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happypopcornprincess · 6 months ago

Text

Under the Same Sky

Pairings - Joaquin Torres X fem!Reader (TFATWS AU)

Premise - You have your heart guarded for the longest time. But when you encounter a stranger on the same mission, will you be able to do the same?

Word Count - 4.5K

Warnings: Some strong language, references to Pop Culture, allusions to SMUT

a/n - I wrote this while I was falling in love with someone. This one is for everyone who ever fell in love, hope you guys have a happy ending that you truly deserve <3

Click here for Part 2

“I swear to God Barnes, if this is some kind of dipshit prank you are playing on me, I’ll give your number to that sweet server lady from Yori’s Japanese place and record your introverted ass trying to strike a conversation.” You grumbled into your phone as you locked your door and walked down the stairs of yours (and Buck’s) apartment building.

After making you spill your morning coffee over the couch while telling you about him evading the country, breaking Helmunt Zemo out from prison, going to Madripor and Karli threatening Sam’s family, he had the goddamn audacity to ask for your help with the entire situation.

You were, of course, rushing to Louisiana for Sarah and the kids, because afterwards you get to murder him in cold blood.

“If this wasn’t for Sam’s family in danger, I would not have asked for you. And by the way, I am not an introvert. That’s you. Now hurry up, my guy’s waiting.” his annoyingly calm voice spoke through the phone.

“Is your guy about to be a wrinkly old pervert trying to get high by speed walking?” you almost screamed, reaching the ground floor and pulling open the back door towards the alleyway. The chill air makes you shiver a bit, and you find yourself colliding with a person, “oof” you hear a muffled sound coming from him.

“I’m so sorry- I-“ you began to explain yourself, but the other person spoke up first, “y/n?”

Your hand hovered over the concealed weapon on your waist, “uh, yeah?” you murmur, taking a step back in caution wondering how he knew your name.

“Yeah, I found her.” He speaks into his cell and cuts the call.

Dressed in casual clothes, he held a duffle bag in one hand, his eyebrows raised as he was looking at you. He smiled, waved at you, and Bucky spoke into your ear, “found my guy?”

“This is your guy?” you said pointing at him.

Bucky only laughed, “meet us in Louisiana. Take care y/n.” he cuts the call. Bucky’s guy was not a wrinkly old pervert, but this insanely good-looking man with great posture and a warm smile.

And to your horror, he was hot.

His warm, sun-kissed complexion hinted at his Mexican heritage. His hair added an air of rugged charm and you swore you never saw anyone with eyes so dark brown that drew you in instantly.

“You are…” you extend your hand after shoving your phone in the pocket of your overcoat.

“Lt. Torres.” He grimaced, embarrassed, “Joaquin. Joaquin Torres.” He extends his hand.

You shake his hand and oh god why are his hands so warm!

“Marines?” you ask, trying not to think about his hands.

“Air Force, ma’am.” He says, stepping back for you to get out of the doorway.

“Please, just call me y/n.”

You fumbled with your bag as he raised his eyebrows, “let me take that for you.” He offered.

“Oh no, no it's fine.” You laughed out, and he raised his arms in defeat.

He was walking to the end of the alley beside you, cold air escaping his lips.

Pink, soft, how would they feel on your lips and…

You concentrate on walking, trying not to look at him where his neck met his shoulders and goddammit what is wrong with you y/n can you stop daydreaming about this guy?

What you missed while giving yourself a pep talk… was the smirk on Joaquin’s face.

---

The initial car ride was a bit silent, awkward conversation hanging in the air. But then, like magic, the tension dissolved. You stumbled upon a shared love for Power Rangers and the cartoons of our youth. Suddenly, you were deep in conversation, reminiscing about your childhoods, carefree and filled with the magic of childhood. Turns out he isn’t much older than you, just a two year difference.

His laughter was infectious. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners, his teeth flashing in a wide grin – it was a sound that felt warm and comforting, somehow. You found yourself leaning towards him, captivated by the way his lips curved into a smile, the way the light caught the gold flecks in his eyes. The familiar road seemed to stretch on forever.

Finally when we pulled onto the familiar, deserted road leading to Sam's house, two small figures came into view, standing near the porch.

“Auntie!” Cass and AJ sprinted to you as soon as you stepped out of the car.

“Heyyyy!” you laugh and fall back as they hug you with full force, “ugh, I missed you guys so much.”

“We missed you too!” AJ grinned as he refused to let go of you.

“Who's this?” Cass asked you, pointing towards Joaquin.

Among the excitement of meeting them, you almost forgot the poor guy. Joaquin stood next to the car awkwardly looking at you. You smile and introduce him, “guys this is my friend, Joaquin.”

“Hey.” He waved at Cass and AJ.

Cass looks at him with all seriousness, “Do you play Fortnight?”

Joaquin fumbled, “Yeah. A bit.”

“Cool.” They both replied in unison.

“Okay now let auntie breathe for a minute.” Sarah spoke as she walked towards you wearing an apron, clearly cooking for dinner.

You hugged her tight, meeting the family after so long, “Hey Sarah.”

You look towards Joaquin, how he was laughing with the kids. And then you look at Sarah, your soul sister, and how Bucky had asked you to break the news to her delicately, “Sarah, we need to talk.”

---

Sam and Sarah were your go to destination every summer.

You saw Cass and AJ grow up after the blip, and stayed with them when they needed help. You might not have the same blood, but they were your family.

They have stayed away from all the mayhem, until now.

You three sat down on the kitchen table and told her everything that you knew about the situation.

“Dear lord.” Sarah sighed as she held your hand, “You think these people… they will come here?

“There is a possibility, but Sarah, I swear I won’t let anything happen, okay?” You squeeze her hand, “We’re here for you and the kids.”

Joaquin spoke up, “We have made arrangements just in case things go south, I’d suggest you to be ready to move anytime.”

“Okay.” looking at the kids playing in the living room, AJ laughing as Cass plays on the console, “I can’t let them be hurt again Y/N, they’ve been through so much.”

“I know.” You look at Joaquin, he gives you a smile and nods, a silent acknowledgement of the promise you were making to Sarah.

You will keep them safe, and Joaquin will be there for you.

---

Starry night sky, the cool lakeside breeze, and the slanted roof of the Wilson residence.

You took a deep breath as you closed your eyes.

If this was six years ago, from the same spot you could hear Steve and Sam coming up with ideas to locate Bucky, Natasha and Clint in the backyard fighting over something stupid, Sarah and her late husband on the porch setting up the grill, and Wanda making things fly that made Baby AJ giggle.

You opened your eyes, but found only darkness ahead of you. That sliver of hope you had of watching your found family under one roof again was alive for five years… until the minute you saw Natasha didn’t return with Clint, Wanda not even looking in your direction at Tony’s funeral, and Steve going back in time without saying goodbye.

Your throat choked up trying not to cry as you recalled Natasha saving you from the hell called Red Room. She bought you up, taught you everything you know, she was the reason you were alive in the first place. Natasha was your sister in every sense, and she was taken away by fate.

Silently crying, you whisper a prayer off into the night.

“Is this seat taken?” you wiped off your eyes as you heard Joaquin.

He was standing on the attic window, two beers in hand. You shrug as he takes a seat next to you, handing you a beer.

“How did you find me?” you ask him.

“I didn’t actually,” he answers, “I just wanted a place to think for a while.” You notice the tension in his shoulders, he was trying too hard to act cool while something was clearly bothering him.

“Spit it out.” you nudge his shoulder with yours.

His deep brown eyes look at you as you take a sip, and he confesses, “I got a call before I came here. My Abuela.” He takes a deep breath, “She’s cooking up a feast for the local homeless shelter, and I know, I know she’s not well because her voice is raspy and she’s breathing too hard and I begged her to sit this one out, but she’s one stubborn woman, won’t even listen to her only grandson.”

You shock him with a laugh, looking at the dew on your bottle, “Sounds like someone I used to know.”

“Your ex?” he nudges your shoulder playfully.

You laugh, “My sister actually,” recalling flashes of red hair chasing you around the Avengers compound, “yeah, she was a force to be reckoned with.”

“She passed away a year ago.” You admit it out loud, it felt weird to talk about her in the past tense.

You feel his body go rigid beside you, “I’m sorry, I thought…”

“It’s alright.” You look at him, and smile involuntarily, “Natasha was more of a mother to me than a sister, and I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud but… I miss her.”

He acknowledges you silently. But after some time, you hear it in his voice; the moment it hits him, “Natasha… as in… Natasha Romanoff?”

It made you laugh; his jaw wide open in shock, eyes wide. He looked like his eyes would come out of his head. “I don’t go by Y/N Romanoff, for people to react like that.” You point at him and he closes his mouth.

“How… I didn’t know… but you two-”

“- look different?” you bring your knees closer, wrapping your arms around them, “I was adopted.”

“ohhhh.” He drew out the exclamation, taking his sweet time not knowing what else to say.

“She saved me from the Red Room. Took me under the wing, sent me to High School… God knows how that went.” You laughed recalling the absolute menace you were during your teens. “If there was mischief in school, my name was somehow related. And Nat was always there to get me out of it. Except for that one time I blew up the toilets to rebel against the dress code… said I deserved getting suspended.” The fight you had afterwards… Steve and Tony had to interfere or else you both would have torn each other’s heads off.

“My mom once got a call from the local ER when I was twelve.” He spoke up, looking at the stars and a smile spreading on his face, “I drove my bike off of the road and straight into the canal, and hit my head pretty hard. She was mad as hell and Abuela won’t stop fussing about me. I was grounded for the entire semester, but every night we three would sit in the living room to watch whatever was on Cartoon Network.”

There was sadness laced in every word of his, “That was the last summer I had with her. She passed away a few months later.”

You could not say anything.

You knew exactly how he was feeling right this moment, that empty feeling inside your chest left behind after somebody’s gone. You silently hold his hand, acknowledging the hurt he must be going through.

“I must be the last person you want to hear this from, but, know that the hurt you’re feeling right now, y/n,” he gently grasps your hand, “it’s just all the love you have for the person you lost. I don’t want to say it gets easier, but you get better at letting it out over time.”

“Thank you, Joaquin.”

He smiles, taking a sip from his bottle glancing at you. Dark brown pupils looking right into yours.

Damn he’s pretty.

Your heart dropped a beat, a funny feeling in your chest unblurring the next second.

The first thing Natasha and Clint taught you was how to read people. You could tell what was going on in someone’s head just by looking at their subconscious cues. A voice in your head pointing out everything you need to know about them.

It was quite silly to be honest, that voice inside your head that had been quiet for a while now, was screaming at you for not looking at what was right in front of you…

You liked him.

---

“I was not expecting that.” You speak into Sam’s empty room, standing on the doorway with Joaquin.

Cass and AJ had separate rooms, Sarah had hers, and the only empty one was Sam's, which you were to share with Joaquin.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” He says unprompted.

“No, no, Joaquin, we traveled for the entire day. We’re both tired. We can share the bed.” He was too tall to fit on the couch anyways.

He picked his bags and settled in, “You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. No worries.”

Worries, y/n, you’re not doing this out of goodwill. I mean… His arms? Just imagine how they would look wrapped around your-

You let out an internal scream and started unpacking your luggage before you did something scandalous, freshened up in the washroom and returned to the room to see him lying on one side of the bed, his back to you, wearing only sweatpants and a white vest. Your eyes were drawn straight to his biceps, they looked like they belonged to some sculpture in the dim lamplight.

Someone works out.

You immediately slapped a hand on your mouth realizing you said that out loud. Frozen with embarrassment, you waited to see if he heard that.

When you were certain he didn’t, you took your place on the other side, and were immediately knocked out by the exhaustion.

---

Next Day

You woke up to the smell of pancakes and the shouts of AJ and Cass from the backyard. You stretched out, thinking of any tasks you had to do today. You'd helped Sarah pack a go-bag yesterday and set up the alarms around the house. The only task left was to have a look at the Attic. The clutter filled there could be the best hiding spot for anyone.

After sniffing the smell of fresh pancakes for the second time, you couldn't resist any longer. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and padded downstairs.

Sarah and Joaquin were laughing in the kitchen, the sound warm and inviting. He was wearing an Air Force t-shirt over his sweatpants, his hair still damp from his shower, and a lazy smile playing on his lips. Of course he's a morning person, you thought, a pang of envy hitting you.

"Good morning sleepyhead," Sarah called out, her eyes twinkling.

Joaquin looked up, his smile widening as he saw you. You realized, with a jolt, that you were still in your Naruto pajamas, your hair a complete mess. Panic surged through you, but when you saw him smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, you relaxed slightly.

"Morning," you mumbled, taking a seat at the table.

"Joaquin made these," Sarah announced proudly, placing a plate of golden brown pancakes in front of you. "They're incredible."

"They are," you agreed, already taking a bite. "God bless you, Sarah, these are heavenly."

"Oh, that's all Joaquin," Sarah said, pouring you a tall glass of something. "I just made the milkshakes."

"Milkshakes!" you exclaimed, your eyes widening.

"Chocolate and caramel," she said, placing the glass in front of you. "With extra cream."

"Thank you!" You high-fived her, then turned to Joaquin. "And thank you, for the pancakes."

"Anytime," he said, taking a bite of his own pancake. He met your gaze, a slow, appreciative smile gracing his lips. You swore you saw a glint of something in his eyes – amusement? Admiration? Something more? You blinked, suddenly unsure of yourself.

Is my head playing tricks with me? you wondered, your heart pounding a little faster than it should be.

---

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm…”

“Uhh�� What's the whole deal with John Walker?” Joaquin asked while fixing a sensor on the attic window.

All afternoon you had been setting up sensors anywhere there was a blind spot. You don’t want to scare Sarah, but your gut would not be satisfied until the house was a fortress.

“It’s the government’s doing to be honest. I have a feeling it’s gonna implode royally and they’ll be doing anything to cover it up.” You looked up from your tablet, “including taking down Walker.”

“Damn.” He stopped, climbing down the window still, “you speak like you’ve witnessed this before.”

You let out a dry laugh, connecting the sensor to your tablet, “I saw the Avengers being torn apart from the inside.”

“Wait,” he tilts his head, his hair bouncing while doing so, “you were with the Avengers during the Sokovia Accords?”

“Yep.” You sit along the wall under the open window, with the sunlight pooled into the attic and cool air rushing in, and pat the space next to you, “I was eight maybe, when Natasha and Clint saved me from being an assassin for The Red Room.” You took a deep breath, “Grew up with them, I stayed mostly on the sidelines until the Civil War. Then it was three years of being blacklisted by the government and whatnot.” he takes a seat right next to you, your shoulders touching.

“Enough about me,” you look at him, “What about you? Where are you from?”

“Born in Mexico, raised in Arizona.” He looks at you, his eyes in the sunlight shining bright.

Can eyes sparkle? I’ve never seen someone’s eyes sparkle before.

“Damn. Grand Canyons, huh.” you smile as you imagined him in hiking gear.

“Yeah, I’ve been there many times and believe me… it takes my breath away every single time.”

You huff out, “I always wanted to hike on that trail, never got the chance.”

“Maybe you can come with me after all this is over.” He says coyly, nudging your shoulder, “I can show you around, we can go visit other places, Horseshoe Bend, Havasu Falls…”

Y/n… just say it. He can’t be more obvious than this.

You smirk, “Joaquin Torres,” he looks at you, his cheeks turning red, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Maybe… if you want to.” He looks at the ceiling, and to your amusement, you realize he was blushing, “And I promise I won’t scam you for money…” you laugh out loud, “I’m always up for hiking the trail, you know, because I work out.”

You groan in between laughing, “you heard that!”

“Yeah, I heard you checking me out…”

“…I wasn’t checking you out!” you fall back on the wall, “You have nice arms. That’s all.” You try not to smirk, but you see him do so from the corner of your eye.

“That’s all? What about my sensor uploading skills?” he wavered his eyebrows.

“10 by 10. You remain undefeated.”

Silence falls over as you keep stealing glances at each other. It’s only broken when he says, “You’re really pretty by the way.”

You laugh, and nudge his shoulder, “just pretty?”

“…and a Geek, you looked great in those Naruto pajamas…”

You hide your face in your hands but he continues, “Where did you get them? Costco?”

“I went on tour to Japan, so…” you look into those chocolaty brown eyes again, his face in the sunlight makes his features stand out, your attention going to his lips.

“Maybe you could take me with you next time.” He says, holding your hand, caressing the back as he looks at your lips.

“Only if you want to.” You whisper, leaning in, praying you weren’t reading this wrong.

Joaquin took hold of your neck, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. He pulled you closer, your lips meeting in the middle with a soft, exploratory touch. His lips were soft, as you'd imagined, and his hands cradled your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. His tongue darted out, tasting you, a low groan rumbling in his chest that sent shivers down your spine. You wanted him to do more, go further, and you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his.

Before Joaquin could protest, you straddled him, pushing him back against the wall. His eyes widened in surprise, a predatory glint entering them. You crashed your mouth on his, this time with a fierce urgency. The soft exploration of your first kiss quickly escalated into a desperate demand, your bodies pressed together, a primal need igniting within you.

"Fuck... y/n," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. He pulled back slightly, his lips leaving a trail of hot kisses down your neck, his breath fanning against your skin. He found the sweet spot on your pulse, sucking on it with a possessive intensity that made you arch against him. You gasped, clutching at his shirt, your nails digging into the fabric.

He leaned back, his eyes closed, a blissful moan escaping his lips. "God, you taste incredible," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. He kissed you again, this time a slow, deliberate exploration, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth, mapping every curve.

Every inch of your body seemed to ignite by his touch, time melting away. There was only him, his hands roaming over your body, his lips devouring yours, and the intoxicating feeling of desire that consumed you both.

High Pitched and Grating, a sensor alarm rang through the attic.

You retreat in shock, like two deer caught in headlights, and Joaquin grabs the tablet and sees where this was happening.

Blood drained from his face as you witnessed at least four flag smashers moving towards the Wilson residence, guns armed, maybe a mile away.

He gets up, “East side?” grabbing the tablet and locking the windows.

“I’ll get Sarah.” You reply, already on your feet rushing downstairs.

---

"Halt," Lucas whispered, his voice a low growl in the pre-dawn darkness. The team crouched low, their figures mere shadows against the backdrop of the dense forest. Sam Wilson's house loomed ahead, a beacon of normalcy in the encroaching gloom.

