#feel bad for even attempting to write ANYTHING like

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐜 || 𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐮 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ Jinu left behind the woman he was supposed to marry, centuries later, he finds her again, learning that she was cursed to reincarnate until she was able to find real love (+ she was helping the demon hunters)

warnings_ cursed!reader, canon divergence, lovers to enemies to lovers, magical realism, fluff, angst, tension, reader implied to be foreigner but not actual descriptions, perhaps cringe, lengthy fic, no proofread (editing later)

notes_this is the second time i fall for an animated character, first time was miguel o’hara and i still love him very much, im 21 and not ashamed to write about this lol

♫ ♪ jinu playlist

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

The wind was blowing so hard that your hair was a mess, flowing freely and getting tangled.

With a big smile on your face, you could only feel the adrenaline of running towards the end of the village, where the wild meadows awaited. And so did your lover too.

Men were going home after spending the whole day fishing, and women were carrying baskets of freshly made silk and linen too. Children were already gone, probably taking a bath in a big warm pot.

Women your age were already in bed but you couldn’t wait.

Not when Jinu was waiting for you at the meadows, even less when you had news to share with him.

Two weeks ago, your lover asked your father for your hand in marriage. At first, your old man said Jinu had nothing to offer you, that it wouldn’t work out. But the more you convinced him of how much you loved him, that you didn’t need to live in a palace to be happy, he started thinking differently.

And that night, as you ignored your quiet grandmother’s scary eyes, your father approved and allowed you to marry Jinu.

Your father’s mother was a mystery, she couldn’t speak, she was quite intimidating and you swore you could hear her sing in the middle of the night. Even your own mother seemed displeased by her presence, but didn’t say anything.

It was at the beginning of the meadows, when your running pace quickened. The beating in your heart mixed with joy and anticipation to get to Jinu.

When your head turned to look at the undergrowth nearby, your heart nearly stopped.

There was your grandmother, with her long grey hair and a beige gown. The sight was like a ghostly encounter, it sent shivers down your spine. It felt like a bad omen. Your stomach turned but you only ran faster. Thinking it was your mind playing tricks with you, you only kept running. Only that filled with fear.

Until you spotted a tall figure, you knew it was your home. Upon hearing the crack of branches, Jinu turned to look at you, and when he saw the many scratches in your face and arms, he grew worried.

“What happened to you?” He asked while inspecting your face.

“I guess I shouldn’t run like that again…” you answered with an attempted chuckle, opting to ignore the encounter with your grandmother.

His warm hands traced every scratch and while it burned, you would never move away from his touch.

“I have wonderful news, Jinu…” With a big sigh, you collapsed in his arms before speaking again. “My father said yes. We can marry now…”

You couldn’t see, but his face dropped, he remained quiet and when you felt he wasn’t hugging you back, you knew something was wrong.

“Jinu?…” you asked letting him go.

He stared at you in silence. You could see his perfect skin shining under the moonlight, his soft black hair that always smelled like tea, and the clothes you offered to wash for him and his family every week at the river nearby.

He was the only person you could imagine sharing the rest of your life with. But…

“We are not going to marry…” the words sounded unsure, even scared to say them out loud.

You stood there speechless, in shock. Suddenly the moonlight and Jinu himself weren’t enough, you started feeling the cool air hit against your body, making you shiver.

“Why?”

“I- Look… I found a better opportunity at…” you looked down at his hands and you saw a golden bracelet in his hand. Your face turns into one of disgust. Only people allowed into the palace wore that bracelet.

“Why would you do this to me?” Your hand dropped to your stomach, feeling the anxious feeling creeping all over. You couldn’t feel worse. And when Jinu remained still, in silence, your eyes grew teary.

“So you don’t love your family enough?” You asked and he looked down, ashamed.

“You don’t love me enough to marry me and find a better opportunity together?” When he still didn’t look up, you grew mad.

“Look at me when I’m speaking!” In a rush, you grabbed his chin and pushed it between your thumb and index finger, forcing Jinu to look at you.

“I’m sorry…” he attempted to say.

For the first time, you couldn’t feel the peace and comfort through his eyes. You could only see greed.

He gave up on you to pursue a better life; alone.

“You’re not sorry. You’re selfish and a bad man…” you spit out, letting go of his chin with anger. “Just know that every pain we cause comes with some karma to pay...”

You turned to run away, hearing Jinu calling your name, but you didn’t look back. You came back home running just as you left. Only that tears came as well.

Quietly, you opened the door of your humble home. There wasn’t a single candle illuminating the place, meaning that it was very late.

“That boy made a deal with a demon…” you nearly jump and died right there after hearing that voice.

When you turned to the corner of the chimney, there was your grandmother in her rocking chair.

Suddenly she could speak.

“You’re a witch?” You asked with terror when she stood up.

Her grey hair and almond eyes matched the aura of a witch who kidnapped children and made unimaginable things.

“I was disappointed when I gave birth to a man instead of a woman…” she revealed, making you feel beyond uneasy. “Imagine my surprise when I had a granddaughter who grew up with a fiery need to find love instead of keeping the lineage she comes from”

“I am not a witch” you firmly stated.

“No, you should’ve trained to be a huntress and that’s your biggest mistake” the more the old woman stepped closer, the more you wanted to run away. It was already enough pain to have Jinu’s words in your head repeating over and over.

“That boy preferred to follow a demon so his wishes could be granted, excluding you”

“Enough!” Your parents could be awake at any moment, and that would be worse, but you couldn’t hide your anger towards your said grandmother.

“May your soul be doomed until your heart beats with blood again” she started repeating in slow whispers, making you cry and yell back at her to stop.

“I said enough!”

Your left arm started burning, you cried in pain, until you ended up on your knees.

When you urgently inspected the skin, a trail of symbols appeared like magic ink. And when you looked up, the old woman was gone.

Nobody heard you, and nobody questioned your tattoo the following morning. When you knocked at Jinu’s mother's house, she told you through tears that he had actually left for the palace. That day your grandmother was found dead and within days, you and your parents were gone, back to the occident to finish your first life.

[Actually centuries later…]

A summer opportunity turned into an undefined job. When you left home to go to Korea and be a makeup brand creative director, you weren’t prepared to be gone for more than a month. But as the weeks passed, you found yourself accustomed to a new life. You started getting into the entertainment industry, with K-pop idols to be more specific.

Until you got the chance to make a collaboration between the makeup brand you were directing and Huntr/x or Huntrix. You had just met them and the three girls were nice, friendly, and were curious about the concept you were offering to them.

“And this is a cyber glam concept for the photo shoot…” you said while passing the three girls a bundle of pictures and collages.

“I love this, I think it’ll fit us perfectly” Rumi replied with a wide smile.

“Yep, agreed. This might be the one” Mira added, winking an eye at you.

“What do you say Zoey?��� You finally asked the black haired girl who looked with detail at the concept.

“l-o-v-e it!” She yelled with excitement, hugging the papers against her chest.

“Sounds like we have a deal then…” the girls nodded at you and you excused yourself to have a little break.

