar

Another low effort post! Bullet point headcannons!

Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, thanks to Lucifer being you know, the devil, but asides from that none that i can think of!

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LARISSA WEEMS:

Larissa is a workaholic through and through, so don’t be surprised when your lover seems a tad.. distracted..

Don’t get her wrong, she’s more than happy to indulge you in your fancies and let you cling to her in the (mostly) private sanctuary of her office, if that is what you need in order to feel close to her, but she will be tapping away on that keyboard of hers.

The back-flood of emails wait for no one, not even you.

Hazards of the job, and all.

Now, Larissa is a lonely woman. Though She’d never admit it. No, that’s something you’d have to pry from her cold dead lips.

Overran with work, too intimidating for Nevermore Staff, too much of an outcast for the ‘Normies’ of Jericho.

Anyone would be forgiven if the word “Isolated” Had came to mind.

That was, until the day you had tumbled into her life.

You were all too quick to make yourself at home, to burrow your way into the principal’s life.

Larissa was glad of the company

With you by her side the days had seemed a little less cold, a little less long.

With you, she had felt a little more seen. A little more noticed.

You were a soothing balm to the soul.

The day may bring it’s share of troubles. But there was nothing more reliving to Larissa than the promise of crawling into soft, warm, sheets with you by her side, at it’s eventual end.

And as far as you were concerned there was no better way to spend the evening.

Snuggled up together in a tangle of limbs?

The crackle of a lit fireplace, a bottle of vintage, (or perhaps a cup of hot chocolate) to celebrate the close of the day? A warm hand absentmindedly trailing patterns across your hip,

Oh what bliss.

BRIENNE OF TARTH:

Stiff as a board

My lord.

This poor woman has never known the bliss of a warm embrace.

A million and one thoughts rush through her mind, every thought spiralling into something worse than the last.

Alarm, disbelief, embarrassment, discomfort, what to do with her hands. Should she be doing something with her hands?

And yet, if given the chance, if given enough time to adjust, the knight would seem to warm to your onslaught of affections.

Once convicted this was not just yet another cruel and elaborate scheme to make her the butt of everyone’s joke, of-course.

Then and only then would Brienne not only tolerate but allow (Dare the thought) herself to enjoy the constant presence and warmth you provide.

Slow and persistent is the best approach, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

Naturally you can’t always cling to her, much to your personal dismay. The knight had her duties after all.

If you did, she would likely grow a tad frustrated, prone to lightly snapping.

Not that she doesn’t want you near- She would just prefer it if you weren’t in direct range of the target during sword practice.

She needs spinning room, damn it.

Stiff and awkward around PDA, but at least she doesn’t shove you away.

How could she? When you had showered her with such sincerity, such warmth? You wielded a radiance able to sweeten even the most bitter days. It was hard to resist.

Yes, You were a rarity, a kindness that had existed in an otherwise unforgiving and self serving world.

Truth be told, wherever you roamed, Brienne was bound to follow. She was duty bound. For you had captured her heart.

For if she had lost you, she knew she were damned. For failing whatever gods above. For failing to protect their sweetest of angels.

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR:

How amusing..

A little pet, eager to tail it’s master

Do you bark too?

Thankfully for you, the Morningstar does not seem to mind your tendency to cling.

It was better this way, the devil is a possessive beast. And much too untrusting of hell and its inhabitants.

Yes.. Much better. Here by their side you were accessible.

Lucifer themselves, had proved, an ever looming presence. If not in physical proximity then in the very weight their existence had carried.

By your side or not, their presence would be felt in every crack and crevice of the realm. A black ooze seeping into even the smallest of cracks.

They were the devil. the most notorious and ancient of beings. They had helped shape “existence” itself. They were not easily dismissed.

The ruler of hell is, however, prone to brood. Lucifer, a prisoner to their realm, their responsibilities, their boredom, had been nothing but a slave to rumination. Their spite and apathy pushing them to do little else.

It was best to simply let them be.

If you were to hover, it would be in your best interest to hover in silence.

Clingy they can tolerate, chatty? Not so much.

Clinging to Lucifer as often as you did, it was only natural you would find yourself pulled to lounge upon your lovers knee from time to time.

And what a pretty little thing you were.. resting so nicely upon their lap, the perfect display.

By their side you had looked so delicate. And they had the most delightful way of making you feel just that. Delicate

Their hand could easily snake your waist, their wings, could easily swallow you whole, their stature had eclipsed your own, without even trying.

Oh and the things they would whisper. Such sweet, filthy things.

Sometimes more sweet than filthy, sometimes more filthy than sweet, but one fact had rang true with every syllable.

The devil, is a charmer.

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💫That’s all for now <3 I hope you enjoyed what i came up with! If you did then be sure to interact and let me know how you felt!! I would love to hear for you!! :) 💫

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