"I see only two people inside," Matt reported, his voice a whisper cutting through the silence. "No kids." He checked the thermal scanners, the infrared images flickering on his visor.

Artie, his face pale in the moonlight, grabbed Lucas's shoulder. "Karli didn't say anything about kids."

"She told us to bring them alive," Lucas reminded him, his eyes fixed on the house. "And they need to be unharmed for negotiation."

Nadia shifted uncomfortably, her hand tightening around the grip of her revolver. "I don't like this," she muttered, her voice laced with unease. "I didn't agree to harm any kids."

Lucas turned to her, his gaze sharp. "Nadia!" he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "We're doing this. One way or the other. Stop whining and get to work."

He took a deep breath, the metallic scent intensifying. "One World..." he began, his voice echoing in the stillness.

"One people," his team responded in unison, their voices a low, guttural chant.

With a silent, coordinated movement, they emerged from the shadows, their figures gliding towards the Wilson residence, the air thick with anticipation and a chilling sense of foreboding.

---

"Go, go, go!" you barked, adrenaline surging through you. You snatched Sarah's bag, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of the handgun inside. You grabbed AJ's hand, his small fingers clutching yours tightly, and ushered them towards the waiting car.

Cass and Sarah were already running, their figures mere shadows against the encroaching twilight. You threw the bags in the backseat, your movements a blur, then helped Cass and AJ climb in.

Sarah slid behind the wheel, her face pale. "Y/n, what are you doing?!" she gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"I have to stay here," you said, your voice firm. "Make sure they don't follow you." You shoved your Glock into Sarah's hand.

A roar from inside the house cut through the tension. "Y/n! They're here!" Joaquin's voice, amplified by the sudden silence, echoed through the air.

"Sarah, I promise I'll be fine," you said, your gaze locked with Cass's in the rearview mirror. Tears were streaming down her face, but she nodded, her small frame trembling. "You have to go." You shoved your tablet into her hands, a desperate plea in your eyes. "Remember what I told you earlier. You'll be safe here."

"Sarah, go!" you screamed, your voice hoarse.

You watched as the car lurched forward, disappearing down the dirt road that snaked towards the water. A beep on your watch confirmed her location, a fleeting sense of relief washing over you.

Phase One. Over.

Phase Two. Let's go.

You sprinted through the back door, the house suddenly feeling eerily silent. Joaquin was already there, a grim set to his jaw. He was clad in his SHIELD armor, the sleek black material gleaming in the dim light. Guns and your emergency bag lay scattered across the kitchen table, a grim testament to the impending battle. You stole a glance at the tablet, its screen flickering with life as it ran facial recognition on the figures outside.

"Ready?" you asked, your voice a low growl, as you slipped on the bulletproof vest and began loading the magazines.

"Yeah," Joaquin replied, his eyes scanning the room, assessing the situation.

You looked out the window, the setting sun casting long, eerie shadows across the yard. "Let's hope Sam doesn't sue us for destroying his house," you muttered.

To be continued...

Part 2

A/N - Thank you everyone for sticking with me till the end of this fic! if you liked it please let me know through the asks and the comments. Love y'all, Take Care!

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 month ago

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Ooo hi! Can I please request a Bucky x fem!reader where Y/n was an innocent civilian that Hydra kidnapped to try to turn into a super soldier (like the ones we saw in flashbacks in CA: Civil War, the ones Bucky, as the Winter Soldier, helped train). Bucky and Y/n had fallen in love during her captivity in Hydra (since he doesn’t remember his name is Bucky, she honestly probably just called him “Winter Soldier” the whole time in Hydra), and in that time, they’ve had many times where they’re ✨alone✨in her cell and they both took advantage of that (iykyk). Also her body reacted differently to the serum, like instead of getting super strength and all that, her powers manifested in a soft, harmless way like being connected with nature (being able to grow plants/bring them back to life with magic). So while everyone else is being trained to be deadly super soldier assassins like the Winter Soldier, she simply cannot be as she doesn’t have super strength or anything else like them. Hydra considers her “weak” and “disposable” so they order Bucky (The Winter Soldier) to take her out of her cell, to the back of Hydra’s property and off her, but not only is he in love with her, she’s also pregnant with his daughter (Hydra doesn’t know, but Bucky and Y/n do) so with A LOT of effort, he is able to fight the brainwashing, just for a little, to tell her to run and never look back. She’d hesitate but he’d tell her through gritted teeth that he won’t be able to fight the brainwashing and order to take her life for much longer, so she doesn’t even get to hug or kiss him goodbye 🥺 She runs through the forest near where Hydra’s base was, and the Avengers happen to be on a mission there and see her wandering around, looking extremely terrified and confused (and freezing) and offer to help her🥺 Steve would be the first to approach her as whenever anyone else tried to get close to her she started crying more, cowering away, and begging them not to hurt her or take her back to Hydra because they’ll kill her and her baby🥺 Omg imagine the way Steve finds out Bucky is alive in this is when they do a paternity test on Y/n’s baby and they see a DNA match to Bucky (which would shock everyone because they thought he died in 1945 when he fell off the train). Steve and the Avengers would be a found family to Y/n and her daughter and take care of them, and help Y/n with her baby). Y/n and Bucky are reunited after he comes back from Wakanda (he didn’t want to take a chance that he could hurt Y/n or the baby being brainwashed) and he gets to meet his now 6 month old daughter 🥺

Our Happy Little Family » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Winter Soldier x Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Female Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: After the Winter Soldier tells you to run away from the HYDRA base, you run into the Avengers. They help you and keep you and your baby safe. Then when you and Bucky are reunited, you and him have a happy little family when he meets yours and his daughter.

Warnings: Fluff, language, Super Soldier!reader, pregnant!reader, dad!Bucky/mom!reader, HYDRA, crying, flashbacks, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for this adorable request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

A/N #2: Flashbacks are in Italic texts.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! GIF credits go to the creators.

Days turned into weeks and then turned into months since HYDRA kidnapped you. You were just an innocent civilian when they got their hands on you. They injected you with the Super Soldier serum. They excepted you to be the same as the Winter Soldier and the other Super Soldiers, but you’re not. The serum somehow gave you powers to grow plants and to bring them back to life.

The only thing keeping you sane is the Winter Soldier. You don’t know his name. Due to the brainwashing, he doesn’t remember his own name. He lets you call him Winter. He sneaks into your cell any chance he gets. At first, he was told to guard you so you didn’t try to attempt to escape like he’s your own personal bodyguard. Now, he sneaks into your cell to spend time “alone” with you. Shortly after one of the nights you two spent alone together, you’ve been feeling different. At first, you thought it was side effects from the serum, but it’s not. It didn’t take long to realize that the symptoms you’re experiencing is telling you that you’re pregnant. The Winter Soldier realized it too without the brainwashing.

Today, you were pulled into a room. You assumed they were going to do more experiments on you. You put your hands on your stomach, scared of what those experiments might do to your baby. They did just the opposite. They called the Winter Soldier in the room. They said something to him in Russian that you didn’t understand.

You didn’t know what he said, because he was speaking a different language. The Winter Soldier nodded and grabbed your arm, leading you outside to the back of the base. You shivered when the cold weather hit your skin.

“What are we doing out here, Winter?” You asked.

He didn’t answer you. Instead, he took the gun he has in the holster on his hip and aimed it at you. Your eyes went wide and your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach.

“What-What are you doing?” You asked.

“What I was told to do.” The Winter Soldier says.

That was enough to tell you that he was told to kill you. Your eyes began to tear up. You were scared for yourself and your baby.

“Please don’t do this.” You pleaded. “You love me. What about our baby?” You say, putting your hands on your pregnant belly that’s showing a little bit.

He slowly lowered his gun. That’s when his mind started to fight the programming. That’s when his normal self -Bucky- began to show, but not for long.

“Run and never look back.” Bucky says.

“What?” You asked, making sure you heard him right.

“Run away and never look back.” He repeats. “Now!” He says through gritted teeth.

You listened that time and ran. You wanted to look back at him, but you didn’t. The Winter Soldier watched you run into the woodsy area behind the base. To make it believable, he rose his gun in the air and shot a bullet in the sky before going back inside the building.

You ran as far as you could. You stopped running when you seen the Avengers. You stopped a few feet away from Steve. He stopped what he was doing and looked at you. Steve cautiously approached you. You got spooked and walked backwards. You walked backwards till you bumped into a tree.

“Please don’t hurt me and my baby.” You whimpered.

“We’re not going to hurt you and your baby, ma’am.” Steve assures softly.

“Please don’t make me go back there. They’ll kill me and my baby.” You say with tears streaming down your face.

“They? Who’s they?” He asks.

“HYDRA.” You tell them.

“We’re not going to make you go back to them.” He assures. “If you come with us, we’ll help you and your baby.” He says softly.

You stared at him for a moment. Something about Steve is telling you that you can trust him. You nodded, agreeing to let him help you. Steve wrapped his arms around you and lead you to the quinjet. You sat down in one of the seats and Steve found a blanket to wrap around you. He informed the rest of the Avengers that he found a civilian and he’s on the quinjet.

“So you’re pregnant?” Steve asks, trying to make conversation.

You nodded.

“How far along are you?” He asks.

“I-I don’t know. I think a month.” You say.

“It’s ok if you don’t know. I’ll take you to the doctor and we’ll figure it out together, ok?” He says softly.

“Ok.” You whispered.

Steve took you to the Avengers compound and got you settled in and cleaned up. Like Steve said, he took you to the doctor to make sure you and your baby are ok. Everything is fine with you and your baby. The doctor said you’re almost two months pregnant.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve asks as you and him approached the front entrance of the compound.

“Yes.” You replied.

“What did HYDRA do to you?” He asks.

“They injected me with the Super Soldier serum, but I guess it failed.” You say.

“What do you mean it failed?” He asks.

“It didn’t give me super strength like it did for you. It gave me powers to grow plants and to bring plants back to life.” You explained.

“Can you show me?” He asks.

You nodded. You found a small bush in the sun on the side of the compound that looks like it’s dying and needs water. Steve watched closely as you hovered your hand over it, making it come back to life.

“Woah. That’s interesting.” Steve says.

“I’m glad you think so. HYDRA didn’t think so.” You say.

“Don’t let what they said about you get to you. You’re unique in your own way. Everyone is.” He says.

“You’re right.” You smiled.

———

It felt like your pregnancy went by fast. At least that’s what you think. You gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl named Gracie a few months later. She’s the absolute light of your life. Steve and the Avengers offered to help you take care of her, which you happily accepted.

You walked in Gracie’s nursery to check on her and to see if she was awake so you can feed her, but Steve beat you to that. He was sitting in the rocking chair that’s by the window and feeding her.

“Look at godfather of the year.” You smiled.

“She was crying when I checked on her. So I made her a bottle and she’s fine now.” Steve says.

“Thank you, Steve.” You smiled.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I’m happy to help out.” He says.

You smiled and walked over to him. You gazed down at your baby girl as she was being fed.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve asks.

“Of course.” You replied.

“Do you know who Gracie’s father is?” He asks.

“He never told me his name.” You say.

“You know there’s a way of figuring out who he is, right?” He says.

“I know. I’ve actually been thinking about that.” You say.

“I’ll help you out with it whenever you want to do it.” He says.

“Thank you, Steve. You’re the best.” You say with a smile.

“You’re welcome.” He smiles back.

A few days later, you got a paternity test on Gracie to find out her father’s name. Like Steve said, he helped out. He was there for moral support. So were the rest of the Avengers.

“I have the results of who Gracie’s father is.” You say, walking in the room with a piece of paper that has the results on it.

You unfolded the paper and read through the results.

“It’s says, James Buchanan Barnes is her father.” You say.

You feel better now that you know her father’s name. Steve found and his eyes went eye. How can that be when he witnessed his best friend falling off the train in 1945?

“Are you ok, Steve?” You asked. “You look like who seen a ghost.” You say.

“I know him.” Steve says.

“James Buchanan Barnes?” You asked.

“Yes. He’s my best friend. He died in 1945.” He says.

“How can he be dead when his name is on the results?” You asked.

“I don’t know.” He says.

Steve thought to himself. If those results are basically telling him that Bucky is alive, then he needs to look for him. That’s exactly what he’s going to do.

———

A few month later, Steve was able to track down Bucky. Bucky went to Wakanda to recover from the trauma HYDRA put him through. Steve told Bucky that you’re safe and had the baby. The whole time he was there, all he thought about was you and his daughter. After he got the help he needed, he was able to go home to be with you and his daughter.

“Are you ready to meet your daughter?” Steve asks as him and Bucky walked through the compound to find you.

“I’m more than ready.” Bucky says with a smile.

They found you in the lounge room feeding Gracie. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when he seen you and his daughter.

“Someone wants to meet his daughter.” Steve says softly.

You looked up and seen Bucky. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him.

“Winter?” You say softly.

“Call me Bucky, doll.” Bucky says softly.

Bucky sat down on the couch next to you, getting a better look at yours and his baby girl. His eyes filled with tears when he saw her. Steve smiles and left you and Bucky alone.

“What’s her name?” He asks.

“Gracie. She’s 6 months old.” You tell him.

“She’s beautiful.” He whispers.

“Do you want to finish feeding her?” You asked softly.

“Yes please.” He answers softly.

You carefully put Gracie in Bucky’s arms and he finished feeding her. You smiled at how great Bucky is with her. When it came time to put her in her crib for her nap, Bucky gazed at her with adoration on his face. Bucky heard you walk in the nursery and walked up next to him, but didn’t take his eyes off yours and his sleeping baby.

“She looks just like you.” You say softly.

“She has your beauty.” Bucky says softly.

Bucky turned to face you, putting his hands on your waist. You gazed in his blue eyes as you looked up at him.

“I’m sorry for almost doing what HYDRA told me- him to do that day. I should’ve ran away with you.” Bucky says.

“That’s in the past now. I forgive you, sweetie.” You say softly.

“I wish I could do something to make up for it.” He says.

“You already did. You gave me the most beautiful gift of all.” You say with a smile, referring to yours and his daughter.

Bucky smiles and kisses you sweetly and passionately.

“I promise I’ll do everything I can to take care of you and our baby girl.” He vows softly.

“And I promise I’ll do everything to take care of you.” You vowed.

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed him softly.

“I love our happy little family.” He whispers and smiles, putting his forehead against yours.

“I do too.” You whispered, smiling back.

-Bucky’s Doll

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sashaisready · 10 months ago

Text

Starting Over: Chapter 2 - Broken

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

I'm sorry, part 2 got a little out of hand in length so I've decided to split it up into different chapters! There should only be one more part after this (maybe??!) Hope you enjoy! This is more of Bucky's POV and gives some more insight into what happened. Thanks for all your engagement with this series, as always comments and reblogs are appreciated! Unfortunately I no longer use taglists.

💔

Your phone sat on Bucky’s desk as he stared at it blankly. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, maybe that you’d call it, or it would magically reveal some sort of answers to the many questions he had. But it didn’t. It just laid there, about as useful as a rock. A ‘babe, how are you?! we need to hang out soon!’ notification from Natasha had lit up the screen an hour or so before, but otherwise it just continued to sit silently – an insulting prompt that mocked him with your absence, the clock on the screen taunting him with how late it had become.

He'd had a glance at the checking and credit card accounts he’d set up for you, but they hadn’t been touched. In fact, nothing had been touched. None of your clothes had moved, your toiletries remained in the bathroom. You hadn’t even appeared to have taken any shoes with you. Natasha’s casual check-in text suggested your friends were unaware of what had happened. You’d just…vanished. A ghost in the night.

He felt nauseous, his gut churning. He’d tried to find the CCTV footage of you leaving, but the image was grainy – he could hardly make you out. The cameras had been acting up lately, he needed Steve to get them fixed. He kept thinking about you wandering out into the night by yourself, no money, no plan, how he’d forced you out into the cold. The one person he swore to protect, to keep safe.

His guilt was eating him alive.

But then he thought of the recording. Your voice so clear, laughing with the fed – mocking Bucky, calling him names and sneering at his gullibility. He could hardly believe it all at first. Not you? Not his doll, who had opened him up to love in ways he could have never imagined. Surely it couldn’t have been you, who had uprooted his life for the better, who had hit him like a whirlwind, changing his very being forever in all the best ways?

But he’d checked in with Banner who ran the tech and had confirmed you had been there. Your phone had pinged the cell tower in that exact spot they’d tracked the meeting point to. They’d even found a CCTV clip of you getting in a strange car that day, despite telling Bucky you were having Wanda over for a girl’s night. The audio was delivered by his own men, verified by their informant. The evidence was overwhelming.

‘It was so easy’ you had giggled cruelly on the clip, the words burned into his memory, ‘I just fluttered my eyelashes a few times and he was asking me to move in after a few weeks. I barely lifted a finger yet he swallowed everything I gave him and asked for more. Now I know how his whole operation works…but I need more time on the Stark deal. Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything after a few more ‘I love yous’ and dirty fucks. I promise...’

Of course he’d seen red. How could he not? He’d always been hot-tempered (passionate, his mother used to say), and the recording had destroyed his entire world in a matter of seconds. Aside from the betrayal, the pain, he felt humiliated. He’d finally been vulnerable with someone, shared intimacy in ways he’d never experienced with another person – only to find out it was all a lie. A trick. A joke. It affirmed his biggest fear – that he had been correct to build those walls, to protect himself from anyone who would use his feelings against him. Love could be exploited as a weakness, and he’d turned up to the fight unarmed.

In his mind, he’d not thrown you out – not sweet, beautiful you. Not you who held him close in your sleep and nuzzled into his chest, not you who traced his scars with her fingers and encouraged him to take off his prosthetic when you were intimate if he wished to. Not you, who stayed up late on his birthday just to present him with a homemade cake when he came home after an exhausting meeting – insisting he blew out the candles. Did she ever even exist? He’d always joked you were too good to be true. Now he’d accidentally manifested that into reality.

No. He’d thrown out her. The woman who had been gathering intel on him since the moment the two of you had met. The woman who exchanged kisses for information. The woman who had laughed about all of this as she gleefully ratted on him, delighting in her prowess over the foolish, lovesick mob boss she’d so easily toppled. The woman who’d callously worn the mask of someone who loved him. She was thrown out of his house, out of his embrace.

Unfortunately, the two versions of you were one and the same.