After they picked the theme for the campaign and the break, the girls would have to try on costumes and pick the makeup for each one of them. But in the meantime, you would eat.

Outside the building, there was a little park with benches and lots of trees. You spotted an empty picnic table and you decided to have your salad and chicken katsu there.

It was nearly empty, not even the sound of the hatred city could be heard. Perfect place to feel pure peacefulness.

You ate in silence, a man in a business suit passed by and you heard the click of his formal shoes. He was hot, perhaps early thirties but very good looking.

And you remembered it had been so long since you had a boyfriend, the last relationship you had was back at home during middle school. It lasted years and took away a lot of the joy you were supposed to experience as a teenager.

When would you find real love?

An online palm reader said that it seemed hard for you to find a partner and that you were cursed. You asked if you could have your sixty dollars back but she blocked you.

You wanted a man who could be your best friend. To have a thing where souls seemed to be connected.

Distant sounds made you snap out of your delusions. Awkwardly, you stood up, looking around to find the source of the sounds.

Stepping into the bushes, you heard a growl. You froze.

A demon was taking the soul of the businessman you saw earlier.

Your loud gasp made the creature jump and try to attack you, tackling your body.

You tried to push the demon away, its touch hot and burning your skin, claws digging into your forearms, and saliva sliding down your neck.

You had always seen demons since you were a kid, but never interacted with them.

“Y/N!” Far away you saw Mira running towards you with Rumi and Zoey behind, carrying weapons. “Catch this!”

The woman threw you a fan and even in the middle of chaos, you sent Mira a displeased look.

“That’s all I had!” She yelled coming closer.

You tried to open the fan and noticed it was a regular item, not enough to kill a demon. With the demon trying to get your soul, you tried to set free the arm grabbing the fan.

Somehow, you managed to push the demon and before it could literally destroy your face, you felt your hand sliding the fan against the throat of the creature. And in a second, the creature vanished, leaving sparkles behind.

You frowned and gasped in horror.

“You’re a demon huntress like us!” Zoey yelled once the girls made it to your side.

“What?” You asked in confusion. “I’m a normal human being. I’m not-“

“Yes, you are! Look at the fan Mira gave you!”

But you weren’t exactly normal. Normal human beings couldn’t see demons so often, and they didn’t feel the constant sensation of déjà vu. At that moment you wondered if the palm reader was right. Were you cursed?

Mira and Rumi helped you to stand up.

When the four of you looked at the fan, it didn’t look the same, it looked like… a weapon. Similar to the ones the girls carried

“This is so weird” you whispered while shaking your head.

Rumi came closer and touched your shoulder with comfort.

“It’s okay, you might be confused but we can help” she said with a little smile.

“In fact, we’d actually also need you as well” Mira added with crossed arms while Zoey picked up the fan.

You sighed. Was there any other option?

“I don’t have much of many options… Right?”

“Nope” said the three girls with mischievous smiles.

…

Everything changed so drastically in a week. You moved into the same place with the Huntr/x girls and started moving away from the makeup brand creative director and more to be the biggest girl band creative director.

You designed their newest costumes and you couldn’t stop listening to their newest release “Golden”. In terms of demon hunting, you had assimilated the situation and you started helping them. The more you heard them talk about the hideous Gwi-Ma and types of demons, you got to be able to see the world as they did. With blue, but with growing red spots.

In your room, you've got to write and ramble as you used to do before. Only that you forgot to lock the door, even to close it.

“Are you singing ‘Golden’?” Startled, you looked at Rumi in horror.

“Yes, I told you I loved the song…”

“You can sing!”

“No I don’t” you say with a little smile.

“YES, YOU CAN!” Mira and Zoey screamed from the living room.

Rumi and you burst into laughter and you shrugged.

“I like singing. But.. I don’t know…”

“You could be an idol one day” Rumi said with enthusiasm.

“God no!”

“Yes! You can sing, we know you can dance and you have tons of creativity to do something cool”

“I don’t know, Rumi…”

Through the door frame, Mira appeared, looking uninterested in her phone.

“The doctor said he’s having us look at Rumi” she said.

Both of you nodded and when Mira disappeared, Rumi grabbed your arm before you could stand up from the bed.

“You can count on me that I won’t tell them about your patterns” you assure her after seeing her worried face.

You had seen her arms by accident. And you weren’t scared, but confused and curious.

“Thank you, y/n” she said with a smile.

“Sure. But you have to tell them…”

Rumi nodded, as she watched you changing into a jumpsuit.

…

The Huntr/x girls forgot about one extra box of medicines for Rumi. You went back inside the clinic and when you got out, you could hear a crowd and music. And then you spot your friends at the end of the hallway.

Confused and irritated by the sudden change of plans, you jog towards the girls who decided to walk closer, getting lost in the crowd.

“What is going on?” You asked.

“We bumped into some hot guys and turns out they are a new boy band” Zoey turns to tell you with fake disgust.

“Yeah and these two were drooling for the one with abs” Rumi joked, making fun of them.

“We were not drooling” Mira said while rolling her eyes, trying to convince you. You only chuckled.

“Look at them, they dance perfectly in sync” Zoey commented.

Saja Boys; sure what the hell.

♫ ♪ You’re all I can think of

Every drop I drink up

You’re my soda pop

My little soda pop ♫ ♪

What a lame and silly song; you thought.

And then you found yourself mumbling at the melody. So you were finally able to see the group of apparently perfect men. It was such a catchy song; you then thought.

Pastel hairs, colorful clothes, cute faces, and… That face.

As if you had entered into a noise-canceling bubble. You locked your eyes with the leader and an indescribable sensation started covering all of yourself.

He was tall, with perfect skin, perfect features, black hair and… he seemed so familiar.

“Look at me when I’m speaking!”

“I’m sorry…”

“You’re not sorry. You’re selfish and a bad man…”

Voices started to fill your head. Then images, of you in an ancient village, coming from the occident with your family. Meeting a man who became your best friend. He asked your father to marry you. And then… he left you.

Jinu…

Then the woman who cursed you.

“May your soul be doomed until your heart beats with blood again”

You nearly fainted when you heard the music again.

“Are you alright?” Mira asked and you started shaking your head.

“I want to leave” you managed to say with a broken voice.

And then you felt it, his eyes on you.

“What?” Rumi asked once she looked at you so distressed and anxious.

“Don’t ask, just help me take her out of this!” Mira told her.

The girls hurried to move through the crowds and when the Saja Boys' music started to sound distant, you sighed in relief.

The worst part? You knew he had seen you.

…

The smell of herbs filled the wide living room. At the table in the middle rested your smelly cup of tea. Rumi, Zoey, and Mira looked at you with wide eyes and expectant faces at your marked arm.

That night you four had followed the Saja Boys and tried to fight them. You helped Rumi to slip away from Jinu and you seemed to be his weakness, since he let go of your friend easily before you two disappeared from his sight.

“So you are cursed to reincarnate until you find love?” Zoey asked.

“I guess so… Things can’t stop getting weirder” you admitted in a low voice.

The trio of girls exchanged looks.

“And Jinu was the man you were going to marry?” Rumi asks politely, then you nod.

“We were poor, and I never wanted more but he… disposed me. Like we never meant anything…”

You bent to grab your cup of tea under the curious look of the girls.

“My paternal grandmother hated me for pursuing love instead of listening to her to become a witch, sorceress… Now I think she was a demon huntress. So she was pissed at me for not continuing the linage. And she cursed me…”

“Wow, this is… A lot of info” Zoey commented, throwing herself on the couch.

“Huntrix is strong and will manage just fine. But… I don’t think I can kill him” you admitted with a slight blush appearing in your cheeks.

“I can’t believe what I’m gonna say but… Maybe Juno didn’t mean to hurt you and his family” Mira said, earning shocked faces from everyone. “What? I mean, the whole story sounds like a folktale but it’s real. They must be soulmates”

Soulmates… Jinu was a demon. And you hadn’t talked to him in 400 years.

“I promise I will try my best to focus on the Honmoon and not on him” you add before drinking the tea in one single shot. “Now, this tea will make my memories a little blurry for some days. So… let’s not talk about this again, okay?”

The girls looked at you with a little bit of pity. But they nodded back at you.

…

The effects lasted two days. You spent locked in your room writing a few songs for Huntr/x, as well as making a collage for their upcoming performance at the Idol Awards.

Soft music played as you went in and out of your balcony. The heat was starting to become unbearable and you decided to work outside since the mosquitoes didn’t reach the height of your home.

You sang fully relaxed as you moved across the room. Printed images of ideas of the graphics and everything are scattered and a sudden blow of wind made a slight mess of the work you had already done.

“Oh no…” you whisper, kneeling to collect all of the images.

One was missing and you couldn’t find it until a hand offered it. You jumped right there, literally crawling backwards.

When you looked up, there you had it.

The reason why you were cursed and recently developed mixed feelings for.

Jinu was eyeing you with attention.

Both of you stared for what felt like an hour. Your palms were sweating and still holding the images as if they depended on your life.

“You remember me” he stated, the sound of his voice only confirming every flashback you had, every feeling you felt. It was real… You actually loved that man centuries ago.

“The moment I saw you I remembered everything…” you knew he started eyeing you up and down the moment you looked away from his eyes. Just like he used to do when he watched and got all wet when you washed clothes in the river. You blushed, just like you used to do as well.

“How?” He seemed to not be able to believe it. That he had his great love right upon his eyes. You looked the same but… so different. Your soul had changed, from a bright blue, it was shining in green. Meaning that your soul had been overworked. And then, you showed him your arm with the odd symbols.

“When you left, my grandmother cursed me for choosing you above the lineage of my family” you revealed while accommodating the pictures like you had them before the wind came.

“I reincarnate. I can’t remember how many times I’ve lived, but I’m pretty sure I always die young. And I will continue to do so until I find real love”

Jinu kneels across you, the images and papers being the only barrier between you two. You looked up to meet his gorgeous gaze again only to find him looking at you in awe.

“What we had was real love” he placed his hand on top of yours and it left you speechless for a second. A strong feeling of nostalgia hit you. His touch was cold now, but even there you felt the warmth you used to feel.

But you could also see his faint patterns, making you remember he was a demon. And you, an unofficial demon huntress.

“You treated me like I was nothing” you spat out with anger.

He sighed, looking at his fingers with yours before you could move your hand away.

“Yes, and the moment I tasted the luxuries of the palace I regretted it. I couldn’t leave anymore, I made a deal with Gwi-Ma and I was forced to face the consequences of my acts” he says with desperation and a hint of pain. “I wanted to give you and my family the world. And when I knew you weren’t included, I was still selfish. And for four hundred years, I’ve been consumed by the guilt”

“Good, because you deserve it. You’re a demon and that’s the least you could feel as such a thing” you said with lots of venom as you yanked from his hand.

“And now you’re a demon huntress…”

“I just help my friends…”

“I never meant to hurt you. I’ve spent all this time lounging to have you right in front of me and tell you how much I’m sorry. That I need you and I don’t think I’ll ever want someone as bad as I want you”

You stood up, turning around, doing your best to ignore the pang in your heart and the pulsing of your arm, right where the tattoo was.

Was it rightfully fair to be mean? Maybe not… but you were scared after all. Having Zoey, Rumi, and Mira right at the other side of the door, and a demon with you wasn’t ideal.

And you started remembering how much you loved him. And how happy he made you.

“If you truly want it. I can help you break the curse. I’d do anything for you, y/n…”

You stared at the wall in silence, feeling the wind come again. And when you turned around, Jinu was gone.

…

You should’ve known it was a trap orchestrated by Rumi and Jinu. When Rumi convinced you to go on a mission to a random rooftop to help her rehearse, you had no problems. Until you spotted him at said rooftop already.

“It’s none of my business but I think it’s quite worth it to make you two talk…” Rumi said with a nervous smile as the Derpy tiger and bird in a hat followed your friend away.

You sighed loudly, throwing your head back and putting your hands on your hips.

“I- I don’t know why Rumi is doing this. It’s dangerous…” you admitted out loud.

Jinu steps closer, eyeing you up and down, this time, catching his gaze on you.

“What are you looking at?” You asked suddenly feeling nervous.

“Your body, face, every mole and birthmark you had are in the same place…” you didn’t think he would remember. But he was proving you wrong.

And his comment affected you so much that you didn’t notice the moment he stepped beyond your personal space. You tried to step back, but he grabbed your waist with his big hands and the gesture made your legs feel wobbly. Slowly, you started to remember the exact shade of his eyes, the pink of his lips, and the size of his hands.

“You really missed me that much?…” you dared to ask with a sultry tone of voice.

Jinu blushed. His cheeks turned pink and his lips formed a nervous line, which made you chuckle.

Unable to resist the proximity, you placed both of your palms on his chest and immediately transported both of you to those summer nights at the village. Midnight sighs and soft touches, eager to wait till marriage but unable to ignore the curiosity hidden under the robes.

“I don’t even know why you’re here. What do you intend to do. But-“

“I feel it too…” Jinu finished for you.

Even when you knew that under that perfect skin, eyes, and lips you used to kiss every day, there was a demon. But deep down, you knew you’d love him despite all.

You stepped closer, hands pressing tightly against him. He leaned forward, holding your hips and you closed your eyes already knowing you’d be able to taste his lips again.

“We gotta go… Zoey and Mira are wondering where we are” Rumi said appearing in the middle of the scene, shocked to see you and Jinu tangled together. “OH! Uh- I’m sorry…”

“It’s not what you think so!” You hurry to tell your friend.

“It is what you are thinking but uh- yeah…” Jinu awkwardly said.

Shame invaded you and you don’t even look back at Jinu. You caressed the cat’s head and the tip of the bird’s hat before smiling to yourself as you started following Rumi.

“What was that?’ She asked while teasing.

“Nothing” you say, your smile growing bigger.