But at least he knew better, now. He’d go back to casual sex and pretty girls hanging off his arm. Easy. Fun. Uncomplicated. The walls would go back up and they wouldn’t come down again. Deep down he’d always known that men like him weren’t meant to be loved, that they weren’t worthy of genuine affection. Not all voids could be filled. People like you, or at least who he thought you were, were not for him. They deserved better. You’d always deserved better. He’d had a brief taste of happiness, but that was all he deserved. The universe would continue to punish him for his many bad deeds.

The only thing left to do was finally go to bed, but a solemn knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. He could tell it was Steve.

“Steve?” he called, checking his watch. It was late, he’d assumed his second in command had already gone home.

Steve entered looking sullen. He was tensely holding his phone, and someone appeared to be on FaceTime with him. He cautiously extended it to his long-time friend.

“I’m sorry, Buck”, he said gravely.

“Steve..what?” Bucky asked as he gingerly took the phone from him. Sam looked back at him from the small screen, his solemn expression mirroring Steve’s.

“Bucky…I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly in that same tone, filling Bucky with a sinking dread.

Something was very wrong here.

“What is it?” He fired angrily at Sam, “just spit it out…”

Sam flipped the camera around to face what looked like a heap of old rags on the ground. He appeared to be in a parking garage, surrounded by nothing but concrete and darkness. It was hard to make anything out.

“What am I looking at here?” Bucky squinted at the camera as he tried to focus the image. Steve silently observed over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you just told us,” came the sound of Sam’s furious voice off-camera.

Bucky watched with confusion at the screen as Sam's boot suddenly kicked out at the heap, and the heap moved.

And then he clicked.

The ‘heap’ was a man.

The man groaned and cried out as Bucky realised the ‘rags’ were ripped, bloody clothes. He rolled over in obvious pain as Sam manoeuvred the camera to get a better look. As the man turned over, Bucky recognised his face.

It was one of his own.

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked with confusion.

Behind him, Steve moved closer and leaned forward to watch the screen. “Just watch, Buck” he said sombrely.

Rumlow looked up at the phone, blearily staring into the lens as he squinted at the phone light. His face was bruised and bloodied. Someone had given him a good going over.

“It was me. Alright? I did it,” Rumlow groaned.

“Did what?” Bucky sneered, still not entirely clear on where this was going – but already feeling his anger mounting.

Rumlow sighed heavily and Sam gave him another swift kick to the ribs to encourage him to continue.

He moaned out in pain and closed his eyes. “Aaargh. Alright…I did it! I did it okay! I made the recording!” he spat.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as comprehension of the situation unfolding began to take hold. His fist tightened around the phone screen. “Which recording…Rumlow?” He asked, his voice sinisterly calm.

Rumlow paused and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Bucky recognised the look of fear building in the man’s eyes, he’d seen it many times before. Rumlow was stalling to delay the inevitable.

“Tell me!!” Bucky roared at the phone, holding it so tightly in his fist that the screen might crack.

He watched Rumlow wince as he turned away from the screen, dropping his head in defeat.

“Of your girl…talking to the police…it wasn’t her-uh-it wasn’t even real. I used AI. From…from recordings of her voice from old security footage…I’m sorry…I just-”

But Bucky was eerily composed. Rumlow took his silence as the cue to continue.

“I hacked into the security system and planted the clip of her getting in the car. And I stole her phone for a few hours when she was at the house with a friend, planting it at the meeting point then driving back with it. She didn’t even notice it was gone…I’m sorry I…”

Bucky cleared his throat. He tapped a single contemplative finger over his lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Sam?” he asked, his voice void of emotion.

Sam flipped the camera back to face himself. He looked grimly into the lens. “I’m sorry Buck…we had no idea…I caught him on the phone with the feds about the shipment – he thought I’d already left and-”

“Keep him warm,” Bucky interrupted, his voice cold like ice, “I have more urgent matters to attend to first, but I will deal with him”.

Sam merely nodded. Just as he cut the call, Bucky heard Rumlow wail and beg in the background. He’d be doing a lot more of that soon.

In a sudden fog of anger, Bucky pelted his phone hard against the wall. He roared with rage, lobbing his scotch glass at the window – shattering both. He flipped his desk, the chair, the bookcase – leaving a tsunami of destruction in his wake. Steve merely watched on, patiently. He knew Bucky needed to vent whichever way he could.

Eventually Bucky slowed, panting with exertion as he took a second to try and slick back his hair, now unkempt and messy from his outburst. He pulled back his shoulders as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’ll find her, Buck”, Steve told him unwaveringly. “She can’t have gone far on foot. Then you can explain everything and apologise”.

Bucky shook his head as he ran his hands through his hair. Toeing the pile of debris that now cluttered his office floor he sighed heavily. “She told me she didn’t do it, Steve. And I didn’t believe her…”

“The recording was very convincing,” Steve clamped a sympathetic hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “it sounded just like her – and had all of us fooled. Not to mention the phone location evidence…the CCTV of her leaving…before I came up here, Sam told me that this AI is brand new tech, far more advanced and convincing than what the masses have access to…”

Bucky bleakly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. She’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to trust her. Believe her. When I heard her voice on that recording I just…”, he trailed off sadly, “…it tapped into my worst fears…”

Steve nodded sagely. “Let’s just find her first, and you can talk to her. And then we can deal with Rumlow”.

Bucky grimaced, “I knew he was a risk to take on…with our shared history in HYDRA’s organisation…but I never thought…”

“Let’s just find her for now,” Steve repeated, always calm in a crisis. He pulled out his phone, making calls to various members of their group, sending out texts and kicking off various communication chains. In mere minutes, they’d have entire squads of their men scouring the area with a fine-tooth comb.

Bucky stood amongst the wreckage – the room’s physical ruins a glaring reminder that this wasn’t the only mess he’d made tonight. He pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket, opening his photo album as the pings and buzzes from Steve’s device filled the room. He flicked through the pictures of you: your face cheesily grinning at the camera, your lips sweetly planted on his cheek, a candid shot of you cooking in the kitchen – caught off-guard, your mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. You’d asked him to delete it as you thought you looked dumb, but he insisted he keep as he like the way your eyes sparkled in it. It was one of his favourites. Looking at the pictures helped him calm down, his breath evening as he remembered what was important here. He ran a finger over the image of your face, “I’m sorry, doll” he whispered, “I promise I’ll do anything I can to fix this…”

A couple of miles away, you slept deeply in the tear-stained hotel sheets – completely unaware of the organised efforts to track you down. You didn’t dream, you didn’t stir, you just slept - grateful to give yourself over to oblivion.

💔

There had only been a few places you could have gone on foot.

Bucky’s men had worked quickly despite the late hour. The local police force, already firmly in Bucky’s pocket, loaned him a few law enforcement bodies to assist with the search, no questions asked – as was standard. Sheriff Bodecker always played ball. They collected the CCTV from local businesses, doorbell cam footage from local residents (who weren’t particularly happy to be woken to do so, but didn’t have much choice), swept the area on foot and in vehicles. It was faintly possible you had hitchhiked and thumbed a ride into the city, but Bucky knew this wasn’t likely, so they put that option on the backburner – although it hadn’t been entirely ruled out.

The gas station staff hadn’t seen you, but their CCTV did catch a blurred figure passing in the road opposite the camera. A faint outline of your route started to emerge as the puzzle pieces came together. Eventually, Bucky was sent the security footage of you checking into the Holiday Inn. His heart pulled as he watched you looking lost at the reception desk – your eyes round like saucers as you produced crumpled dollar bills, head turning left to right as you surveyed your drab surroundings. He could only imagine how lost you must’ve felt, how hurt and betrayed. Exiled by the man you loved, you trusted, and having to hunker down in a shitty roadside hotel. Part of him was impressed by your ability to pick yourself up and keep going even in the toughest circumstances – it was one of the many reasons he loved you. But mainly, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d pushed you to this, that he’d failed you in so many ways.

Bucky inhaled deeply as he closed the hotel clip on his phone, nodding to his driver and stepping into the dark SUV.

I’m on my way, doll.

#mob!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #starting over fic

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 26 days ago

Note

hey do you have know any time travelling sterek aus? but where their younger selves meet their future selves and they're like baffled they ended up dating each other sjdkfs

For sure.

Not Quite a Séance by ash_mcj

(2/2 I 5,468 I General)

“We’re in the future,” Laura realized. “Like… literally, the future.”

“There’s still no flying cars,” Stiles told her solemnly. “We do have pretty cool cell phones, though.”

“What do you mean we should be dead?” Talia asked.

“Would you like a dictionary?” Peter offered. “I’m sure we have one around here somewhere.”

"Let me try to explain,” Stiles said. “Peter and I found a book in Deaton’s clinic about Shadow Fae magic and there was a spell to be able to talk to the dead by using their objects. Peter thought those both belonged to Talia, but I guess one belonged to Laura. It was supposed to work similarly to my nightmare magic, where we would go into a dream dimension...not bring you guys from the past into the future.”

“But alas, here you are,” Peter grumbled in annoyance.

[or: Stiles accidentally brings Talia and Laura Hale into the future, where they are surprised to meet the unconventional pack Derek has built himself]

A Tale as Old as Time by Leslie_Knope

(1/1 I 5,931 I Teen)

Derek wakes up 12 years later in a world where, for some reason, Stiles is naked.

Well, at least the sheets are comfortable.

Time After Time by bleep0bleep

(3/3 I 6,092 I Teen)

"It's okay," the guy says, "I'm Derek Hale. I'm from the future."

Which Witch is which? by PotatoJam64

(1/1 I 8,310 I Explicit)

“I was stuck in the future,” Derek sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands, “but you were there with me. Before I came back, you told me that I need to stop holding back, that I should let myself be happy.” Stiles shuffled so he was sitting next to him, “You make me happy, Stiles.”

While trying to deal with a witch, Derek gets swapped with himself nine years in the future. With 2011 Derek in the future and 2020 Derek in the past, whatever will happen?

Through Another's Eyes by Kilani

(11/? I 22,317 I Not Rated)

Stiles wakes up in a world that isn’t his—in a body that shouldn’t be his. Familiar faces surround him, yet everything feels wrong. Worst of all? He’s engaged to Derek Hale—a man he’s sure doesn’t like him, let alone want to marry him. With memories that aren’t his own and a past that doesn’t add up, Stiles must unravel the truth before he loses himself completely.

Time To Say Goodbye by matildajones

(1/1 I 34,323 I Teen)

Derek finds an older version of himself at his front door, along with Stiles, a boy from the future.

Second Time Around by mountain_ash

(8/8 I 40,467 I Mature)

Stiles finally learns why Derek has always been so important, discovers he's magical, and accidentally brings a young Derek forward in time.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #time travel #anon

191 notes · View notes

momo-kageyama · 3 days ago

Text

When the Silence Breaks

—————————————————————————

Anime: KPop Demon Hunters

—————————————————————————

Garam ( Mystery Saja ) x R.femele.

—————————————————————————

Mystery Saja is a human girl called Y/N, who is her complete opposite: hyperactive, dramatic, expressive - and who loves to sing and dance out of nowhere. The scene is full of contrast, comic tension, silent enchantment and a supernatural touch

Seeing Garam's eyes for the first time is a sweeping experience, almost supernatural, so beautiful, so impactful, that it leaves you groundless

You two realize that you love each other... at the same time. Nothing said before. Only accumulated tension, touches that didn't happen, repressed feelings - and then... boom, the two explode at the same time.

They are still opposites - you: alive, dramatic, noisy. He: quiet, observant, sensitive in silence.

But together... they are something unique.

—————————————————————————

—Abandoned subway station — Seoul underground, 2 am

The metallic echo of the failing lights mixes with the distant sound of a ghost train. Mystery Saja is there, alone, standing, in the middle of the deactivated platform. The shadows cover much of your face. His long hair falls like an opaque curtain, hiding the look that observes the space as if he already knew what will happen.

He is investigating a possible soul extraction point - a quick mission, no surprises. Until...

Y/N literally explodes from the darkness, spinning like a musical dancer.

- "I WANNA DANCE, THE MUSIC'S GOT ME GOING—!" - she sings in loud English, performing with her arms, spinning and almost stumbling on her own foot.

Mystery Saja retreats half a step. Without saying a word.

- "AH!" - Y/N stops abruptly, wide eyes. - "Young man?! Are you... hidden in the pitch or just training for the comeback?"

Silence. The hair still covers Mystery Saja's face. He doesn't answer.

She tilts her head dramatically.

- "Or are you a stalker?" - she asks, but smiles as if it were just another character she plays on the stage of life.

- "You look like an idol in disguise... But like... the dark concept. Like, very dark. Like, 'my heart is a wet cave where love was buried with coarse salt'.”

Mystery Saja gives a slight sigh - or maybe he just moved his left shoulder. It's hard to say. But he won't leave.

Y/N turns again. - "WHAT is it that you have in your hair? Is it a nest? Can I see your face? No, seriously... you're beautiful—”

Mystery raises his hand, in a calm and slow gesture, asking for silence. But it's almost kind.

Y/N for.

Blinking.

As if I were in shock.

For two seconds.

- "Do you speak with your hands???"

- "Are you like... magic mute? Because if it is, TEACH ME! I always wanted to be mysterious, like... 'she never talks, but everyone fears her'!"

She then dives into another theatrical performance. She makes a ninja gesture and begins to move as if she were in a dramatic boy group choreography.

- "Look, I learned that here watching Taemin's fancam."

And dance. In his face.

Mystery Saja doesn't move. But under the bangs, his eyes follow the movements. For a second, she swears she saw the corner of her mouth rise... almost a smile.

- "A-HA! I SAW THIS! You smiled! CONFESS!"

Total silence.

She approaches.

- "It's okey... I'll leave you alone."

Start walking, slowly.

Then sing softly:

- "But if you want to follow me, just clap once..."

PAH.

The dry sound of a lonely palm echoes.

She freezes.

Turn around, slowly.

Mystery Saja is in the same place.

But... his left hand, suspended in the air, reveals that he applauded.

- "... You're kidding me."

She smiles.

- "YOU HAVE PERSONALITY! I KNEW!"

Y/N runs to him.

- "Look, I don't know if you're a mysterious spirit, a misunderstood dancer, or a K-pop demon fallen into my world - but I officially declare that you will be my new project! 'Revealing the cute side of the mysterious emo'. It's going to pump."

She raises her cell phone.

Mystery Saja simply... turns her back.

But it won't go away.

And she understands.

He doesn't want to be seen. But you also don't want her to leave.

Then she sits on the floor, crossing her legs.

It begins to imitate his silent gestures.

Mirroring the arms, the shoulders, the head tilted.

After a few minutes, he turns around again.

Just watch her.

And slowly, very slowly, puts his index finger on his chest - a universal gesture that says:

"You're... different."

She smiles. Dramatically, of course.

- "You too."

———————

The subway lights fail again.

A ghost train crosses from behind, cutting the darkness with its greenish glow.

When the light returns, Y/N is alone.

But on the wall, painted with black fog and demonic magic, a mark appears:

A symbol of theater - half sad, half smiling.

She laughs.

- "There, emo silent... I liked you."

—————————————————————————

—Several meetings over the weeks, in secret places in Seoul

- The alley lit only by neon

You appeared dancing out of nowhere, with a pocket radio playing a Korean trot remix. I was trying to do a choreography that "mixed musical diva with capoeira fighter".

- "Do you see this kick? It's to send the negativity away!"

You're cute. The foot escapes.

You almost fell.

He catches you.

Without saying anything.

Just safe.

You expect a scolding. Or a chuck.

But Garam only holds it for a second longer than necessary.

And then, with a light touch on your hair, he fixes your messy bangs.

You blink, surprise.

He walks away.

But something stayed there.

————————

- The forgotten sanctuary at the top of the hill

You arrived late, disheveled and singing loudly:

- " LET LIFE TAKE ME - LIFE TAKES ME!"

Garam was already there, meditating.

He just sighs... but doesn't leave.

You dance around him. Make voices. Imitations of doramas.

- "Master Garam, why does the heart suffer so much?"

He raises an eyebrow.

And with a theatrical gesture, you collapse on your own arms pretending to cry.

He doesn't laugh.

But that day, when you finally shut up for 10 seconds...

He drew a small symbol on the stone, with demonic energy.

It was a little animal.

With weird hair and open arms.

A caricature of you.

You saw it.

- "Is it serious that you made a chibi of mine???"

He just turned his face.

But you saw the tip of his ear fly fly.

——————————

— Summer rain, deserted street

You showed up with a transparent raincoat, sunglasses and a flashlight.

- "IT'S THE PARADE OF THE STARS IN THE FORM OF PEOPLE! BAM!"

He jumped in the puddle of water.

The water splashed even on him.

Garam stopped.

He looked at the wet body.

Then, for you.

You froze.

- "E-ita. Sorry, it was... it was number 14 of my water soil!"

Silence.

So...

He passed by you.

Wet, calm.

And for the first time, he said something with a hoarse and low voice:

- "You don't match silence... but I like to hear what you don't say."

You crashed.

- "Wait, wait, do you speak?? YOU SAID IT!"

You stumble in emotion and fall on the wet floor.

Garam extends his hand.

And when you hold...

He holds on tight.

Firmer than before.

—————————————————————————

She's chaos. I'm silent.

She shows off to the world. I run away from him.

She dances without fear. I was made to stay still.

But when she smiles... I move unintentionally.

He starts watching you from afar when you're not together.

Find videos of you dancing on the street, making bizarre reels, imitating idols.

Laughing alone.

Being alive.

And without realizing...

He starts to smile.

—————————————————————————

- Secret stage

You drag him to an abandoned stage in the basement of a cultural center.

- "This time, it's your turn. Come dance with me."

He hesitates.

You're getting closer.

- "You don't have to be perfect. Just feel."

And you dance.

Slow, this time.

Dramatic.

He observes.

Take a step.

Then another one.

And finally, dance with you - not like a trained idol, but like Garam: silent, elegant, intense.

And in the end...

With the bodies stood, almost glued...

He leans his forehead against yours.

The eyes still covered by the hair.

And whisper, so low that only you hear:

- "You move me."

—————————————————————————

The night was quiet. An absolute silence hovered over the roof of the abandoned temple, where you and Garam had met, once again.

He was as always: still, his dark hair covering half of his face, his dense bangs protecting his eyes like a sacred veil. He was pure enigma. Untouchable. A marble painting.

You danced.

As always.

Not to impress him.