…

“No, no, no. Don’t wake up…” you heard a distant voice, but you eventually woke up.

In your bed was Derpy and the bird were sleeping. When you looked to the right, at the edge of the bed, there was Jinu. In pajama-striped pants and a hoodie.

“I didn’t want to wake you up…” he admitted with shyness.

“You just wanted to stare at me sleeping like a creep?” You asked with sarcasm, rolling onto your side and yawning.

“What? No! I just-, I wanted to see you…” Jinu said, combing his hair, a sign of nervousness.

“Where is your gang?”

“Sleeping… As we should, I guess”

“Are they your friends or did you just recruited them?”

“A little bit of both” Jinu confessed with a smile.

“If things were different. I’d ask you if I could meet them, I don’t know why but I’m curious…”

“Fair point, half of the world is too” you knew he wanted to hold your hand. So you just moved it closer to him.

“So you’re now an idol? Singing you’re my little soda pop?” Your question filled with teasing made him blush and it earned you a playful punch on your hip.

“It’s catchy…” Jinu attempted to defend himself and the band.

“It is… I’ve started singing it with Zoey”

He held your hand and it made your stomach flip. Then traced invisible patterns across your face.

“This is how I remember your skin. But I also really like how you look with makeup…” slowly, you smiled at his words.

“The modern look also fits you well. You look hot…” it was his time to blush, and it made you cackle.

Jinu loved making you laugh, he loved everything that involved you but being able to make you laugh again, made him feel less demonic and more… human.

“I’m gonna miss it” he said gently tapping at your cheek.

“What thing?” You asked in confusion.

“Everything about you…” he admitted. “That was the deal with Gwi-Ma, I stop Huntr/x and I get all my memories erased”

You frowned.

“But I don’t want you to forget me…”

His heart stopped. His throat tightened and he had to hold your hand more firmly.

“Sleep, beautiful” he said as he started to brush your hair with the tip of his fingers.

In seconds, the gesture made you go back to sleep.

…

Jinu was going insane.

You almost kissed him, and he appeared in your bed to tell you that he wanted to forget everything. Only for you to tell him that you didn’t want him to forget you. It nearly made him cry.

You asked him about the things that made him happy and you told him you wished things were different.

Then the Idol Awards happened. And you yelled at him when he and the rest of the Saja Boys ruined the Huntr/x performance. Zoey and Mira grew mad at you for helping Rumi keep her patterns secret. And as Jinu used his voice to attract people, he realized how unfair he was being to you once again.

The woman he loved was cursed because of him. And he couldn’t actually help you. Or so he thought.

You still loved him, he knew.

Jinu didn’t think twice before jumping from the stage to help you when he saw a demon scratching your face.

He saw you using your fan but it only attracted more creatures.

It was still a mystery to him to know how you learned to fight and for how long you trained. There were a lot of unanswered questions. Immediately forgotten when he got rid of the demons and offered you a hand to stand up.

He could at least try to save you. To stop you from reincarnating once again and living a memorable life.

“I love you!” he screamed.

“What?” You screamed back.

“I love you! And I will always do” Jinu said and you couldn’t help but fear and grab his arm. “We’ll meet again, my dear…”

“What are you doing?” He sighed and gave you a smile filled with joy and sadness at the same time.

You looked back at Rumi, fighting against Gwi-Ma himself on the stage and you understood Jinu’s plan.

“Jinu, don’t you dare…”

“It’s the only way to end this!”

“No, don’t leave me alone again!” It broke his heart. Seeing you with tears in your eyes and begging him.

He kissed you and this time you couldn’t do anything but focus on the way his lips moved against yours, carefully trying to remember every detail. Promising to remember that kiss for the rest of your life.

You looked at his real form. His demon glowy eyes, the lilac skin, and darker patterns covering him. His fangs and pointed fingers. You couldn’t give a fuck.

“I love you” he repeated making you accept that he had made up his mind.

“I love you too” you admitted between sobs.

Even when he started running back towards the stage, you tried to pull him back, to keep him with you. But he went ahead. The only thing you did was to pull a rusty bracelet from him, the gold bracelet he got to get into the palace back then. You sobbed harder, getting rid of demons that still attempted to get your soul. And as you watched Gwi-Ma disappear as every demon and Saja Boy, the bracelet turned into ashes. Your tattooed arm pulsated and when you looked at the skin, you gasped in shock. The symbols had disappeared, and the skin was free from any mark.

…

For the whole world, it was the biggest performance in the history of K-pop, to Huntr/x and you, more than just a performance.

Your friendship with the girls only strengthened and they convinced you to do he craziest thing you’d done so far. Debuting as a soloist…

Using Y2K and sequined themes, you built a concept and soon, with Zoey’s help, you were able to create songs. Mira trained you to be a great dancer and Rumi vocalized with you every night. Even before your first song was released, you already had many fans. At the same time, haters disliked you for allegedly using Huntr/x to gain fame of your own but most of the people seemed to be loving you and your debut song “Karmic”.

And of course, it was related to him. The song being about shining despite being bound to face karma for trying to get back a man you loved and who was gone.

It had been two months to be exact. Your debut happening only three weeks later after everything happened. It was your only escape to not focusing on the scar his departure left.

Maybe you were free from the curse. Your skin free from any proof of said curse. But completely scarred by Jinu’s memory.

In a dream, everything was darkness. And the only thing you were able to see, was that old lady who centuries ago was your grandmother, the woman who cursed you.

“Curse begone, make a wish…” she said.

You froze, then she showed you the rusty bracelet you pulled off from Jinu.

“I want him back. I want him to be happy and have everything that made him happy. I want him by my side and to be happy for the rest of my life with him” you yelled with tears in your eyes.

And then you woke up, tears actually came and you wiped them away.

It was the day of your debut album and first mini-concert. Rumi, Mira, and Zoey literally threw open your door and came to sit by the feet of your bed.

“Are you ready for today?” Zoey asked.

“Yeah, I think so…” the three girls smiled at you and started rambling about the busy schedule you had for the day.

“We’ll be by your side the whole day, don’t worry” Rumi assured you.

“Thanks, Rumi”

You stood up to look at your balcony and the sky was full of small clouds that made it look so dreamy. The skyscrapers shone with the sun’s reflection and a Saja Boys comeback giant poster was hanging from one of them.

A SAJA BOYS COMEBACK GIANT POSTER WAS HANGING FROM ONE OF THE SKYSCRAPERS!!!!!!!!!

“Uh… girls, Are you looking at the same thing as me?” They stood by your side and gasped in shock.

“No way” Rumi whispered.

“No. It might be a song they recorded before and the people who managed them are desperate to keep making some money” you assured them, also assuring yourself.

“Yeah, y/n is right” Mira agreed with you, arm around your shoulders.

You looked at Jinu, smiling in the poster.

How badly I miss you, my love; you thought.

“Are you okay with seeing… him?” Mira asked.

You nodded, smiling. Unable to feel sad, because that day was all about you.

“Yeah, let’s go to have some breakfast” you replied, hugging the girls.

“Bobby is here” Mira revealed.

“BOBBY!” He became your manager as well and you liked the man. He was a great guy and even a friend.

You had so many questions about the upcoming concert and presentations.

But you were excited, so you decided to enjoy the day with your friends as well.

…

If the public could describe you in two words, that would be: sultry and cutting-edge.

Half of your songs being dance/club hymns and the other half being crude, strong lyrics with unusual sounds that created an artistic sense.

Singing full songs glued to a microphone covered in rhinestones and then dancing while singing was a little bit more ingenious than you thought. But you were having so much fun. Changing into different attires in less than a minute and having sips of water in between was exciting.

Mira was cheering, satisfied with how good you danced.

“Look at the piece of art I created” she joked with Zoey and Rumi.

“I love that part of the choreography” Rumi added as they watched you.

“Yeah but let’s calm Bobby. He’s on the verge of collapse after seeing how sensual the song and dance are” the trio of girls started cackling, looking at their manager who looked nervous at the public and sponsors.

But everything was in order.

Until you got to the after party. A club a few blocks away from your place with the girls. A lot of magazines and artists wanted to be at your party. As unbelievable as it sounded, you were officially a celebrity and idol. Far from being tired, you danced with Mira all night, and couldn’t stop laughing along with Zoey and Rumi.

But you needed to take a break. To savor happiness alone for a moment. You stepped out to the empty terrace of the place and the distant music was the only sound. The sky was almost completely dark and you sighed in disbelief. You turned around, leaning backwards against the railing, and saw a man approaching.

You thought it was Bobby. But no…

You stopped breathing and for a second you thought you had died.

How was it possible that Jinu was standing, looking like a human and very much alive in front of you?

You threw yourself into his arms, and he was actually there. Tears prickled in your eyes and you heard him chuckling as he hugged you back.

“Is this real? I’m not drunk and making all of this in my head?”

“No, you actually brought me back…” he whispered in your ear, then kissing your temple over and over again. “You smell a lot like alcohol actually. But it’s real…”

He was joking, Jinu was joking. But there you had the love of your many lives in your arms.

“You re-appear after I saw you dying and you decide to joke right now?”

So the dream was real…

“I woke up and I was here. My mom and sister live, and the Saja Boys too. A call from our manager telling us that our comeback was scheduled woke me up” he said. “I thought I was dreaming but no. Then my mom asked me if I wanted to have breakfast and there was my sister looking at you in the tv. You were singing a song and… I just knew it was real”

“I had a wish in a dream and I begged to have you back” you revealed. “So your soul. Is finally yours again?”

“I got trapped in Rumi’s sword. But your wish set me free… thank you” Jinu grabbed your cheeks and smiled fondly at you.

“For the man that I’ve been in love with for centuries? Everything….”

“Even after all the pain I caused you, you save me and willingly keep loving me?” you shrugged with a smile.

“You’re worth it. You were since the moment I met you, Jinu” you accepted, placing his hands on your waist and pushing him down to kiss him.

His cheeks felt hot under your palms and you knew he was blushing once again.

Amidst the kiss, you smiled. And he felt that pure joy again. He could finally live with you just like it was ment to be the first time. He could be a man his age and breathe knowing he would age and fill his purpose along you.

“We both are idols now” he commented with a little smirk.

“Are you ready for all the scandal we’ll cause when our fans learn that we’re together?” You asked him, still in his arms, not daring to move away as Jinu chuckled.

“The sooner the better. I didn’t like many of the looks people would throw at you at the concert…” he revealed with a disgusted face and your eyes went wide.

“You saw me?”

“Of course I did… And I have to admit I’m quite surprised” his teasing tone made you laugh nervously but also nudge him playfully.

“Why? Did you like my outfits? And the way I danced?” Making him nervous, you cackled.

“I’m not used to this modern you yet” he said.

“Well, buckle up, honey. Cause I’m hardly letting you slip off of me and I’m not changing” you threatened before kissing him again.

“Good for me” he assured you while gasping for air and returning to passionately kiss you.

In the modern times you were leaving, Jinu and you didn’t have to wait till marriage. And thank goodness, because you wouldn’t have to explain much to Mira, Rumi, and Zoey the following morning as to why Jinu was in your bed and why the rest of the Saja Boys rested with a hangover at your place with them.

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

Taglist: @nina-from-317 @gloriousqueen101 @birbtweettweet @akariis4snowball @nekee-lilac02 @yourtypicalhuman09 @ffcfffr @ilovemuhusbandnanami @foxxbee-2963 @hara23 @akeaaan @kaorisakamotofan @kyuki07 @siasoup @vvidka @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee @oreeowe @anakinsrilgirlfriend @thecordelialetters @vixyvlo @iviorienne @loonalockley @bre99 @ateezswonderland @crescent-z @gina239 @aerrz3 @theblackestbitch

♫ ♪ reader’s inspired debut setlist:

•Karmic is similar to Zen from JENNIE in my mind

1. Spark - WINTER AESPA solo

2. Me Against The Music - Britney Spears, Madonna

3. Lifestyle - LISA

4. So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings - Caroline Polachek

5. earthquake- JISOO

6. Sober II (Melodrama) - Lorde

7. THAT’S A NO NO - ITZY

8. Fetish - Selena Gomez, Gucci Mane

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Octavian, fem!Reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Fem reader, mentioned she/her pronouns to reader, reader gets period/menstrual cycle, embarrassment, implied younger reader, blood (non-injury), hurt/comfort, slight infantilization

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was another commission! I've been on testosterone for a while that I forgot what having my period feels like, I felt almost like a confused cis man writing this LOL. There will be one for Vincent coming soon too!

You try to not freak out, but it's hard not to when you see the blood staining your undergarments when changing. You know what's going on, but it doesn't change anything by much. You feel gross, disgusted, angry, all sorts of emotions. Above everything, though, you feel embarrassed. Your stomach hurts so bad that you just want to crawl up in a ball and die.

There's a soft knock on the door, making you jump.

"(Y/n)?" he gently asks. "Are you okay in there? You've been in there for a while." His voice is soft as always, but also clearly worried.

"I'm fine!" you yelp. You cringe at how high-pitched your voice sounded. "I'll be out in a sec. Sorry." You squirt some soap on your hands to hopefully get rid of the smell of blood.

He takes a moment to respond. You can tell he's thinking.

"You don't sound fine," he murmurs. "Sweetheart, if there's something wrong, you know you can tell me."

The gentleness of his tone makes you feel guilty. "I'm okay, Papa, I promise."

He lingers at the door a few seconds longer, before finally sighing. "Alright. Well, come down soon. Breakfast is ready." The floorboards creak under him as he leaves you alone, but you notice he takes his time leaving, as if expecting you to change your mind.

You sigh heavily once he's gone, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

To avoid his enhanced sense of smell, you spray some of his perfume on yourself. It smells like cashmere and lavender.