But because his body didn't know how to stay still.

Because the world was too intense not to be lived with movement.

And then... you stopped.

He felt.

Something changed in the air.

You turned around, slowly.

He was there.

This time... closer.

And with a slow and thoughtful hand, he moved his hair away from his face.

He revealed his eyes.

From that ethereal tone, impossible to name.

They radiated a dark light, sparkling like an eclipse.

It wasn't a color. It was a sensation.

Time has stalled.

You forgot what it was like to breathe.

The body frosted.

The heart melted.

The legs failed.

And then you whispered - low, honest, shocked with yourself:

- "... damn it."

- "I came."

An even greater silence fell.

Your face burned.

- "I MEAN... METAPHORICALLY! MY BRAIN CAME! MY... MY HEART!"

You threw yourself on the floor.

He shermed.

He hid under his own blouse.

- "OH MY GOD, DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD?"

Garam didn't say it.

But when you dared to look again...

He was smiling.

Not openly.

Not largely.

But the corner of his mouth was there.

Raised.

Subtle.

Accomplice.

And for a moment - just one - he tilted his face and murmured:

- "You always say exactly what you feel."

- "This is rare."

You shrank more.

- "AND YOU ALWAYS SHOW UP WITH THIS DEMON BEAUTY FROM VERSACE!"

He just smiled a little more.

Then, he knelt next to him.

Without saying anything, he stretched out his hand.

You faced it.

Then he laughed.

He put his hand on his.

- "If you show me those eyes again, I'll scream."

- "Like 'scream in five octaves'."

He replied, whispering:

- "Then scream."

—————————————————————————

—An old rehearsal room, covered with broken mirrors

The wooden floor creaks. The air smells of memory.

You're there.

Alone.

Or at least, you think you are.

You turn in the center of the room.

Make poses. Steps without music.

Dance with your breath.

When it stops, he realizes:

He's there.

Leaning against one of the columns, between cracked mirrors.

Watching you.

As always.

But today... he's not still.

He walks up to you.

Without looking away.

The eyes are visible.

Again.

- "Garam..." - you start, with a low voice, not knowing if you're going to speak or cry or sing a romantic song from the 90s just to break the mood.

He stops one step away.

Take a deep breath.

You too.

For a second, the whole time exists between you.

Everything that was felt and not said.

The hands that almost touched.

The looks turned away.

The unspoken "thank you".

The dances you pretended were just a joke.

He raises his hand.

You too.

Fingers almost touch each other.

And then, at the same time, in a weak, nervous, sincere whisper:

- "I love you."

You say it together.

Silence.

A shock.

His eyes widen.

His lips open in a nervous laugh.

- "DID YOU ALSO SAY? I SWEAR IT WASN'T PLANNED, IT WAS JUST—”

He pulls you.

With delicacy, but urgency.

And for the first time, Garam really hugs you.

With the whole body.

With all the feelings.

You feel his chest rise and fall.

Feel his silence saying everything.

And with your head on his shoulder, you say, softly:

- "My heart also dances, okay?"

He smiles against your hair.

And answer:

- "Now he dances with me."

—————————————————————————

—A hidden terrace at the top of an old building, night of clear sky

The city lights are flashing downstairs, but up here everything is quiet.

You and Garam are sitting side by side, without touching each other.

The wind messes up your hair.

His bangs fall over his eyes - as always.

You stayed there for a long time just... existing.

You talked about everything and nothing.

He made faces, imitated an idol getting sick on stage, danced twice without any music.

He laughed. Really.

A light laugh. A rare sound.

And then... silence arrived.

But it wasn't uncomfortable.

It was full.

You look at him.

He's already looking at you.

His bangs move with the wind.

For the first time, you see his eyes completely, without shadow, without filter.

The color - still impossible to describe - shines with something new.

Desire. Affection. Passion. Fear.

You whisper:

- "If you kiss me now, I'll explode."

- "Seriously. Become emotional confetti."

Garam doesn't answer.

He just leans.

Slow.

Mesmerizing.

His hand touches your face as if you were made of glass.

The touch is almost a whisper.

But his heat burns.

You hold your breath.

Time stops.

His lips touch yours as if they were testing the limits between dream and reality.

And then...

He kisses you.

Not in a hurry.

Not with despair.

But with depth. For sure.

Like someone who finally understood what the silence was screaming.

Your fingers close in his clothes.

His hands hold your face as if they wanted to keep you there forever.

When the kiss ends, you still have your eyes closed.

The heart hammering.

You laugh.

Shorty.

Panting.

- "It's. Confirm there: did this happen or was it a fanfic that my freaked out mind wrote in real time?"

He leans his forehead against yours.

And with a deep, low, hoarse voice:

- "If it's fanfic... I want the next chapter."

—————————————————————————

"Picnic on the roof"

You show up with a colorful towel, a bright pink lunch box and giant sunglasses.

- "Today we're going to eat in heaven!"

Garam only raises an eyebrow.

- "I know you don't need to eat, but it will be romantic. So pretend."

You sit on the roof of the Saja Boys headquarters. You serve heart-shaped onigiris, which clearly came out crooked.

- "I tried."

He takes one.

Eat. In silence.

Then, slowly, draw a heart on the top of your hand with your finger.

You die inside.

But smile. Silly.

And says:

- "You're cuter than me, and that annoys me."

—————————

TikTok banned (but he showed up!)

You are recording a video dancing "Feel Special" in the bathroom of Saja HQ.

- "Go, Garam, just a little step!"

He crosses his arms. Neutral.

You pout absurdly.

Pretend to cry.

Throw yourself on the floor.

He sighs...

And then, he enters the board discreetly, just taking that little side step.

The video goes viral.

The fanbase explodes.

"WHO IS THE GUY WITH THE HAIR IN THE EYE WHO DANCES LIKE A HANDSOME GHOST?"

You answer in the comments:

"MY BOYFRIEND. KISSES. HE'S REAL."

Garam just looks at the screen with a neutral expression.

But at night, he shows up in your room.

And whispers:

- "I liked dancing with you."

———————————

"Kisses hidden between the shows"

Between one rehearsal and another, when everyone is focused on the big screens...

He passes behind you, silent.

Just put your finger on your hand.

You turn around.

He pulls you into a dark corner.

And kisses you in a hurry, as if the world were going to end - but only for him.

Then he leaves as if nothing had happened.

You go back to the zonza stage.

- "DID SOMEONE WRITE DOWN THE KISS SIGN??"

—————————

"Rain and laughter"

One night, you are caught in a storm.

You dance.

He... leaves it.

You pull him by the hand.

- "If getting wet together is like... soul pact, you know?"

He just looks at you, wet, hair stuck to his face.

- "Do you want my soul?"

You answer:

- "I already got it. When I saw your eyes for the first time, remember?"

He holds your waist.

Kiss you right there.

In the rain.

In the middle of the street.

You scream with joy.

He holds your hand.

Strong.

Hot.

—————————

Short extras :

• You imitate him perfectly in front of the Saja Boys (with your hair covering your face and everything). He doesn't react. But then, he leaves a note: "I liked it. Your version of me smiles more. Maybe I'll learn from her."

• You steal his sweatshirt. He doesn't complain. Only show up the next day... wearing your cropped with bread print. You faint laughing.

• When you're sad, he doesn't say anything. Just lie down next to you and hold your hand. You cry. He's still there. Until the world comes back.

—————————————————————————

Garam's secret room - dark walls, starry ceiling with magical projections, amber incense in the air

You enter his space for the first time.

He never let anyone in there.

But today... he opens the door.

His hands touch your waist, guiding you inside.

Calm, as always.

But there's something different in the air.

In his eyes.

You feel it.

His body is too hot.

The short breath.

He closes the door.

You turn around, with a joke ready on your lips:

- "Is it my impression or is it getting hot here-"

He shuts you up with a kiss.

But not like the others.

This... doesn't ask for permission.

He takes it.

With the mouth, with the hands, with the body.

You retreat until your back hits the wall.

He holds you by the hip.

With his mouth on his neck, he bites.

You moan - surprise.

- "Garam...?" - you try to ask.

But what comes out of his throat is not a word.

It's a low growl.

Pure desire.

The mask fell off.

The silent, delicate man... is burning inside.

You laugh, nervous.

- "I-I thought you were shy-"

He tears his doubt with his hot tongue on the curve of his shoulder.

Your clothes fall.

Slowly.

Then in a hurry.

He lays you on the bed - huge, dark, fragrant with him.

His eyes shine with an intensity impossible to face.

You try to deviate...

But he holds his chin firmly and says, for the first time with a deep and raw voice:

- "Look at me."

And you look.

And see there everything he never said:

The desire, the love, the hunger, the devotion, the control that he kept for so long...

Exploding now.

He touches you as if he were decorating your body with his hands.

The fingers walk with demonic precision.

The mouth devours, then caresses, then bites again.

You moan loudly.

He smiles - satisfied.

Like a predator who waited for the right time.

You pull it, try to invert...

But he holds your wrists.

Firmly.

With possession.

- "Today, you are mine."

And you feel it.

His every movement, every attack, is firm, deep, burning.

He studies you, feels you, marks you.

There is no more silence.

The bed creaks.

The air smells of body and sweat and desire.

Their names come out as prayers.

Hours later, when you're lying on top of him, trembling body, heart racing...

You whisper:

- "You... you're a savage..."

He just runs his fingers through your hair and answers, panting, with a hoarse smile:

- "You set me free."

——————————

His body still trembles on top of him.

Sweat runs in slow lines down your skin.

The hair stuck to your face.

You are completely surrendered, surrendered.

But Garam...

He doesn't look away.

He's lying on his back, hugging you as if you were the most precious secret he kept for too long.

You whisper, with a tired smile:

- "Did you have this monster inside you all the time?"

- "And you just let go now?"

He puts his lips on your shoulder.

- "I didn't know it was a monster... until you opened the cage."

You feel your skin shiver.

He turns you slowly, putting you underneath again - in no hurry, but with intention.

His eyes burn.

But now it's different.

It's slower. Deeper.

He's hungry again. But now, emotionally.

His mouth runs through his body as if he were apologizing for everything he didn't say before.

His fingers trace the contour of your face, your chest, your belly...

He kisses every curve.

And when you moan softly, almost unconscious, he smiles.

The most real smile you've ever seen in him.

- "I like to hear your voice... when you're not pretending anything."

You answer:

- "And I like it when you talk. Even if it's just to drive me crazy."

He smiles more.

And then, slowly, it climbs over you again.

The hands hold your thighs.

The eyes glued to yours.

You ask, almost in defiance:

- "Again?"

He answers, with the deepest voice he's ever heard from him:

- "How many times can you stand it?"

————————

Hours later...

The dawn turned early in the morning.

You're wrapped up in his black sheets.

The soft body.

The soul flying.

Garam is sitting next to you, touching your fingers one by one.

Watching you.

You joke:

- "Are you going to curse me now? Like, arrest my soul with that demonic touch?"

He leans over.

Kiss your forehead.

Then the lips.

Then the center of the chest.

- "No. I'll just keep you here."

You hold his hand and touch your heart.

- "Too late."

—————————

Small post-first time moments:

• He watches you sleep. For the first time, he sleeps next to you without fear. And even in his nightmares... when he feels his hand holding his, he returns to the present.

Bath together. He takes you to the dark and warm bathroom, with steam and essences. Wash your hair patiently. You sing all the time. Just touch your forehead to your wet back and say:

- "Being with you is like listening to an infinite song."

• Kisses that break routine. In the middle of the day, in the middle of a corridor, out of nowhere - he pulls you, kisses you hard, without explanation.

You just say:

- "Garam, you're making me unaccustomed."

He answers:

- "It's the least. After what you showed me."

—————————————————————————

His dark room, the night, just the two of you

Garam is close to you, the air loaded with tension.

He looks at you with those hypnotic eyes, full of fire and desire.

His body is tense, like a predator waiting.

You feel his warmth, the unique, almost wild perfume.

He advances, whispering in your ear with a hoarse voice:

- "I can't... you drive me crazy."

You smile, hold his face firmly and say:

- "Garam, be quiet."

He blinks, confused for a second, then raises an eyebrow.

- "Quiet? Do you think it's easy, when I want you like this?"

You caress his hair, making him take a deep breath.

He tries to control his voice, but can only growle low, almost a moan.

You joke, biting your lip:

- "You look like a dog in heat, did you know? If it continues like this, I'll have to hold you on a collar."

He gives a mischievous smile.

- "If it's up to you, I'll accept the collar."

You laugh and press an intense kiss, almost telling him to shut up.

He surrenders, but his eyes say:

- "But I'll come back, and with more desire."

—————————————————————————

Inspiring name in the post of:

@filijester

89 notes · View notes

magpiepills · 7 months ago

Text

Doin’ Time

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Corrections Officer Joel Miller x f inmate reader

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: you’re a client of the criminal justice system and you have a run in with CO Miller

Warnings: SMUT! PWP, Dub Con, hand cuffs, unethical pairing, PIV, rough oral, masturbation, dirty talk, night stick, kinda mean Joel, stuff like that. It’s prison sex. Don’t read this if anything about it may be triggering to you. Barely edited, not beta’d.

A word from the author: ACAB. Cops are class traitors and policing is inherently racist. Still gonna write prison smut though.

“Inmate 4-2-0-6-9! Against the wall!” He bellowed across the yard where you sat with a few of the girls from your block. You rolled your eyes with a groan and slowly stood, dragging your feet across the yard to where he stood, arms crossed and face hard. Last thing you needed was to get maced.

C.O. Miller was the most senior guard, which wasn’t saying much considering the revolving door of the run-down prison where you were remanded for the next 32 months. Nevertheless, he was basically in charge of the way things worked in your block. He had a big, jangling key ring on his thick, black belt and you could hear him before you saw him coming. This was a blessing and a curse. It gave you time to hide your cell phone, but after four months in cell block D, the sound of his keys also created something of a Pavlovian response.

“Tits on the wall and hands behind your back,” he barked at you. “And feet apart. Come on sweetheart. I know you know how to spread those legs.”

He was behind you now, big palm pressing you roughly against the brick wall that surrounded the yard. You didn’t speak. You let your hips do the talking, tilting forward to arch your back while he patted you down, running his night stick up the inside of one leg and down the other, with a stop in between to prod at the apex of your thighs. He stood close behind you, sliding his hands greedily around your waist.

“Got anything in here I need to know about?” He breathed into your ear as he slid his hands up under your beige top. He palmed your tits from behind and rolled his hips against your ass so you could feel his straining erection.

He pinched your nipples and dragged his nose against the side of your neck before stepping back.

“No bra. That’s a dress code violation.”

You couldn’t stop the smirk on your face when he pulled your hands behind you, snapping on handcuffs and letting you stroke his cock over his uniform pants.

He pulled you away from the wall and directed you back into the building, away from the prying eyes of the other girls who got to enjoy the rest of their time in the sunshine.

Miller nodded at a few other guards as you passed, and you winked at your friends in their cells and exaggerated your strut as they whistled and whooped when they saw who was walking you to ad-seg. It earned you a rough shake. “Knock it off.” He ordered. He’s no fun.

By the time you got to the heavy, windowless door leading to the familiar, bare cell known as “the hole” your pussy was slick and throbbing in anticipation.

He unlocked the door, took off the cuffs, and shoved you inside, leaving you alone in the stuffy six by nine room. You could hear the lock being turned, and footsteps receding. You waited and listened, still soaking your standard issue pants with your wet pussy.

You got tired of waiting. He hadn’t told you how long you were going to be in here, so you laid on the thin mattress on the floor and slipped your hand under your waistband. It was really the only reasonable way to pass the time when you were sent to the hole.

You stroked over your lips, feeling the mess you made, dipping your middle finger to collect more. You circled your clit, in no hurry because you had nothing but time. You thought of Crissy, your cellmate with the great tits. You thought of your last boyfriend, who could make you come like magic but who had probably narc’d on you. You thought of C.O. Miller. You thought of that night stick of his. You even thought of Tim.

Before you could get yourself off, the lock disengaged and the door creaked open once more. CO Miller stood in the doorway, taking up the whole of it with his imposing body and his serious face.

“You’re just in time,” you cooed teasingly.

“Shut up. Hands behind your back. Turn around,” his voice is low and gruff, and if he wasn’t hard as a rock you might think he was actually mad. He cuffed you again and shoved you against the cold concrete wall of your cell. He kissed your neck, the tenderness a stark contrast to the rough way he was treating you. He crowds you against the wall, covering your body with his. “You know I could write you a shot for rubbin’ one out in here. Got the whole room smellin’ like pussy.” His voice is husky and low. He’s teasing, you think. Masturbating isn’t really an infraction is it? You don’t have time to ask. His hand is shoved down the back of your baggy pants and into your soaked, prison-issue cotton underwear.

You wished you had some of your own panties to wear for him. You wish he could see you like you are when you’re not in this place. His eyes might bug out if he saw your sundresses and your lacy panties. Your strappy sandals, your makeup, your manicures. He doesn’t see it though. He sees a criminal. He sees someone he can take from. And you see someone who can make your stay a little more comfortable if you play it right.

You tilt your hips, rubbing your pussy against his thick fingers, and for a moment he lets you, humming into your hair. “Desperate little pussy. What’s the matter? None of the other girls eat pussy? You need it so bad you’ll let me at it?” You whine at the question, the vulgarity. The other girls do eat pussy. Some are really good at it, too. But as awful as Miller is, you just want him. He’s big and rugged and he’d be exactly your type outside of prison. You like your men a little older- greying, laugh lines, softer bellies, but still strong. He’s so handsome. His eyes are so dark, his lips are so soft looking, he’s got a nose with the most beautiful gentle curve. He has the sort of looks that belong in movies, not going to waste in a women’s prison.

He presses firmly against your wet lips with his whole hand, covering his palm and fingers in your wetness before shoving two fingers in without warning. It makes you gasp, makes you buck against him, seeking more. He flexes his wrist, fucking you on his fingers. It’s not enough, you can’t come like this, but the feeling of being stretched is incredible. “More,” you whine, “more please.”

“Yeah? You need more? Two big fingers ain’t enough?” You shake your head shyly, unable to look at his face, still unsure of the dynamic. You hear the rustle of his belt, of leather against fabric, your mouth waters and your cunt clenches. You know he’s big. The way he walks, the way he talks, the look in his eyes, they tell you he’s hung even if you hadn’t felt for yourself.

Your pants are pulled down to your ankles, along with your underwear. You can feel your slick smear down your thighs. You don’t dare speak, you just arch your back, ready to take him, ravenous for his cock. his warm hand pressed into your back, your chest against the wall again, and you stifle a whimper but what you feel prodding against your weeping entrance isn’t the fat, hot cock head you had hoped for. It was cold and hard and heavy, you recognized it immediately.

CO Miller slid the tip of it over your wet pussy lips, twisting it to coat the surface in shiny wetness, smirking when you tried to grind down onto it. Without warning or sentiment, Joel nudged his night stick inside you. It seemed made for the purpose, rounded at the end, phallic. You wondered how many women he’d fucked with it. It gave you a fucked up thrill. You rolled your hips, taking it deeper. “Yeah. Look at you. Fucking a night stick. Been without dick too long, huh?”

You nodded pathetically and looked at him from the corner of your eye, his eyes were dark and his hand was inside his unfastened pants, stroking himself slowly. He matched the tempo of his fist to the thrust of his night stick inside you. You moaned for him, you saw him snarl as he watched with narrowed eyes as his weapon slid in and out, coved in your slick. He moved it slowly, watching the way your delicate skin stretched around it.

And then it was gone. Pulled free and discarded, clattering on the floor. In an instant his cock was out and hanging between you, thick, throbbing, precum leaking from the blunt head. It was better than you imagined, and you’d imagined it a lot. He spun you around and shoved you down to your knees. You nearly lost your balance, unable to steady yourself with your hands behind your back. He caught your shoulder and steadied you, petting your hair and letting his hands roam over your cheeks and down your neck, thumb brushing over your lips.

“Open up. Wide. Come on.”

You relaxed your jaw as best you could and stuck out your tongue to lick at the tip of his cock. His precum was salty and warm on your tongue. He let you taste him, licking around his thick head messily, teasing for as long as he would let you. It wasn’t long. He held your head and guided himself inside, slow and steady until he got to the back of your throat, and then just a bit further before backing out. You focused on breathing, in and out through your nose when it wasn’t pressed into the rough hair above his cock. Above you he moaned. A deep, warbling sound of pleasure that made you gush.

You turned your eyes up to try to meet his, but they were shut tight. His head lolled back and forth as he fucked your face. His movements became shorter and rougher, your mouth watered, ready to swallow his load, to prove your value to him, to earn his favor. And if you got off on it too, well, all the better.

There was no chance. Instead of coming down your throat, he pulled out suddenly, smearing drool onto your cheek. “Lay down. There, on the mattress.”

You moved awkwardly with your hands behind your back and your ankles basically manacled in your pants. You walked on your knees and laid on your back, legs together in a futile attempt at modesty. Of course it didn’t matter, he was already there, pushing them apart, spreading them wide and taking a gluttonously long look at your wet sex. You throbbed so hard you thought he could surely see.

“Jesus Christ. Look at that. You always get this wet from sucking dick? You’re dripping all over the place.”

He pulled one bare foot and then the other from your pants, and pumped his cock in his thick fist while he taunted you, spitting into his hand for one last stroke before lining himself up with your begging hole.

“Just yours,” you lied, fawning over him until he chased the air out of you with the heft of his cock. Even when he stretched you beforehand, he was tremendous. He didn’t wait for you to adjust, or to compliment him any more. He bore into you with his weight and strength, driving you into the floor. The world went fuzzy and dim, his deep voice keeping you afloat.

“Little prison pussy can’t handle some dick? Huh? Get a little cock in ya and you can’t think straight any more?”

Miller held your face in one hand, squeezing your cheeks together until your lips parted. He kissed your chin, biting it without conviction, and spat onto your tongue before kissing you, all messy, his tongue tasting yours. You pant and moan for him, trying hard to lift your hips for more even as he pounded into you.

When you wrapped your legs around his waist he sat up, as if suddenly aware that what he’s doing is wrong.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned, and repositioned you.

Miller turned you half onto your side and pushed back into you. He held your still handcuffed wrists in one hand and squeezed the soft fat of your ass in the other while using your body,

“Fuck me, that’s a tight little pussy,” he gritted out, straddling your right thigh while the other was pushed up. He used you like a toy. He pushed and pulled you as he pleased. Your orgasm built slowly without any direct touch on your clit, throbbing and firm, all but forgotten by the man who filled your cunt completely.

Joel loved watching the shiny wet slide of his cock in and out of your pussy. Your body gripped and pulled him, soaked him and squeezed him just right. His eyes flitted from where he drove into you to your tits, bouncing with each thrust and then back.

Your release was like a ripple spreading outward from your center. It pulsed and took control of your body. Your eyes lost focus, your back arched, and you clenched hard on CO Miller’s cock.

His orgasm hit him hard and fast, like a lightning bolt through his body. The rhythmic beat of your impossibly tight pussy pulled it from him. There was barely time for him to pull out and rut his hot, wet cock against your ass, spilling his cum over your body.

He was finished with you. He wiped his cum from you body with a handkerchief. He was gentle, but sure not to leave a trace behind. He tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket and took a long last look at your slick, used sex before standing you up to right your pants.

You watched him as he went through these motions, devoid of sentiment or warmth.

“Well, Miller? Do I get off for good behavior?”

It earned you a crooked half smile that flashed across this scruffy face before disappearing again.

“You get a shower.”

It wasn’t your usual shower time but you didn’t protest. You didn’t ask if you’d still get your shower tomorrow. Just walked obediently in front of him, still floaty from your release. He took you back down an empty corridor, past disused units, what used to be a library, to a shower room that was normally off limits, used by the guards as a sort of hangout, a break room separate from the main break room.

There, waiting with knees spread wide, and an eager smile, was CO Morales.

“Morales is gonna help ya with that shower. Don’t give him any trouble, or I’ll hear about it.”

Your mouth dropped as the younger man came to stand in front of you, taking your arm and pulling you closer to him.

“Broke her in for you,” CO Miller patted your ass as he addressed the new officer. The clear implication sent a fresh trickle of wetness from your slit.

“And next time,” he warned, “put on your bra. Won’t be so nice next time.”

375 notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 1 year ago

Text

⟢Alastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you can’t return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania

˚₊ · »-♡→ Week 1 and Week 2

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 3 and Week 4 smut💦 (keep reading)

Alastor lets you leave the hotel! Together! For soup. Later, your plans to make Alastor lose his obsession backfire. But like, in a hot way so you’re not that mad about it. A+ for effort?

˚₊ · »-♡→Week 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smut💦

「warnings/promises: smut, I once again misuse a fucking prayer in a sacrilegious way, soup, spoon feeding, Angel texts, so much cum, bondage, tentacles, just good ole fashion fucking in the radio station, not quite dubcon but Alastor doesn’t really listen, hell has twitter and lets be real it’s just normal twitter, giant Alastor, Horse Luci」

Minors DNI ♥️ 🧹lovingly

You finally managed to leave the hotel. It was of course with Alastor at your side, microphone pressing into the small of your back like a third arm. It was as if he worried you’d just turn around and run.

He opened every door, pulled out your chair, and when your left hand shook and dropped your food he took on the task of feeding you. It was embarrassing, to say the very least. The sinners in the restaurant staring, a brave few filming or typing furiously on their phones.

You got a buzz on your own cell, a gift from Angel when he realized Alastor wouldn’t let you speak with others alone.

He texted a link to a post on some hell site, to a photo of you right then, at that exact moment, being spoon fed by the radio demon. You considered smashing your head into the table until you blacked out. If you got up and left would you make it back to the hotel before someone realized you weren’t a sinner? You were absolutely terrified of someone noticing you as heaven sent.

Heaven kicked? Heaven thrown. Yeah that one felt right.

“You need to eat. You can’t heal like this.” Alastor sounded concerned, but you fought the urge to care.

He hadn’t apologized to Husk, but Husk did say Alastor seemed to avoid eye contact which was basically a gift to him. Alastor had come to your room to dress you the next day as he always did, neither of you mentioning the day before. The hall was magically pristine by the time you left.

A tiny sliver of you thought he felt embarrassed. But decades of experience told you that Mania didn’t afford embarrassment, the stricken couldn’t be truly manic if something like that was holding them back.

Maybe it had been such a shallow cut he hadn’t gotten the full punch of Mania?

Another attempt to feed yourself, slowly bringing your spoon to your mouth, “You know when I heal I am going to finish my task and leave, right?”

An odd laugh, a non-existent tear wiped away, “Adorable. No. I promise you, that won’t happen.”

“Alastor.” You put the spoon down with a clink.

“I love when you say my name. May I offer you more reasons to hold it in your mouth?”

“Al-,” you groaned, “I can’t stay forever.”

He hummed, a show of pretending to think about what you said, “Wrong! You can. And I argue, you will.”

You tried again with the spoon, regretting soup. Your appetite had been shot for awhile and it seemed easy enough. Wrong. Again. There was a constant tremble to your hands since arriving. Perhaps experiencing pain for the first time was rattling your body so much that it couldn’t cope. “Why would I ever do that? This is literal hell.”

Alastor leaned over, taking the spoon from you with ease and bringing it to your mouth, “Because I’ll make you understand it’s where you belong. They didn’t appreciate you,” his grin widened, “Not like I do. Like I can, if you’d let me.”

Annoyed and flustered, you took the help to eat. “Thank you.” A spoonful, “How can you say that though? I’m the one and only Cupid.”

“Actually, no. You’re not. You are just the current incarnation. They’ll replace you.”

You regretted telling him that. They could. Just replace you, that is. There was nothing stopping them. You stared into your soup, lips curling down.

“Don’t look so defeated. I’ll make you happy, for eternity.”

Your eyes rolled. “When do you plan on starting that eternal happiness?”

You didn’t look at him when you said it, but you could see his hand slow, then become completely still. Had you wounded him?

He pivoted, “Doesn’t Cupid have wings?”

Another spoonful, “Of course.”

Alastor waited while you took a drink, determined to make you eat the entire bowl, “Where are they?”

A pause. Where were they? You hadn’t realized you couldn’t feel them. They weren’t everpresent, but their weight still sat between your shoulder blades at all times. Always. Normally. But now?

“You don’t know? That’s troubling.” Alastor read your face with ease.

You shot him a look. Stop doing that. Stop replying to unspoken thoughts.

“Apologies.”

Another text before you could snap at him.

You slid the phone away from Alastor, face red. “Do you think, honestly, if you’re capable of it, that I’ll ever be able to go home?”

His hand came to your neck, running over your collarbone, “For the record, I’ve never once lied to you.” You rolled your eyes, fine, okay, “With your heavenly body, even as weakened as you have been here, I’d say just a few more weeks.”

You turned the phone face down.

“Good…that’s good. If you plan on winning me over, your countdown has started.” You pushed the soup away, appetite gone. The idea of never returning to heaven made you nauseous. He slid it back to you, face stern despite the smile he wore.

The walk home was quiet, your stomach full of unwanted soup.

No, not home. The hotel.

He usually spoke a lot, clearly loving the sound of his own voice. His hand replaced the staff, settled on your back as he guided you. You could feel the warmth through your clothes. How could he be so hot and not be sweating? Another sinner thing?

The thought hadn’t left you by the time you came into view of the hotel gates. Maybe you had been replaced. How would you know? Maybe that was why your wings were gone. Surely there was some way to communicate from hell.

You found Lucifer as soon as you returned, unbothered by Alastor’s presence, “I need to speak to heaven.”

Alastor was saying something but you had gotten quite good at tuning him out. Lucifer snapped back, the men quickly devolving into arguing again.

“Lucifer.” You said it with your chest.

His apple topped cane whirled, a golden circle appearing with a crystal clear image of heaven’s glowing gates through its center.

A loud noise erupted behind you, a high pitched static wail, familiar tentacles flailed and a long shadow of a growing Alastor stretched across the wall. His back was bent into the lobby ceiling, perhaps three stories tall now.

The sounds of magic popping as Lucifer shapeshifted accented the sounds of horror with that of whimsy. You approached the portal, those black tendrils slithering around your ankles but you easily slipped out of them as their owner's energy was pulled to full demon Lucifer slamming into him.

Almost, you could see it.

A monstrously large hand came down, shaking the hotel and knocking various objects off their perches in the lobby. Charlie and Vaggie, someone else you’d come to enjoy the company of, flew down the stairs.

The common area was filled with the sounds of yelling and breaking glass. You crawled over his hand as Alastor’s fingers curled around your body gingerly. He tried to pull you from the gateway but while he slowed, Lucifer now a flying horse kicking him in the face, your outstretched hand strained to enter the portal.

Your fingers grazed the doorway, the air around the lobby fizzing and warping as a desperate screech tore from Alastor’s wide and impossibly thin chest. The grip tightened around you. A static whine threatened to pop your eardrums.

As your fingertips pressed past the ring, they stopped. Something impenetrable and unseen between you and heaven.

Alastor must have noticed it too, his grip loosening as you clamored on hand and knees to the portal. Your palm ran over the doorway, searching for a hole or seam to rip. Just under your skin was your home, bright and clean and painless. A tiny ‘no’ fell from your lips, smacking at the barrier with your open hand.

Alastor returned to his normal, still terrifying, height. Lucifer came forward, their fight losing motivation, his small hand on your shoulder as you sat on the hotel lobby floor. He closed the portal and apologized, “Sorry kid. Let’s try again when you finish that task, okay?”

Alastor’s arms went under your back and knees and lifted you off the ground. You didn’t resist or argue. Your eyes were unfocused, vision blurry with tears, as you were carried past the others. Vaggie looked ashamed, which was odd given she had more character than half the archangels could muster together between them.

There existed permissions for who could enter the heavenly realm, a list meticulously kept. They’d removed you from that roster. They’d locked the doors behind you.

You felt good. The final week of your first, and hopefully last, month in hell was marked with taking off your sling for the first time.

A good three day wallow in a metaphorical cave helped you emerge with renewed vigor. Of course they locked the gates behind you, otherwise you’d just go home. That made sense. That made sense.

That had to make sense.

Deciding to take a risk and attempt to expedite your homecoming, you and Angel made plans. Like a teenager in a party movie you snuck out of the hotel when Alastor was asleep. Well, so you assumed. You weren’t really sure what he did behind closed doors.

Angel brought you somewhere he felt people would be receptive to discussing love and talking to angelic beings, and admittedly also very high.

Sling off but still being as gentle as you could, you leaned across the small standing-only table to talk-shout with a rather cute aquatic demon. An eel? Or maybe some kind of water-fond lizard? It didn’t matter, his glasses were cute, both of you a little drunk, and you quite good at saying the right things.

And all of the right things were said, and you felt maybe if nothing else you’d enjoy your first demonic lay, when the power shut off.

Everyone filed out, bummed and bothered to find most of the neighborhood shrouded in darkness.

Angel tapped your shoulder and pointed up the hill to the hotel, radio station a glow with a red light, “Ya know, I wouldn’t be surprised.” Nothing to do but to stare, you stayed quiet and angry while he flagged down a taxi knowing the trip would be fast without traffic lights, “Guess Daddy Dead Eyes is calling you back.”

Anger grew and grew in your chest as you were charioted home.

Jesus, to the hotel. Stop doing that.

You burst into the radio station tower, Alastor barely reacting. Until, that is, you marched up to his desk.

Pinned before you could react, his body pressing into yours as your ass ran up onto the desk.

“Sneaking out like a child?” His voice was low, soft, unnatural. “Why do you intentionally torment me?”

“I have done,” you tried to move but only succeeded in rubbing your stomach against his crotch, “no such thing. You’re just possessed.”

He responded by pressing forward, no accident, as his eyes narrowed on you, “Correct. I am a man possessed.” When he rolled himself into you, an alcohol primed groan escaped your mouth.

“I thought you didn’t care about those things,” your eyes flashed to his lap pushing into you and then back to his glare.

“You’re my exception that proves the rule. If you’re so desperate for attention there’s no need to leave the hotel to find it.” His smile was poisoned by the simmering anger in his eyes, “Dear.”

It was the alcohol and annoyance at losing a chance with glasses-man, Jake or Jark or something not worth a scrabble move, that made you sneer a reply, “Not yours. I am a divine creature, demon. Your body would just filthy me.” Nose up, feeling absolutely better than him in every sense, you pushed him off and left.

That was easy. Wow.

Proud of yourself, you made it to the elevator before you realized— illusions. Perhaps his illusion was the idea sex with you was worth the effort, more so than others. He said it himself before, he didn’t care for such things. Perhaps if you could show him it was as boring and unattractive as sex with anyone else could be, maybe you could shatter his mania with disappointment.

You pulled a u-turn and heel-toed right back into his station. Giving him no time to react this time, you climbed onto his chair and straddled him, “On second thought, try your worst. Let’s get it out of your system and move on.” You ground your hips down. He only smiled up at you, amused. Taking his hands you set them on your waist, giving him permission to handle you, “Claim me. Make everyone know I’m yours.” He didn’t move. You were starting to feel embarrassed, had he goaded you just to make you look stupid? He would. But your kind invented the tension before sex between enemies, “If you can.”

That did it. His hair visibly stood on end, “It is not a matter of ability. It’s about-”

“If you can’t, that’s fine. No need to start lying to me now. But don’t say I never gave you the opportunity.” You smirked, hoping he enjoyed a taste of his own sardonic medicine, and lifted yourself off of him.

His hands came to life on your hips, helping you rise and then flipping you onto your stomach. Your arms pushed radio transmitters and various old timey fuckery away to make room for yourself.

Those talons slipped up the center of your bottoms and crooked into your underwear. Long and strong, his fingers felt you. “Is this a perk of a heavenly body or is this,” two fingers dipped into your already wet and relaxed entrance, “all for me?”

You fought the urge to respond with anything other than malice, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

In heaven no one needs preparation, no one needs lube or required stretching to keep things whole and fun. You would love to say that quality followed you down, but unfortunately, like perfect health and angelic wings, it had not.

You decided to chalk it up to the alcohol. Always an easy excuse to offer yourself.

Alastor’s hands pulled away and up, finding the place just above the Rosie’s Emporium clothing tag and ripping the bottoms and underwear clean in half.

You bit into your hand to keep your excited shriek to yourself but unfortunately couldn’t stop your legs kicking up. His laugh echoed off the many windows.