After that, you cautiously make your way downstairs to where breakfast is waiting. As you step down from the stairs and enter the dining area, you see Octavian has pulled out your chair for you. He gently gestures with one hand for you to sit.

You smile shakily at him.

"There she is," he greets warmly, pressing a kiss to your temple once you sit. "Good morning."

"Mornin'," you mumble, face going hot. You don't really have an appetite with how bad your stomach feels right now, so you poke at your food rather than eat it.

He's still standing behind you. You can practically feel his eyes watching you with a worried intensity.

When you continue not to speak, he sighs.

"...what's wrong?"

You freeze, looking everywhere but at him nervously. He sees that. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?" he presses. His gaze burns into your skull. It's almost worse than if he were angry. You can tell just how concerned he is, and it just makes you feel even more awful.

"I have a stomach ache," you mutter. It isn't technically a lie. It does hurt. A lot.

His expression softens and he clicks his tongue in sympathy. He rests a cool palm on the small of your back. "Aw, darling... why didn't you say so sooner? I can make something much easier for that tummy ache of yours. How does soup sound, hmm?"

It's embarrassing being treated like such a baby in front of him, but his obvious attempts to console you are sweet nonetheless.

"I'm okay," you mutter. "I think I'm just... tired. I'm gonna go lay down." You just want to suffer with your cramps alone.

Octavian's brows furrow, and his expression falls slightly. "I can give you something for the pain, at least..." he murmurs. There's an uncharacteristic hint of desperation to his tone.

He doesn't want to let you out of his sight, it seems. That's usual behavior for him, but now it seems less out of pure lonely clinginess, and more out of fear. As if you're covered in injuries, and not just having bad cramps.

"Sure," you agree, hoping maybe that'll get him off your case.

He smiles, though his brows remain upturned with worry. "I'll be right back."

It doesn't take long for him to come back with medicine and tea. You manage to force both down despite the growing nausea accompanying the ache in your gut.

He keeps trying to press for answers, asking if you're sick. He asks multiple times what's wrong and seems nearly frantic. He goes so far as to put his hand against your forehead, checking if you have a fever. You do, which isn't helping. All you know is that you feel gross and terrible and just want to curl up in bed with your blanket.

"It's just a small stomach ache, Papa," you mutter. "I'm fine, I promise. You can leave me alone now..."

Octavian hesitates, then nods. "Okay... but if you need absolutely anything—anything—you'll call for me. Right?"

"Yes," you nod. "Of course."

Your words seem to reassure him at least partially, because he leans forward and kisses your hair before letting you be alone. "I love you. I'll either be in the kitchen or living room if you need me. Or just shout."

"I love you too," you murmur, and retreat upstairs to your bedroom.

...

A few hours pass, and you do end up falling asleep, the medicine not giving you much relief.

When you wake up, there's fresh blood on your sheets. Tears run down your face and you want to scream in pain and frustration, but you force yourself not to.

You scramble out of your bed, staring at the red spot on your bed sheets. There's no way Octavian won't notice this. No chance. Oh, god. You hate the idea of him knowing. The very idea makes you feel gross and humiliated, not to mention terrified.

Maybe you should just tell him and get it over with. Or maybe you should try hiding it from him instead. You don't want him to look at you differently.

There's a knock on your door. "(Y/n), sweetheart? I know you said you weren't hungry, but I made soup. May I come in?"

You panic when you hear his voice, trying to frantically hide your sheets. Unfortunately, the task is hard to accomplish without getting more blood everywhere and making more messes. A tiny bit gets on your hands and it makes your lip wobble with humiliation.

"No!" you cry out through tears. You internally curse; great, now he definitely knows something is wrong.

Octavian, despite having the utmost respect for privacy most of the time, bursts open the door in a panic.

You immediately turn around so you face away from him, frantically hiding your stained bedsheets behind you. It's futile.

He stares at you, seemingly baffled by your behavior. "Sweetheart, what's going on? Talk to me, please, you're scaring me." He pauses, taking in your shaking figure. "Why are you crying?" He looks ready to cry himself, which only increases tenfold when he smells it. His brow furrows and his gaze darkens. "...no."

"Wait, Papa, its not what you think, I—" you start, but he's already frantically searching you for injuries.

Octavian's eyes are wider than you've ever seen them as they scan you all over, hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

His look of panic somehow increases when he sees the blood on the sheets you're holding behind your back. "Oh my God," he whispers. His hands slide from your shoulders to cradle your face. He holds you in place and tilts your head from side to side, examining you closer. He's clearly looking for injuries.

Given that you're a vampire like him, you find it a bit more ridiculous that he's reacting in such a way.

Before he can have a full blown panic attack, you speak.

"Papa, it's just my period," you rasp. Your voice is scratchy from sleep and crying. "That's what's been wrong this morning. I... got it for the first time today."

Relief floods over him. The color slowly returns to his face and he relaxes entirely, nearly collapsing on you in his weak state of reprieve.

He holds you close to his chest, a soft sigh escaping him.

"I thought you were dying," he murmurs hoarsely.

"I can't, actually. Kind of part of the whole immortality thing," you awkwardly remind him.

He swallows thickly. "I suppose it's just instinct to fear the worst." He gently pulls away from the embrace and presses a kiss to your hair. You think you feel a tear fall onto your head. "Oh, my sweet girl. Why on earth didn't you tell me about this?"

"Umm, 'cause it was embarrassing?" you mutter.

"Embarrassing?" he repeats dumbfoundedly. "Now why would you think that?"

You fidget. "Well... because..."

He sighs after you trail off. "Well, I have not the slightest clue why you'd be embarrassed about something like this, but I'm just relieved. Is that why you were wearing my perfume earlier?"

"You noticed?" you squeak, feeling even more flustered.

"Of course I did. I thought about pointing it out, but I know you; I didn't want you thinking I was upset about it." He gently squeezes your hand. "Regardless. Come along, sweetheart, I think bathtime is in order. After that, I'll go into the town and get you some proper supplies, okay? Oh, and I'll wash your sheets and clothes."

You smile shakily. "Thanks for not being awkward about it."

"Nonsense, little love," he coos. "This is nothing to be awkward over. If I weren't still basking in relief that you aren't injured, I might be offended you think so little of me." A chuckle leaves his lips. "After we have everything taken care of, how about some cuddles with Papa by the fireplace? Tea, too."

"I'd love that," you murmur.

[johnnycadesmuse]

Hiii

Can you write something w dallas x curtis!sister? Thank youuu☺️

˚. ᵎᵎ oh my angel

— dallas winston x curtis!reader

song 𝄞 oh my angel by bertha tillman

warnings: language

the dining room was bustling with noise as you, your brothers, and his friends all sat around the table, grabbing at the food at the center of the table like starved hounds. boys you thought to yourself as you picked away at your food like a civilised human being.

"so anyway, she came up to me and asked me what I thought about her dress, and I said-" Two-Bit rambled, his mouth full of mac and cheese, making you cringe.

as everyone sat listening to Two-Bits story, you couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes on you. you tried your best to ignore it, but eventually it got to you and you began to feel uncomfortable. you finally looked to your side to see Dallas looking at you from the opposite end of the table.

when he made eye contact with you, he didn't look away, but instead smirked at you. he was leaning back, legs spread, plate empty. you looked away quickly, your cheeks flushed and your body heat rapidly rising.

you tried your best to focus on the conversation going on at the table, the boys bickering back and forth. however you couldn't help but pay attention to Dally's constant glaring, and it made you want to scream.

you quickly got up from the table, grabbing your plate and walking into the kitchen. you began to clean your plate, the warm water running over your hands as you scrubbed away at the porcelain.

suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and you felt warm air against your neck. you smiled, leaning into the person behind you.

"you looks so beautiful tonight" Dally whispered into your ear. "I could just eat you" he groaned, nipping at your ear lobe, making you squeal and lean away in an attempts to escape him. he didn't let you, but instead wrapped his arms tighter.

"Dal! they're gonna come in here and see!" you scolded in a whisper, attempting to push him off of you.

"maybe it's time they see" he said in a more serious tone, still with a smile on his face.

"Dal.." you signed, turning around and cupping his face, your lips centimetres apart. "you know we can't. my brothers will kill you"

"I don't care baby. i'm tired of sneaking around"

"I know, I know" you sighed disappointedly. you walked over to grab a towel, drying your hands before leaning against the counter with your arms crossed.

"we'll talk about it later, yeah?" he asked, to which you nodded. you kissed him passionately before he pulled away to grab a beer and walked back out to the dining room. you then walked down the hallway to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you to wait for later to come.

when everyone had left for the night and your brothers were all tucked into bed, you sat in your room patiently, waiting for Dally to appear.

the sudden knock on your window made you jump, but that fear quickly turned to excitement as you walked over to the window to see Dally waiting outside. you opened the window, helping him into your room before quickly shutting it. he pulled you in for a kiss, his big hands on either side of your face.

"hey baby" he whispered with a smile, kissing your forehead. you lead him over to your bed, flopping onto the mattress as you watched him remove his jacket, shoes, and shirt before joining you.

you snuggled into him, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you closer (if that was even possible). you both laid in silence for a few minutes, listening to the owl hooting outside of your window as the clock on your nightstand continued to make a very faint ticking sound. "I missed ya' real bad" Dally finally broke the silence, looking down at you.

"I missed you too baby" you whispered back, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to spend time with you. now it's summer Pony is always around. I can barely do anything or go anywhere without him being with me. he's like a fuckin' leech" you laughed, but Dally didn't. you looked up at him with a confused expression, his face stoic and expressionless yet slightly frustrated. "hey? what's wrong?" you asked, placing a hand to the side of his face and guiding him to look at you.

"I don't understand why we gotta hide this. us." he said annoyed, throwing his hands up. you sighed, rolling out of bed before standing up and running a hand through your hair. "I mean, what are they gonna do? shoot me?"

"Darry might" you said in a serious tone as you weren't joking— Darry may actually shoot Dallas if he found out about the two of you.

"okay, so?"

"so?! Dal if they find out i'm dating you, they're gonna ground me forever."

"I think you're overthinkin' this Doll. I mean.. they know me" he exclaimed, laughing a bit at the end. "they really think that I'd hurt you or something? I mean, sure I get into fight but I ain't no deadbeat"

"It ain't about that Dal. you may not physically hurt me but..." you paused, sighing. you looked at Dallas, his face confused. he then had a look of realisation, which then quickly turned to an expression of pain.

"you really think i'd hurt you like that?" he asked, clearly hurt by the thought.

"well, no offense Dal but you haven't exactly got boyfriend of the year awards lined up on your shelves." he rolled his eyes, looking away from you. you continued to stare at him, which you could tell was making him uncomfortable.

"listen baby.." you sighed, coming back into bed with him. "we will tell them, just in a few weeks maybe? just need to.. mentally prepare. Dally nodded, embracing you into his arms.

"thanks.."

@avroravia @johnnycadesslut @seilahdiaries @r0seb100d

[mi-co-uk]

blue!reader x saviour!matt

BLURB: "listen before I go" + "i love you"

this is part of my billie eilish writing marathon [here]

WARNINGS: this is a very very sensitive topic, it includes final messages before an unalive attempt, hospitals, argument, implied abuse, upsetting content !! please procede with caution or not at all if this is a triggering topic. I found it triggering to even write so please prioritise yourself if you aren't sure <33

a/n this was gonna be two parts but I made it into one !

wc: 1.4k

- this takes place after chapter 5 of my "coming clean" series but can be read separately ! it's also technically chapter 6 c:

AU MASTERLIST // NAV // ALL AUS

" hi matt im um- im really glad you didnt pick up.

Must be kinda weird hearing voice. [laughs] i didnt wanna show you i was better until, i guess until i felt it. He killed my voice bad right, sounds different. I feel a lot different.

Doesnt hurt anymore, thats good? Its the only thing that doesnt. I-i move sometimes and im just expecting someone to hit me or yell at me. Its like i can feel myself getting hit you know? I guess that might sound crazy. [small laugh]

Its nice here- colder than LA. i think youd like it, we have this woods nearby. ‘m not allowed there on my own though, ‘s not safe.

[sigh] i wish you were here. everyone tries- they really try but i cant do it. I hate talking, i hate living feeling like im gonna die any second, im afraid of everything. It feels like- like im rotting. like therapy is a way to cut me open to see the mould but then- then im just left cut open.

I dont know what to do with the feelings anymore. 

I feel infected. [sniff]

Im supposed to distract myself from it all, ‘m not supposed to think about it. I dont see why draining the memories out would work when ive been fucking bathing in them for years. 

I dont think i can live like this, matt. [quiet sob]

Im not even a person anymore.but  I dont know how to try being anything else. 

Im always just- empty. And i want you- so bad. I dont wanna feel like im buying time until i die any more. I-its like im lonely, but i feel like everything is suffocating me, like its crowded. 

I cant have you. ‘m not supposed to have anything- it sounds dumb, i have people. I was the reason i didnt have anyone in the first place. But now im just- im just a chore and im weighing everyone down. 

Everyones expecting me to do it. to- to leave. I dont know why im putting it off anymore. 

[sob] im sorry i just- im so sorry. [sniff]

I dont see another way out. 

I love you. "

It felt just how she described it, a crowded loneliness stemming from deep within. 

He wanted her to call back. She didnt. 

Matt had missed her call, but got her sisters call. A twisted compromise, as if the universe had firmly decided he wasnt allowed to talk to her, to stop her. He could only ever miss her. 

The plane ride was long, exhausting. He couldnt sleep at all. Theyd got this journey together not long ago. He held her hand, silent communication as she was too nervous to rest. She was terrified of how shed be greeted once she got there. And now matt was terrified.

Hed given himself this role, he grew almost confident in his abilities while she stayed with him. He was going to protect her, hed be her support, every second that she wanted him there. Her life was so fractured, people of value were scattered, her memories and sense of self were all scattered. Of course he didnt want to let her go, but he wanted what she wanted. Matt wanted her to live a life with the people she wanted there - he wanted her just to live. He wasnt there to see the way that idea changed for herself.