Why couldn’t he be worse at this? Why couldn’t Alastor be clumsy and meek and awkward at sex? No, the menace you’d gotten almost used to was confident and commanding, you felt yourself twitching in anticipation. People have a misconception that Cupid was a chaste and wholly emotional creature, which was false. First of all, Cupids varied based on the incarnation. Just like other heavenly creatures their personality was varied and unpredictable.

Personally, you weren’t suited for the job. If you were honest. Why couldn’t your quiver just be full of Eros and Agape? Even of those two, sexual love was more your speed. Romance was fine and lovely but perhaps you’d gotten a little jaded.

Luckily for you, fucking Cupid was something many winners had on their afterlife bucket lists and you rarely found yourself with an empty bed.

Your attention was stolen back, Alastor’s clawed hand grabbing at the flesh of your thighs, “Oops.”

Focus. Why were you doing this again? Your system was metabolizing the alcohol now, and with the air cooling off your exposed sex, everything was awash with lust. Did you want to diminish his mania or were you just horny?

Would it really be so bad to admit you were both?

Deep breath, you remembered. Boring. Banal. The plan was to be motionless and not provide him any satisfying sounds. Don’t touch him, don’t try to push back on him, no tricks or fancy shit. The sooner he was over this you could make someone trust in love and fuck off home.

Seconds turned to a minute, your ass in the air as Alastor’s hands pawed at your skin. You wanted to ask what the hold up was, but you didn’t want to give away how much you were needing him to just fuck you already.

“Do you miss flying?”

You looked around, were you so drunk you missed an entire chunk of conversation while thinking about how to hide thirsting for his dick?

“Yes…?” True statement.

“Allow me to help with that.”

There was a moment you half expected to be chucked out the window, but almost worse than that, you heard him seat himself in the chair again before your body was picked up and off the desk. “Alastor! I don’t-,” Hands flailing, feet moving around the best they could, you struggled against the familiar tentacles he had command over. “I do not allow it!”

Your hands batted at them fruitlessly. One came under your knees and folded them to either side of your chest before wrapping around your waist twice, a second across your chest like a seatbelt snug and secure. Had you been on the floor you could almost be mistaken for taking a deeply devout praying stance. Only your arms were free to move, the position making you open and incapable of taking back any semblance of control.

“Alastor!” Stretching, you could almost reach the edge of his work table, but your fingers and toes curled in as you were seated on something hot and stiff. Your lips quivered, desperate to keep silent as you were pulled down onto him. Reaching back your hands found his stomach, raking your nails across the skin in need of anything to grip.

When you heard him chuckle to himself, you knew you were already losing. Plan backfiring entirely. You pulled your hands back to your center, taking ahold of the tentacle nestled between and across your chest.

“Heavenly Father,” his voice was quiet but sure, your eyes so wide you worried you’d get stuck making a permanent face of utter shock and despair, “bless us and these thy gifts which we receive from thy bountiful goodness, through your name, our lord.” You were lifted off his lap, Alastor’s swollen tip dragging along your unstretched walls as he said the Lord's prayer, “Amen.” Pulled back down before the second syllable even reached your ears, you cut into your bottom lip as a scream bounced around behind your teeth.

Heathen.

“I would think you of all people knew how to finish a prayer.” Alastor chided, “What will heaven say?”

If heaven knew you were being impaled midair on an overlord’s cock, they’d create a second hell for you to rule. Population of none. Except maybe some horny nuns.

As he found a pace he seemed happy with, slow and long draws out of you, you realized how fucked you were. Looking down, you could see one of his hands was settled at the base of his cock, those long fingers draped down his balls. The other hand was unseen and unfelt.

“Alastor.” You tried to sound stern.

“Oh I doubt heaven knows my name. Not yet at least.” He sounded unbothered, almost unaffected. “Not until I’ve spirited away their little angel of love.”

You were almost insulted at how easily he could speak despite being buried so far into your wet, hot cunt. Maybe you had been spoiled in heaven, people usually so turned on by the idea of you that they were coming undone as soon as you were wrapped around them or in them in whatever way you decided.

A broken chant of “be bored, be bored,” in your mind as Alastor hummed, that mystery clawed hand falling at your back. Biting your lip, you tried to think about anything other than how full he was making you. Did the glasses man at the club have a cock as thick as Alastor’s? Would you have been as satisfied as you were now? Every down thrust made the tuft of fur at this base press against your ass. Soft. You wanted to grind against it, the idea pulling a wanton moan out.

Fuck. Failing to distract yourself because you got distracted. It was so hard to think about anything else than your body being pushed open again and again. The blood on your lips was sweet, licking them clean before finding a new spot to bite down on. Quiet.

“Ah, are you giving me the silent treatment?”

Could this son of a bitch read minds? Could sinners read minds?!

If you didn’t reply, that was confirmation. But if you did reply, you were breaking your goal of not talking.

“Just…,” you took a deep sigh, knowing this was going to be rough, “I’m not really feeling like making any noise.” A shrug, the best you could manage at least while bound and held aloft in the space above his lap. Pretending this was normal and boring was a feat. “I’m not a vocal person during sex. I prefer to just lie there and get serviced. Don’t mind me.”

That sounded awful. Perfect.

“Oh? Well then, I guess I’ll not worry myself.” You could hear the smile in his voice. Less perfect. He began to hum a little tune as your body, partially upright, was now being tilted forward at a 45 degree angle from his lap. His cock was bending in you, head pressing harshly up into your walls.

Heart beating so fast you felt a dizzy spell hit you, that renewed anticipation almost as arousing as the sensations.

His humming continued like he was reading the paper. You’d never ridden a roller coaster, but you’d seen many people do it before and this was surely the same feeling; right at the peak before the drop. When the ride operator stills you and lets you stare down at the height before you. Your stomach was flipping, excitement tinged with fear.

You were pulled off his dick until you felt the bell of his red tip get just outside your entrance. Was he going to pull out entirely?

No. He pulled you down by way of shadows and fucked you just a couple inches into your cunt. His head was dragging out past your tight hole and smashing back in, directly hitting your g-spot. The spongy bundle of nerve endings was dented with every thrust.

You weren’t used to having your entrance stimulated so much, the skin luckily becoming slick as your own wetness was fucked out of you.

“That feels weird, please.” How quickly you gave up. “Stop pulling out like that.”

A considerate sigh, “But you’ve gotten so wet, my dear. You’re dripping down my thighs already. I don’t think you want me to stop.”

Could you cum like this? You felt like you could, maybe if you just…you quickened your breath, faster and faster. Your stomach heaving, you felt the crescendo of pleasure.

“On second thought!” He stopped.

Your toes wiggled, hands gripping the tentacle on your chest. Quiet. Shh. Don’t argue. Boring. Don’t care. The building orgasm waned, you felt your blood pressure lower. This really was hell.

Alastor’s head was just sitting in you, burning hot and throbbing. You were sure you could feel his heartbeat.

You two were locked in a standoff. Someone had to let on they were enjoying themselves; Alastor releasing pent up frustration with your attitude toward his affections, you chasing down a rare penetration-only orgasm.

An idea struck you, a way to hopefully antagonize him and bruise his pride enough to force him into your hand (pussy), “Thank God. I think it’s almost my bedtime.”

Alastor’s smile strained, a twitch coming over his left eye. A trap. But the idea of letting you down and off of him seemed far worse than the small defeat you were offering. “Allow me to rock you to sleep then, sweetheart.”

Success! Shit!

You reached out, the angle of your punishment allowing you to grab the edge of the table and grip. Alastor’s annoyance translated to an inhuman pace, him pulling you off entirely from his cock before bringing you back down. He was positively slipping in and out of you, your lower lips puffy and soaked around him. This degree of wetness was something you couldn’t remember feeling outside of marathon sessions.

When your hands tightened, a shock of pain tore down your arm, a scream bringing Alastor to a sudden stop. “My collar…” Pain was apparently not a kink you enjoyed, though you briefly wondered if heaven allowed it at all.

You couldn’t even fuck properly. You couldn’t do anything right. All you managed to do was fail. A sting to your eyes as the air hit your welling tears. Did humans feel this pain often? Your body was righted and turned, you looked down to Alastor’s face as you were brought to him. He looked so soft, usual smirk a sweet toothless smile, “I told you to keep the sling on, didn’t I?” He looked happy.

Your arms found his shoulders and your head came to his chest, “Shut up and finish already.” He didn’t release you from the binding, instead pulling the right arm under the hold of his slender tendril to keep it safe and out of the way. His hands were both at the base of his cock while you were gently riding him. Well, “you”. He was still using his powers to manipulate your body on and off of him. Alastor’s fingers were spreading your arousal down his shaft and along his tightening balls, if you had looked at his face you’d have seen a weakened man there, furrowed brows and lust drunk eyes. But you didn’t look, trying to hide the same expression on your own features.

Left hand free, no need to hold yourself up, you made lazy, and you hoped subtle, circles around your clit. You weren’t sure if this was a total failure or not, but you could finish and say something good came of it. You, specifically.

Things were quiet, though. The loudest sound in the room was the wet pop coming from where his body was meeting your sopping hole. His breathing was fast and soft, sighing when he bottomed out. Another bite to your lip, a few more deep hits to your cervix, and you enjoyed a small but satisfying release. The hand on you stayed through, riding out tiny waves of pleasure as you twitched around him. When you felt his release you sighed, you did it. You think. Maybe. Regardless.

As he slowly lifted you, you considered if your legs could hold you—

Up you went and back down you fell as he took a new, quicker pace.

“A-Ah-lastor?! You,” you bit your tongue, “already finished?”

You had made a mistake earlier that you hadn’t even realized. But Alastor had been holding it between his sharp teeth, “How many times?”

Absolutely no idea what he was talking about, you gasped out a reply, “What!?”

“How many times should I fill you before you’re too filthy to return to heaven, do you think?” He couldn’t be serious. “Three? Five? You see, the advantage of using my tentacles is that I don't get tired.”

Oh, but he was serious.

The battle was entirely forfeit somewhere around the third time he flooded you with his seed.

“These aren’t the usual screams I enjoy from my studio, but I’m not averse to them.”

When he felt you’d learned whatever lesson you were supposed to be taking in by the pump full, you were finally removed from him. He covered your lower half with his coat around your waist. It would be lying to say you were surprised to find his wide shoulders and small waist wasn’t just an illusion of his well tailored, yet oddly torn, coat. He was annoyingly attractive. Who gave him the right?

Your legs gave out when you tried to stand, warm hands pulling under your armpits to get you back on your feet. As much as you wanted to push him away, you were still a little tipsy and your legs still getting used to full blood flow. His arm held out for you to use for stability, you took it and wobbled silently to the floor you both lived on. Before you left the elevator you looked down and saw a line of white dripping down your inner leg. Took longer than you expected, honestly.

When you turned to the right to go to your door, his arm came around your waist and shepherded you to his room on the left. You shot him a look, asking what he thought he was doing.

He laughed, “Oh, after tonight’s little escapade, you’re moving!” He opened his door and gestured for you to enter, “Welcome home, my dear.”

What was worse than a failure? A catastrophe? This was that.

“Now come on, we need to get you cleaned up.” A hand patted softly at your ass before ushering you inside.

He did just that, wiping you down and undressing you before settling you into his bed. Exhausted and sore, you decided to argue after sleep.

When you awoke, you checked your shredded bottoms for your phone. Nothing.

An answer was found when you mentioned it to Alastor, who asked what you were searching for so early in the morning, “Perhaps someone at that venue you enjoyed has it? Too bad you can’t go back and ask.” He was resting his back against the headboard, you realized he’d unbuttoned his shirt quite a bit. “Oh well!”

How was he always making you scream?

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

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@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re

@asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp

#alastor x reader #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #smut

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mageknife · 2 months ago

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i’ve mentioned this before but dorian’s sending crystals are the best bit of dragon age technology to never ever be touched on again in the games. they’re not tevinter. they’re probably ancient elven technology if anything, considering the elven stones with a similar function in dawn of the seeker, but. the veil jumpers don’t have them. nobody else has them. where the fuck did he get those. my theories are:

1. he really did just use the inquisition’s contacts like he says. this one is boring though

2. they’re the same elven stones knight-commander martel and frenic used in dawn of the seeker. they wound up in martel’s possession, and he was killed by cassandra, so there’s a chance they wound up with her. why cassandra would then give them to dorian is unclear but i think it would be funny

2a. he got the stones from cassandra, but she gave them to him because they weren’t functional, and he fixed them. which leads into:

3. he either found and fixed them or made them himself. he’s very skilled and experienced with magical tinkering. he helped alexius make his time travel amulet, and he talks in trespasser about potentially fixing eluvians just from observing them (he doesn’t actually do this as far as we know, but he has enough confidence in his abilities that he thinks he’d be able to, and his read on his own skill level tends to be accurate). he also would rather become wyvern food than admit that he cares about someone so much that he’d put in extensive time and hard work for them, so his “it’s amazing what friendship with the inquisition can get you” would in this case just be him trying to play it cool and it’d be extremely in-character

i lean toward him having gotten them either as old junk from cassandra or as broken artifacts from some tevinter merchant and repaired them as the most likely option (if he could just make them himself there would probably be more than 2 or 3 in existence, no doubt maevaris would have one). but regardless of where he got them it is so fucking hilarious that he even has them in the first place. the only guy in thedas with a cell phone and it’s because he was just that passionate about being able to yap at his best friend/lover while long-distance

#the fact that the veil jumpers don’t even have these really kills me. i’m 99 the writers just forgot about their existence #ALTHOUGH THEY’RE MENTIONED IN HIS LETTER TO A ROMANCED INQ. SO. LMAO. anyway #i do need him carnally #said i was going to sleep didn’t i.#dorian pavus #eliasposts

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 4 months ago

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Rat Bastard - Part 11

Pairing: You x Kyungsoo

Rating: M (Mature Smut)

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: There were too many beds, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Idiots to Lovers, Mature Sexual Situations.

Tag: @ilovemyapopbaby

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

“Peanuts, Miss?”

In a blink of an eye it was over.

The swirling, frantic moments inside of the hurricane, with the grime and cobwebs and 100 years of dirt covering every surface. The painful turned magical moments spent inside of that abandoned and run down storm shelter were all gone and you opened your eyes at the unwelcome intrusion; cutting off the vivid memories of the strength of those fingertips that left divots in the flesh of your soft thighs.

A shiny foil packet was left behind in the palm of your hand as her back retreated. That foil reflected the sunshine filtering through the lower third of your window that let in just enough warmth to heat your skin. The higher the plane’s altitude climbed, the further down you’d had to pull the shade; lest the light pink bruises show through this sheer top when the sunlight discovered them. Bruises that a hot mouth pulled into existence and needy teeth bit firmly into place, still peppered certain places on your neck; your chest; and much lower, over other hidden places on your body.

“Something to drink, darling?” Another overly friendly voice lilted into your ears and you inhaled through your nose as your lips pulled into a perfunctory smile, nodding your head and accepting the plastic cup and tiny square of a napkin decorated with the airline’s logo. A sleek silver cartoon fish. A barracuda which now that you really thought about it, had no business existing tens of thousands of feet up in the air.

It was only a blink of an eye — the both of you inside of that hurricane. One blink and it was the last. It was the story of you and him. After the last raindrop fell and the songbirds emerged from their hiding spots, the first trilling notes from a ringing cell phone interrupted the last real stretch of peace and calm within his strong arms and with that phone call came the signal. The notice that the storm had passed. It was all over. Bags should be packed — don’t worry about cleaning up — resort staff were coming to take care of that. Drawers and surfaces, shelves and cabinets should all be checked for personal belongings you weren’t willing to lose forever; for neither of you would never, ever set foot in this place again. Not in your lifetimes. Not alone and not together.

That phone call was the beginning of the end and you’d felt blindsided by just how swiftly everything moved once that momentum had been built.

A single call, just one blink. You felt the urge for another; two or three quick ones. You blinked out the blinding sunlight that slipped under the window shade. You slowed a stuttered breath through your nostrils. A futile attempt to command it, but you gave in at once and blinked again. Then once more to clear the slippery and blushing images that pushed against your heart. And once more for the noncommittal questions whispered against your wet lips.

“What airport are you flying into?”

“How long is your layover?”

“What time do you land?”

You were probably being dramatic. It was something you were prone to, but you had to blink quicker to dispel the wetness that blurred your vision and after the telltale heaviness of the moisture that accumulated along your lash line grew to dangerous volumes you had to blot away the wetness with the barracuda. It came away damp; probably grateful for any moisture a fish could get 35,000 feet up in the air.

You inhaled another breath, this one going in deeper and coming out slower with just a hint of staccato stutter on the exhale as your lungs fully gave into the ridiculousness of the mood you were feeling right now. You were painfully aware of the absurdity. Any casual observer might think you’d lost out on something precious. The single tear that managed to slip by the barracuda might make them think you weren’t a woman who’d not only just begun a promising and beautiful relationship with someone strong, handsome, and talented in ways you could only dream of being. Someone who also, somehow, by some twist of fate, happened to find you just lovely enough to be worthy of his affection and his time.

Somewhere under the surface you felt it; familiar old habits of yours that liked to creep up at the worst times. Old tricks of your mind that whispered mean things to you about how very not special you were; how currently unemployed you were; how untalented and unspectacular you really were despite the airs you liked to put on, what a dead weight you would be on his life and what if — what if without the actual life or death danger keeping that man trapped by your side; without the heavy steel door and the cement block walls and the maddening loneliness, boredom, and desperation that warped his opinion of you from deranged harpie to good enough for some easy sex — what if he changed his mind when he got good look at you. What if it had all been an illusion and the spark in his eyes fizzled with the first real look at you in the harsh lighting of the real world. Your next inhale was noisier. Your nose was stuffed up and the tiny napkin wasn’t much help anymore.

Between the crack of the seats of the row in front of you, a tiny eyeball pulled wide and stared at you. A small voice gasped in surprise and you heard a high pitched voice ask, “Mommy, why is that lady crying?” Much too young and curious to know any better and definitely too young to understand volume control, the question hung hard and heavy in the air around your seat row. The child’s mother gasped in horror and you caught her eyes for a split second through the crack. The old man across the aisle to your left visibly stiffened and turned, compelled to look at you, just enough to gawk, just enough to quickly look away the moment your red rimmed eyes met his. The awkwardness grew with the heat that crept up your cheeks and no amount of the child’s mother’s harshly whispered “Shhh — It’s not polite to stare” could extinguish it.

How could you even begin to answer such a question? ‘Sorry little one. I haven’t had any terrible tragedy befall me. I didn’t lose a pet or break my favorite toy. I didn’t fall down and skin my knee or have someone push me on the playground and call me stinky. I’m just afraid that the brand new boyfriend that I’ve tricked into a relationship that nobody in my life knows about — none of my friends, none of his friends, not even our closest best friends who know everything about everything — nobody knows about — he could cut and run so easily and we wouldn’t even have to make a sentimentally sad instagram post about how we will be moving our separate ways — that I might as well have stockholm-ed into liking me — that probably only even came to like me because we were trapped together in a last-woman-on-Earth type situation and I’m terrified he’s going to find out real fucking soon that this Earth is full of many, many women who are all far superior to me.’

There was no need for any actual answers to the child’s question because the captain was speaking through the speaker overhead. Some garbled message that had the right rhythm and cadence to get the flight attendants moving. Seat backs were uprighted. Tray tables were latched. You recognized the shift. This flight was nearing its end just as your time in the storm shelter had come to an end. Soon you’d find yourself back at your apartment, back in your same old bedroom with your same old problems and same old you.

You wished you could go back to that island, back to the eye of that storm in that locked-up cement-walled shelter where he had no choice but to want you and to love you with as much desperation as you felt for him.

All through the airport as you waited for your connecting flight. As you reached the soil of your home country and your cell phone came back to life, pinging and beeping with a week’s worth of notifications from people who you knew and who cared about you. Messages from best friends who wondered about your whereabouts; wondered about the odd silence they’d seen from you online. You had disappeared to them all; except for one single person. At least you had something to occupy your mind with; recounting the tale of your near death experience with a category 5 hurricane; your vacation turned sour.

You couldn't quite bring it in yourself to discuss him.

You weren’t sure why.

He felt like a bubble. Fragile and beautiful and if you touched him with your filthy hands he would pop and vanish.

You’d get back home and take a few moments to catch your breath and you’d get him on the phone and talk with him about how you both would handle the fallout of this.

And there was bound to be some. Lines had been drawn. Rifts had grown between groups of friends who all took your side, save for one or two of his long time friends who didn’t doubt him for a second.

But your words had held so much power against him, you were completely convinced he was in the wrong after all , and you recognized that you’d need to come clean very soon if this messy new relationship was going to go anywhere at all.

It was scary. The more you dwelled on it while sitting on your bed in the comfort and privacy of your own home now, the more humiliated you felt about the whole thing.

Claire, the one who so vehemently apologized for her role in setting you both up on that date. Claire, your kind, sweet, well-meaning friend. The one who took your side completely in your endeavors to pull the wool clear of everyone’s eyes so they could see him for what he really was, a liar, a snake. You had to talk to Claire first, just the two of you, alone. Before she heard about this from anyone else. She’d also been a victim of you too, just as Kyungsoo had been. You needed her to understand the truth about what you had done. You needed her forgiveness.

Your thumb ran lightly over the string of waiting text messages from her. She had been searching for you, blaming herself for sending you on that silly retreat and lamenting on the timing of it all when she found out a storm had been heading to that very island resort where you were sure to have been trapped.

You clicked on her name and typed out a quick string of words. Explaining how first and foremost you were alive and well. Apologizing for your oversight with not realizing you’d need an international SIM card to keep your phone alive while you were gone and giving the briefest run-down of the hurricane, outstanding efforts by the resort staff to keep you safe and as comfortable as possible given the circumstances, and you asked if she was available for a phone call — being extremely careful not to mention, at any point in your messages, the presence of another human in this entire recap, a human man who you were both quite familiar with, as his name was frequently the subject of many, many of your conversations with Claire in the past.

Claire was a responsible adult with a daytime job and she was too busy for a talk now. She also sounded excited to share some gossip with you about something else that had transpired while you were away and so your long list of confessions to the women would have to wait.

You stared down at your phone. Having to live without it for a solid week seemed to have broken you of some of your bad habits related to the thing and you left it behind on your kitchen table as you busied yourself with unpacking your bags. You started a load of laundry, put back bits and things you never even got to use and carelessly tossed that unopened big box of condoms on your bed.

You should throw them away.

They were rather expensive.

Again, your mind drifted to him.

A glance toward the clock told you that based on the vague travel schedule he’d told you about, he would have landed by now. He would have made his way through the airport, gotten a ride to his office as he said he had some work to do before he would finally be able to go back home and lay down in his own bed.

You’d dreamed of such a thing while trapped away in that shelter — laying down in your own bed.

Now the stupid thing looked too big, too unoccupied, too cold, and too empty for you to want anything to do with it. You had a feeling the second you laid down in it your mind would be flooded with too many memories of him to be able to find comfort in anything that wasn’t his arms.

Oh, what a damned fool you had become. He’d turned you into an idiot. You couldn’t live without him now. You’d be destroyed when he finally wised up and came to his senses.

The thoughts of him had your eyes searching for your phone as a thought suddenly dawned on you. A memory really, from the first quiet minutes after that phone call had arrived. Before either of you pushed yourselves up on your legs, pulled your clothing back onto your bodies and began the painful task of gathering up every one of your belongings to say goodbye.

It was in those first minutes though when Kyungsoo had reached his hands down to pull at the straps of his duffel bag and he lifted the whole thing onto his bare thighs, digging and digging until he pulled out a ball-point pen. As the memories made their way into your mind, you made your way into your bathroom, lifting your top up, pushing at the gauze-like fabric until you found it. You stood in front of the mirror, touching with gentle fingertips over the marks he’d made on you. You had been giggling. It made the pen marks stutter in their journey and you even pushed with protesting fingertips against his hands as made his first tickling passes over your skin with the pen.

“Shhh, stop,” he said with his giggling mouth and the pen kept moving over your skin until you’d settled down enough to just let him do whatever it was he was doing to you.

There, written backwards in blue ink, high up on your rib cage, below where your breast naturally fell was a phone number. Of course he’d have to have given it to you somehow. You could make out most of it as your mind quickly spun the numbers around so you could understand them all. This was Kyungsoo’s phone number. Your Kyungsoo.

The numbers on the clock, reflected backwards in the bathroom mirror with the help of some quick time zone math, told you it had been 11 hours since you’d last seen him at the airport. You’d both had several hours of travel time, plus he had the stop at the office to deal with whatever next trip he had to iron out details for. One of his clients, some billionaire’s daughter, had booked him for a long trip on a yacht in the middle of the Mediterranean and that was coming up very soon. Soon. like tomorrow. This revelation had set a heavy stone down in the pit of your stomach.

You’d paid enough attention to the calendar to know that the next time you would see him might not be until Sam and Mari, your mutual friends’ wedding.

Your face had betrayed your disappointment. He pulled your frowning mouth into his lips again and again, promising you that he didn’t always go out of the country for work — that despite the awful schedule he had to keep, it was usually within driving distance of each other.

Pushing the memory of that disappointment away you left the bathroom to find your phone. You’d made it to the kitchen table when you heard a faint buzzing echoing through the wood.

You were getting a phone call and it was from a phone number that was not saved in your contacts. You couldn't tell how many times this person had called, nor did you know how many rings had rung, but now that you were looking at it, the number was familiar. You’d just spent the last 10 minutes dreamily running your fingertips from the tips of the 1s down to their pointed bottoms; running rings around the 0s and snaking your pinky finger along the shape of the 9s and the 5s. There was a burst of flutters inside of your belly. Kyungsoo was calling you.

You swiped to answer before the call was lost and you held the phone up to your ear, pausing to keep your breath from catching in your throat and to keep the stutter of excitement out of your voice.

You managed a casual ‘Hello?’ as a greeting but what you heard on the other end of the line was a stretch of such quiet that it sent a jolt of worry through you. Perhaps you’d missed his call. You pulled the phone down to check and the call was indeed still connected. You brought the phone back up to your ear and inhaled once more, ready to say ‘hello’ again when you heard the slightest exhale inside your phone’s speaker.

“Hi.”

It was him. It was Kyungsoo.

You didn't even feel your face move into the wide smile that pushed your cheeks up but you were definitely smiling when you responded to his tiny greeting with your own even smaller response; even softer than his was.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything. You couldn’t even hear him breathing, not after that first exhale.

You had to hold your breath to get control over yourself. You felt like a lovesick teenager and if you hadn’t been tethered to reality with this cell phone stuck to your face, desperate to catch any little sound he might make, you might have thrown yourself down onto your living room floor and screamed at the top of your lungs.

After a few deep breaths it began to feel as if neither one of you would say anything at all and after enough time passed for it to become quite ridiculous you hummed out a small questioning sound — sort of a preamble as you warmed up your voice for what? You had no idea. Still you eked out a little ‘umm,’ at the same time as you heard the sound of him lightly clearing his throat and inhaling against the phone speaker to speak.

“H-how was—’’ his attempt was quickly and not so smoothly aborted with a small groan. You closed your eyes and you could picture his eyes closing up as he lifted a hand to lay over his forehead. You could practically see the pink in his cheeks from here.

“Sorry,” he exhaled out through his lips, you heard the air, “why am I so nervous?” The last question was mumbled to himself, but it was out loud enough for you to hear it.

It brought out a stifled half-giggle from the back of your throat.

“Why are you nervous, Kyungsoo?” You agreed with your question. Every little bit of the grumpy mood from earlier vanished in an instant with his voice in your ear like this. You laid down on your sofa with your legs propped up over the arm and swung your feet up and down absentmindedly, cradling your phone up to your ear as it was the most precious thing in the world as you ran a hand over your belly, up higher over your ribcage where you’d been tracing his phone number in the mirror mere moments before.

“Right? Why am I? I’ve been with you all week. I was just with you this morning. What is this?” He laughed once; a hopeless sort of laugh from deep inside of his chest and you hummed into the line, somehow understanding this feeling that must have been surging through him.

“It’s,” you began, biting down on your bottom lip once before finishing your thought, “it’s different…having you in my ear like this.”

“Different,” he said softly, his voice lifting just a tiny bit at the end of the word. Less of a questioning sound, but more of his shaky control giving into madness a little. “Different. It’s different. You sound—”

You listened closely but his words stopped coming. However you sounded to him, he wasn’t ready to talk any more about it. He let out a tiny groan and cleared his throat, inhaling again with more purpose you heard the man rein it in suddenly.

“Tell me something. Anything. What did you—” a quick exhale left, “What did you do first when you got home?”

“Umm,” you lifted your eyes toward your ceiling, not seeing but recalling your arrival at your apartment. “I brought my luggage in and I unpacked, no, first I had to text Claire and tell her about my trip and let her know that I wasn’t dead at the bottom of the ocean, you know, that sort of thing. She was too busy to talk, though, so I didn’t get a chance to get into … too many details.” You heard the soft hum from the back of his throat.

He was just listening without asking questions and without interrupting so you kept going.

“Then, well, I went to my bedroom to unpack my bag. So, I put everything away. Laundry — makeup and …stuff. I was about to change, well, actually, not change because I then remembered, this morning…you and your pen — I was about to put your phone number into my phone, but then you called me before I could do that and, well, now I’m talking to you on the phone and obviously I can’t concentrate on doing anything else, because m-my boyf— umm — because, Kyungsoo called me.”

Admittedly, you had been rambling. You paused your rapid fire recap of what all had transpired once you’d walked through your front door for some sort of response from him, but also to catch your breath and calm your nerves.

What came was a long drawn out exhale mixed with the low notes of a groan. His lungs had been full. The exhale wandered over your ears for a long while.

“I miss you,” he breathed out through the tail end of that groan.

He missed you.

Your boyfriend missed you.

His abrupt confession stopped you mid thought and you froze with whatever else you were about to say trapped inside of your throat. All that came out, after just a little bit of shock wore off was the softest question for him.

“You do?”

He didn't answer. Instead, he asked you another question.

“Do you want to come over and help me pack for my trip tomorrow?” As far as flimsy excuses went, this one was paper thin. If he really did need help packing, you would be no help. If anything you’d be an obstacle to productivity.

You must have answered him. A small sound came out of you that sounded like an ‘mhmm.’

“Hmm? I’ll pick you up?” He added this to sweeten the deal and you could feel yourself nodding your head in response even though he couldn't see you. His voice right now…that little hum from his throat. He practically whispered these words right between your legs

“Yeah. Okay,” you said while still nodding and you swung your legs down off of the arm of your sofa, landing them squarely in front of you on your carpeted floor.

You had to shower. You were still covered in gross public airport travel germs and you had definitely looked cuter this morning when you’d last seen him. Your hair felt a little grimy and there were things you needed to scrub off, like the marks he’d made on your body this morning with his pen. The marks he’d made with his mouth, well those wouldn’t budge even with some soap and a loofa.

“Text me your address.” Something had changed deep down inside of you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d jump if a man told you to jump like this. You couldn't recall every being this agreeable with any of your exes. But you were humming in agreement. Swiping and typing across your phone screen to send him your address the second he’d asked for it. You were nodding your head, leaping to your feet to rush to your closet to pick out something to wear that made you feel beautiful.

“Umm…give me an hour to get ready?”

You’d expected his easy agreement to your extremely normal request.

Instead you got a tiny scoff and some ridiculous negotiation tactics.

“Thirty minutes.” His voice echoed out of the little speaker of your cell phone that sat on the counter of your tiny bathroom, “I miss you.” There was a whining tone that you seldom heard from him. You noticed he tended to do this when he really, really wanted you to give into him.

You pulled the toothbrush out of your mouth so he could understand your argument, ignoring the insane butterflies that you felt moving all through your chest.

“Forty-five minutes, Kyungsoo. I need to shower. I’ve been traveling.” You heard a concerning sound on the other side of this call. The beep that a car might make as it was being unlocked.

“Twenty minutes.” A car door closed. An engine started up. “I miss you,” he said again, as if this alone was the justification for him to do anything at all.

“Twenty?!” Much of the exasperation you were going for was drowned out by your own laughter. “That is not how you negotiate.”

“You are going in the wrong direction,” you released a whining complaint that no doubt sounded out through the speakers of his car.

He wasn't responding. All you could hear was the occasional sound of an engine accelerating or a turn signal ticking.

You sighed out your defeat, closing your eyes into it.

“If I'm still in the shower when you get here, the door code is my birthday. If you can figure that out… make yourself at home, I guess.” You knew for a fact that you’d never told him. You did however have a very active social media life and posted some sort of account of your birthday celebration every year. The year might stump him but he deserved to suffer just a little bit for being so impatient.

When the active phone call vanished, you could see a few notifications left behind on your phone screen. A few responses to some text messages from your many relieved friends, but most tellingly, two other missed calls from that same phone number whose owner was now quickly on his way over to your house. Missed calls all made within the same short time while you were in here running your fingertips lovingly over those numbers written into your ribs, he was growing more and more frustrated and desperate.

You felt just a little bit silly now. All of those insecurities from hours ago; the tears on the airplane; the ridiculously misread loss of something precious just because you no longer had him trapped inside of some cement walls and steel doors with nowhere else to go.

Even with the door wide open, it seems he had nowhere else he wanted to go.

You’d already stripped off the day’s clothes and started the water in the shower to heat up when you’d shouted out those last few words into the phone over the sound of the running water.

You heard some bits of protestations from him a few seconds before you hung up the call and turned to jump into the shower. The water wasn’t quite warm enough but you soldiered through it, lathering, scrubbing, and sudsing yourself all over just about as quickly as you’ve ever done so and every few minutes you’d dissolve into amused giggles at the nerve of this man.

About halfway through your shower the water had finally reached the perfect temperature to wash away all of the grime and grit from the long day. The warm water flowed over your face, washing away all of your earlier tears and worries and insecurities and you even found the messy scribbles made in blue ink no match for some nice smelling soap and a good scrubbing. You found yourself taking your time just a little bit. Scraping at your scalp thoroughly and even washing your hair again to make sure to get every last bit of the you from yesterday off.

It felt like a new beginning.

You’d quite purposefully lost track of time, going through great lengths to ignore the nagging feeling inside of your chest that asked silly questions like whether or not he was able to figure out the combination to get through your front door, or if you’d find him pouting outside, leaned up against the locked doorway having been defeated by those mysterious six digits. Somewhere in the middle of your final rinses you could have sworn you heard a sound. Perhaps the familiar of the same kinds of door locks all of these units had. Maybe even the sound of a door opening and closing.

You couldn't be sure though.

It might just be a neighbor coming home from work.

After your shower you took care of the bare minimum to get out of this bathroom. Underwear and a bra. Tossing a dress over your head and pulling it roughly down into place to cover your ass and thighs. A quick pass of a comb through your wet hair; you’d blow dry it later. A speedy and haphazard application of some lightly tinted moisturizer on your face, ignoring the other bottles with the many steps of your usual skincare regimen. The makeup was mostly forgotten. This half assed attempt would have to do. You were practically vibrating with curiosity.

If he was here, you thought maybe you might find him sitting on your sofa in the living room. Perhaps he’d pull up a stool at your kitchen counter, one leg crossed over the other with a cold beer from your fridge in front of him as he flipped through the newest L.L. Bean catalogue, one of the ones that came relentlessly because you’d once bought a raincoat as a gift for your father six years ago, that you’d brought in from the mailbox on the first floor of this on your way in.

What you hadn’t expected, and what your reaction gave away with the startled gasp that erupted from your chest the moment you opened your bathroom door, was to find Doh Kyungsoo sitting on the foot of your bed — a black backwards ball cap sitting on top of his head — a danger you had not once prepared for was how incredibly attractive this man would look wearing a backwards ball cap. This had to be some sort of a trick, right? His sock covered feet sat flat on the floor, his knees, in casual jeans, parted casually in front of him and his biceps popped below the short sleeves of his black t-shirt from where he leaned back on both arms. His posture looked supremely comfortable in your own home that he had never ever stepped foot in — in your very own bed that he had never ever slept in.

You recovered from the shock as best you could, but inside of your chest you could feel your heart racing. You held your breath for a moment, blinking away the surprise from your face as you slowed yourself down and simply took in the look of him. Your gaze made it back up to the top of his head after the languid journey you took to get here and when you caught his eyes, he moved a little, lolling his head over to the side as he took a slow breath of oxygen deep into his lungs and closed his eyes up, biting down on his bottom lip briefly before he exhaled the breath through his parted lips. He was shaking his head back and forth, his eyes still closed up tight and after a few moments he balanced on his left arm, the impressive muscles working overtime now, lifting his right side to rub a hand quite roughly over his face.

You didn’t pry. He seemed to be coming to terms with something and if there was one thing you knew was that if you were sitting right where he was; having just given so very much away with his recent, rather desperate and needy, and oh so telling behavior; sitting right smack in the middle of some sort of revelation as he seemed to be, you wouldn’t appreciate someone asking you the one, two, three, four, five — or so questions that you felt needed immediate answering.

You could only give him so much though. You noticed your big, rather expensive box of condoms that once sat where he now sat was nowhere to be found. He followed your wandering eyes as you zeroed in on the wastebasket that sat beside your dresser between your floor length mirror. You could make out the edge of the black box there in the trash.

When your attention returned to his perch you caught the slightest micro expression on his face. A tiny shrug with only his lips and eyes. Your own face lifted more dramatically. Definitely not micro. You wore a severe question on your eyebrows and you angled your face to really sell the sass that surged through you. That this man sauntered into your door and threw away your things…

“I cleaned up a bit,” he mumbled flatly, lifting his eyes to break the eye contact now, the corners of his lips pulling into the slightest grin, “threw out some trash.”

“Kyungsoo, those were expensive. I could have saved them—” As soon as it came out it felt like the wrong thing to say. You pulled your lips together tightly when his eyes flew over to you, wide at first, then slowly narrowing as his brows furrowed, his expression running the gamut of several competing emotions all at once before he opened his mouth to speak, picking the safest conclusion that his heart could take.

”Do you want me to wear a condom? But, before you said—”

You lifted both hands, taking the three steps it took to close the distance between you both as you shook your head back and forth; opening your mouth to explain yourself, “I was going to give them to my friends.”

“Single friends. For them to use with other people.” You reached for him with both hands, your palms landing over his cheeks. He was warm. His skin was smooth. Your first soft touches of his skin had his eyes closing up as he leaned his head back, his face begging you down to him like he was the sunflower and you were the sunlight. You’d stepped in close enough to land between his parted knees and in one fluid motion his arms reached for you, wrapping tightly around you, high up around your waist with his left, his right palm landing over the back of your upper thigh, just below the short skirt of this dress.

You were already moving into him with the words of reassurance you gave him. The lean into his lips came as naturally as the promises you gave him and that first kiss, after nearly 12 hours of missing him, had you trembling and gasping when you pulled away from his kiss, just enough to speak again. His mouth felt so needy. His hands trembled when they moved over you and gripped you so tightly wherever they paused; as if the time apart might have been even harder on him than it was on you; as if this had been all he could think about for hours now.

“But I don't need to. We can just throw them away and be done with it.” The words came out slower and stuttered a bit. He had moved to kiss along your neck and the deep breaths he took from just below your ear heated your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. He came back again and again, breathing you in deeply; moaning in response to your scent filling his nose; no doubt getting a face full of your still damp hair but not minding it one bit with the way his mouth opened and he bit you on your neck, and again on your shoulder.

“They’d probably demand to know who I was dating and I don't know if we should tell anyone else about us before we tell Claire—” you gasped when he bit you again, harder this time. At the same time he pulled you into him — strong hands on the backs of your knees. Pulling you onto his lap, straddling his waist here on your bed. Your sweet little summer dress moved out of the way too easily and you hissed to feel the scratchiness of his jeans against the softness of your inner thighs.

“Wait, Claire doesn’t know?” He asked from somewhere nestled up against your breast, sounding genuinely surprised to find this out. When he’d pulled his face back up to ask you the question you felt the chilly air blowing over your wet nipple that he’d just been sucking on. You didn't even know when he’d pulled the straps of your dress and your bra off your shoulders.

You shook your head to answer him, not quite committing to this conversation anymore. He should learn to pick between wanting to fuck you or wanting to have an important conversation because you simply could not multitask like this. Your skin felt on fire. There simply wasn’t enough energy for the critical thinking part of your brain.

You moved your hips over his lap again, feeling the definite arousal below the jeans but unable to get the right feeling with the belt, the zipper, the thick and very scratchy fabric. You had to fix this. You pushed yourself away from him and up onto your feet, quickly lifting your summer dress from the bottom up and over your head in a single motion. You did the same with the bra and panties while also reaching a free hand around the back of his head to grip that hat. It came off easily, freeing his clean black hair. It flew so easily with a little flick of your wrist. Kyungsoo was moving too, his hands making quick work of his shirt; freeing himself of the belt, the button, the zipper, pushing everything down and kicking it all away.

“Well, when will you tell her?” It was the secrecy that was bothering him. You knew he didn’t like that part. He fell backwards onto your bed, completely naked except for the black socks that still covered his feet.

The subject matter of this conversation felt vaguely important, but the sight of him still wearing his socks had you giggling and you reached for his feet, gripping the socks and pulling them off as you tossed them away onto the floor behind you at the same time as you made the journey up and over him.

The dissonance in your mind couldn’t process his words, not really. You only half registered his important question while processing the way it felt for his warm smooth skin slipping against yours like this. The fact that he was still trying to have this conversation was insane. You’d made your way up to straddle over his waist, lifting your hips as you slid up the length of his hardness. You moved up to the tip of him, then switched directions and moved back down again, throwing your head back from the pleasure of feeling him slipping between your legs, sliding within your wetness, bumping and rubbing against your sensitive center. You both felt too much ready for this to last very long.

His eyes had drifted closed. His hands were digging into your thighs, fingers leaving red marks. His mouth had fallen open with whatever silly topics he wanted to bring up now. Now, of all times, right now?

Those words were suspended somewhere within his throat and you moved over him again, watching the changes his face went through as you did it.

“Will you give me some time to tell her? I have to do it right.” If he wanted to keep bringing it up, you’d oblige him. “Carefully.”

His eyes didn’t open with your question and he pulled his mouth closed and swallowed once, opening his mouth again, half closing again before breathing out his response. “D-Don’t,” his chest was heaving up and down and you lifted your hips again, giving just a little more pressure against the length of him with your journey. He hissed and bared his teeth.

“Don't what, baby? Don't do this?” You moved over him again, lifting your hips, letting the tip of him slip inside of you for just a second before moving lower, letting the angle slip and he popped back out of place, slipping out of you. Losing that connection you both so desperately wanted.

The grip of his hands grew tighter and you heard the smallest whispered ‘fuck’ escape from his lips.

“Don't ask me…

I’ll give you anything you want right now.

W-What?

Time?

Sure. Take all the time you want — just,” that tight grip he held your thighs with shifted and he sat up against you, he pushed hard against the hold you kept over him with your hips in place and he wrapped a very strong left arm around your waist and squeezed too tight, too unexpectedly tight. You ached from the roughness he treated you with. “Just—” he whispered once more.

“—fuck me,” he said this so close to your face you felt his hot breath fanning over your lips.

His black eyes were no longer closed. He was no longer playing along with this game you were playing. His face pulled back again so he could look into your eyes while he moved his right hand between your bodies. He gripped his dick and paired with the lifting of your body you felt the tip of him slip inside of you. You were released and you sunk down onto his lap. He pushed his hips up to fill you completely in a swift, shocking motion. It took your breath and your mind away from you and you froze, gasping with your mouth open; inundated and overwhelmed.

Kyungsoo leaned his face into yours again, leaning with hot lips and his open mouth and pulled your tongue into his mouth, sucking you into him, wrapping himself tightly around you and guiding your rhythm over him until he became too overcome to keep up the frenzy and let go just enough, just enough.

Every inch of your skin felt hot and clammy, especially the parts that touched his skin, and there was so very much of his skin touching yours. The sweat didn’t belong entirely to you and he was glistening with wet when he fell back onto the bed; chest heaving with labored breaths that matched your own and you felt it all over; that desperation for the release that was there — was just there, you could feel it, you could taste it. You sought it out right there on top of him and the glimpses you took of his face before you had to close your eyes— oh, he was watching you with his ravenous eyes. He’d been starving for hours for this. He watched you do it as long as he could stand; until he himself could stand no more.

You’d made some attempt to move. You were hot and damp, sticky and wet — and yet — you felt so outside of yourself that the moment his soft fingertips reached up to lightly graze over the bare skin just below your belly button, slipping those fingertips around with a purposeful touch on your hip; any desire to escape this discomfort fell to the back of your mind.

Kyungsoo sat up then, reaching for you, pulling you down over his skin and you simply fell. At some point he’d slipped out from inside of you. At some point there was a mess that was wicked away by the plush fabric of the bedspread below both of your bodies. His hands moved like feathers over your skin and you laid with him on this bed, existing in this moment as the ceiling fan slowly began to cool your skin enough for some of the dampness to evaporate, cooling your shoulder, your hip, your bare leg. He was still touching your skin, looking at your face with warm eyes and leaning in for slow, languid kisses. Slow and delicate enough for your lips and his lips to mold together, sticking together with how hesitant he was to escape your mouth.

It must have been ages — this kiss with no end.

You and him — with no end.

He kissed you until the chill began to set in and your skin erupted in goosebumps. He wrapped you up in his arms and his legs and he kissed you some more. Through the giggles and through the silliness that grew as gradually as this unbelievable love, starting deep down inside somewhere, growing, and building until the first few giggles broke free from your mouth, quickly met with his own giggles that made your teeth bump together.

It was your stomach that finally betrayed you. The loud growling noise echoed out and you both looked down at the interruption before you sought out his eyes that looked into your face with a furrow of concern.

“You didn’t eat dinner?”

You frowned your lips down and gave the smallest head shake. His eyes roamed over your face and your frown deepened further.

“Lunch?” He asked. You bit down on your lip and shook your head again. You’d actually completely forgotten that food existed until this very moment when suddenly it was all you could think about.

“Oh my god,” he was sitting up. He was pushing himself up onto two shaky legs as he looked around your floor for something to deal with the mess he’d suddenly noticed was all over his belly. His hands were extended away from his body and he spun a little bit, giving you a view of the cutest, perkiest ass ever; and he seemed to be having trouble deciding what his next move would be.

“Shower.” He said suddenly, taking several wide set and careful steps away from your bed and toward your bathroom. He’d nearly made it into the bathroom when you heard his fingers snapping, “Come on, shower,” he repeated. You hadn’t realized he was talking to you too but you pushed yourself off the bed, reaching for the entirety of your bedspread and pulling it off so you wouldn't forget about this giant wet spot and accidentally sleep in it tonight.

You heard the water running and you quickly made your way into the bathroom just as he was stepping inside of the water.

Inside of the water, he was warm. He was lovely and he was beautiful as he cleaned up using your soap and shampoo. You didn’t think he had to wash his hair, it had been so clean already but you followed him lead and did the same, spinning around to take turns under the stream when it was time for a rinse.

The shower, like the sex had served its purpose and you emerged from both feeling like a new person. As you toweled off and began to pull on another pair of clean underwear you had a curiosity that needed satisfying.

“How many times did you have to try the door code?”

Kyungsoo was running your hairbrush through his hair and he caught your reflection in the mirror.

“Just once. Got it right away.” He said with an air of confidence that you didn't quite buy. You’d never even mentioned your birthday to him. You watched his profile as he stared at himself in the mirror, long after his hair was combed and he was nearly completely dressed save for the socks which you had tossed pretty far— those might take some searching to find.

“How did you find out my birthdate?”

He swallowed and he blinked. Then he looked away from you and you made a whining sound, poking him in the ribs a few times to get him to spill it.

“Umm…I found out from Claire—” he started to speak. The moment her name was on his lips, your eyes went wide and you just reacted.

“No, Kyungsoo. Claire doesn't know about us. I need to be the one to tell her, Kyungsoo. I need to say it myself. I have to ask her forgiveness for all the trouble I caused and I have to be the one to tell her first. She can't find out from anyone else -- you don’t know her like I know her, Doh Kyungsoo!” Your panic was evident in your voice. You were speaking fast and your voice was high-pitched and loud.

He actually flinched three times as you were berating him and his jaw clenched and set hard upon the last usage of his name; his entire name.

“Excuse me, ma’am—” Kyungsoo raised his voice suddenly. Not shouting but matching your volume quite well, his arms were crossed over his chest and he was looking at you with wide eyes and a seriously admonishing expression on his face.

You stopped the diatribe abruptly, standing in front of him with your mouth open from the panic that was still surging through you. How would you ever make this up to her? She was your absolute dearest friend and she was very sensitive to things like this. Your eyes roamed over the scene in front of you, focusing on the light switch briefly as you tried to think of something that might fix this.

Did he seriously call her to ask for your birthday as if that wouldn't raise all of the red flags in the world? One time you’d gone out to get food with friends and you forgot to hit send on her invitation message. She thought you purposefully left her out and didn't speak to you for a month. This was so, so, so much worse.

You heard a loud snapping noise and it pulled your attention away from the doorway of this bathroom and over to the sudden sound and movement happening in front of your face. It was him. This troublemaker.

“Hey. Princess.” his eyes were wider now, his voice full of sarcasm. he definitely used this word as a pejorative. Filled with that achingly familiar sarcasm that he used to use before — before falling in love with you, before making you fall in love with him, before acting all sweet as shit, before fucking you dizzy and promising to make you something to eat, before pulling you into this bathroom to drop this bomb on you.

Princess? Really? Was this happening again?

”What?” You didn't want to be answering to this, but he had definitely captured your attention. His head was shaking back and forth quickly and he still had his hand raised from all the snapping to get you to look at him. Did he think you were some sort of a wild animal that needed to be lured?

”I wasn’t finished talking. You asked me how I found out about your birthday. I said—”

”You asked Claire for it.” The defeat was setting in now. It felt hopeless. She would take a year to forgive you, for sure.

”I said,” he spoke clearer, “I got it from Claire — ‘sssss instagram post from your birthday last year or I would have said that if you hadn’t rudely interrupted me.”

You released the breath you had been holding and you closed your eyes up as the relief surged through you. You placed a hand on your chest as you felt your heart beat beginning to settle down again.

He gave you a few moments of just breathing before he spoke again.

“When will you tell her?”

This pulled your attention back on him and away from your own biofeedback session to settle your insides down. You really were starting to feel irrational from the hunger.

“I’ll tell her soon,” you promised vaguely as you made your way through your home to the kitchen, opened the cabinet and pulled out a jar of nuts.

“Yeah, but when? I understand that you need to tell your friend alone but I don't like us being a secret. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You just said, I could have all the time I wanted,” you said, chewing on a handful of nuts in a very unladylike fashion straight from the palm of your hand; a single index finger, you pointed behind you toward your bedroom to remind him what you both had just been doing.

Kyungsoo shook his head once, on his face a very real expression of confusion. “When did I say that?”

“Just a while ago,” you said with a shrug. His eyes moved from your face, over to where you pointed and then further around the room you both stood in. Slowly, you watched his face change as the edges of the memory came back to him. He opened his mouth very slightly and his eyebrows furrowed. Then he leaned his face forward toward you and mumbled through clenched teeth.

“While we were fucking? Did I promise you something while my dick was inside of you—-oh,” he had a grimace on his face, “oh, no, no —“ his hands were waving lightly, “no, baby, no. That doesn’t count. That’s not a real promise. That was not me.” A hand laid over his chest.

That same hand moved down to cup over his crotch. “That was him.” His penis. The troublemaker, who, it seemed, was somehow absolved from fulfilling promises simply by the nature of existence.

Nonsense.

You looked at his face without responding with words. You just blinked, slow and steadily until his grin flattened and he pouted out his bottom lip.

“What about when you said you needed me to help you pack for your trip? Was that just him talking?”

“No, that is true,” he said, his eyes down on your hand as you shoved another small palmful of nuts into your mouth. You hadn’t quite gotten them all and he leaned forward and captured the two remaining bits with his parted lips, using the same technique as you. Diving right in like a horse with a sack of feed.

“I do need to pack. I did miss you.” He was chewing as he talked, steering your hand holding the jar of nuts to tip it over and pour some more out.

“I was spiraling all day. Like, nothing else mattered. Nothing could fix it. And when I finally fell apart and called you and then you didn’t answer—I was…not handling it…well. I wanted to go back. It felt like…something had ended.”

“I cried on the airplane,” you confessed quietly and his eyes widened marginally; his empathy and the emotions attached evident in the downward curve of his eyebrows and his eyes searched over your entire face as you spoke. “Some little kid pointed it out, very loudly, and then everyone was looking at me and that made me cry even harder.”

The little frown on his lips turned deeper. “You missed me that much?” He’d taken the can out of your hand and placed it on the countertop behind you, using that motion to wrap his arms around you, fully enclosing you in a tight embrace.

“No. I missed the spiders,” you mumbled from within the warmth and security of his arms. The words were muffled by his chest muscles and your little attempt at brevity brought out a chuckle from somewhere in his chest. His arms rubbed slow circles over your back. He was everything you needed and wanted.

“Of course, it was you. I missed you.” You had to say it to him. He was so open and so lovely with you, you needed him to know how deep your love ran. He was lovely. He was warm and comforting and you could trust him with your heart. You knew it as an irrefutable fact.

And he was going to give you all the time you needed to talk to your best friend before anyone else found out about this.

“We both missed you.” You whispered while pulling your face up to look at him; of course referring to the sex, in the same way he gave his penis credit for his actions earlier. His lips slowly pulled into a grin as he looked down at you; no confusion about who you were suddenly speaking for. Through lifted brows and with a pointed look you added, “and a promise is a promise.”

He stiffened lightly, a tiny jolt of understanding and his lips opened to speak to this, to offer whatever silly opinion he had about what he could and could not tolerate as far as this relationship and you lifted your eyebrows higher.

“I was talking to him, Kyungsoo,” you said sharply, before he could go back on his word and offer up any more protests. Your meaning was clear. He could give you this much grace. He could be reasonable. You weren’t asking for a year, just a few days.

You reached a hand down quickly and the man actually flinched, angling his hips away from you. Your rapid movements and indirect conversation with his penis had spooked him.

“Come on, let’s go pack for your trip.” You giggled and reached for his hand, taking a step with him in tow behind you. You felt occasional resistance against your tugging hand as he reached back to grab the ball cap he’d tossed onto the counter after he’d gotten dressed in your bedroom and he turned off the lights he passed along the way.

You made your way through your home toward the door, grabbing your phone and keys and stuffing them quickly into a purse you had hanging by the front door and you pulled him through the threshold, not once letting go of that hand that held you just as tightly as you held him.

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

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