She wanted to apologise, to make amends. He never thought she meant final ones. 

The hospital lights burned into matts blank stare and red eyes. He refused to believe she could be gone. He refused to believe any of it was happening, even as it played out in front of him. 

Her voicemail didnt feel final. It felt like she was waiting, she wanted matt to stop her. He was supposed to stop her. She had so much life left, he had so many moments he wanted to share with her. She had an entire future waiting for her. It wasnt supposed to happen. She couldnt have meant it to happen. 

He got walked down to her room, matt was unresponsive. He couldnt bring himself to talk when he was convinced it was some sick nightmare. 

She wasnt awake, her sister sat aside her watching. She barely acknowledged matts entrance, like she was in a trance expecting her to spring back to life but only if she kept watch.

 It felt too sick to think but it looked as if she was already gone. Her body barely shifting, wires connected to her like she was a machine. Like she was never real in the first place. The scarring he remember had faded, no injuries from anyone but herself were on show. 

It could be easy to blame everyone else. Matt could get angry her sister, telling her she shouldve done more, been there more. How abandoned did she feel by her to have to call on matt when she hadnt seen him in months? He knew it wouldnt be productive. Hed get no where, break the only bond that was the reason he was even on the list to be able to see her. 

He kind of hoped shed just wake up, that shed feel his presence even so far out of reach. He wanted to be enough. But just showing up never is. And he didnt blame her for it.                                       

Her sister essentially hogged the space next to her on the hospital bed. It wasnt matts place to take that from her, he understood that at least. As days went on, her sister had warmed up to him. Less blaming, less anger for how he handled the situation. Matt didnt bother explaining himself, he didnt really care how her sister felt about him. Not when all he felt anyways was guilt.

Regardless, eventually he got to sit next to her. He stared long at her hands, he wouldnt touch them, he didnt want to know if they were cold, he didnt want to feel the weight and have to process that she really was both far gone and right in front of him. He also didnt think he could let go. It was easier than seeing her face, everytime he did he would wait for a twitch, slight movements of even just imaging that she would open her eyes.  

“They say she’ll wake up.” her sister broke the silence. “But i kind of expect her not to.”

“Dont say shit like that.” 

“What? She already gave up, matt. She gave up on me long before that.”

“No she didnt and you know that. He forced her to leave. She didnt understand what was happening and you cant blame her for that.”

She scoffed and stood up from the seat, pacing with her hands on her hips. “Im allowed to be upset.”

“You are but can you not do it while shes laying in front of you in a fucking hospital bed?! You dont think she knew she shouldnt have left? You think she never hated herself for it? Any amount of anger you have for anything shes done, she has for herself a million times over. You dont get to be angry, not right now.”

He felt a hand atop his own, forcing his head sharply around to face the one staring up at him. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the light of the room, wanting to reach up at rub at them but was disturbed by the wires attached to her. 

“H-hey its okay, keep your arm still.”

She groaned at the instruction, moving her other arm in an attempt to pull it out. Matt held her arm back quickly. “No, stop!” he chuckled further seeing her eye roll in disapproval. 

She rested her head back against the pillow, staring directly at matt. He rubbed soothing patterns onto her arm with his thumb, she gave him a little wave and a small smile.

“hi,” he whispered, admiring the life in her eyes. All his feelings were rushing to him, the ache hed tried to buried down had been set free, tears beginning to brim in his eyes. 

She had a look of guilt, reaching up to hold his face in one of her hands. He leaned down to complete the gesture, smiling past the feeling of tears falling down his cheeks. She shook her head at him, frowning. 

“Im okay,” he sniffed, “i just love you.”

He placed kisses on her wrist as she caressed his face with her thumb. “Im sorry too.”

PLEASE READ

a/n my messages are open for anyone who needs support ! I know this is a very difficult topic and a lot of people try to cope by engaging in these topics but please talk to someone if you need to and I'm also here if you need anything <33

- i'll see you guys in a little while <3

[manicmanuscription]

BINGO - Stuck (preferably angst if you’re willing)

Feysand x reader

Thank you!!!!

Holding On

Bingo Ask Game! See the original post & rules here

Word Count: 950+

Prompt: Stuck

Pairings: Feysand x Reader

Summary: Reader was poisoned and Feyre and Rhys just can't seem to let them go.

Tags: ANGST, mentions of wanting to die, poison, its a fantasy magic world ofc theres medical inaccuracies, stuck in body, no happy ending, dead dove do not eat.

A/N: *muttering to myself in the dark while chewing on my hair.* angst, i can write angst.... also thank you for the request!

Distantly I heard the bedroom door snick open and shut. Footsteps thudding across carpeted floors until the bed dipped on both ends as my mates slid in right next to me. 

“A Healer’s coming tomorrow don’t worry love.” Feyre whispered, trying to be comforting but it only made the all encompassing pain even worse. My rotting heart twisting up even further as it beat uselessly in my chest. She settled herself tucked in my arms, Rhysand cautiously positioned himself behind me.

I didn’t have the energy to open my eyes much less respond. I’d been poisoned only a few weeks ago yet it felt like lifetimes instead. It had already eaten through all of my magic, now settling for whatever pieces of my body I had left to give. 

Rhysand trailed comforting fingers up and down my spine yet the increasing numbness made it hard to feel anything. 

It hurt. God it hurt so fucking bad. Sharp blistering pain throughout every single inch of me electrifying my insides. It had gotten too intense now for a daemati’s touch but I still felt Rhysand poking around in there gently, his touch only increased the burn, scorching me and I whimpered, too tired to push him out even though he was slowly ripping my headache and remaking it worse.

He eventually pulled away and I let out a ragged breath. Feyre was still whispering soothing things to me but I couldn’t hear her. My hearing still fuzzy from Rhys’ failed attempt to soothe me. 

I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The poison zapped my energy and what little I had was spent fighting the raw burn attacking my senses. 

The healer’s couldn’t do anything, nobody could. It had moved through me too hard and too fast. Madja told them I was going to die, but with magic transplants, blood work, old spells and strange healer’s with strange fascinations they had only prolonged my suffering. 

At first I didn’t mind, I didn’t want to die and I understood how painful it was for all three of us. I just wanted to make them happy, to fight even though I knew it was a losing battle. I wanted to stay with my mates and seeing the heartbreak on their face when they looked at me? I couldn’t take it. 

But now…

As I could do nothing now but stay in bed and just feel, no energy to even cry or beg for mercy as it ravaged upon my very bones. 

I was already dead. A living breathing corpse held together by string and glue.

Feyre curled herself into me further as if she somehow heard the barely coherent stray thoughts of a dying female, asking me questions I couldn’t process. I wish they’d just let me die. Let my exhausted heart stop beating, it was only causing me pain, only causing them pain.

The bond between us was slowly unraveling each day, violently ripping away my mates sanity with it and I let out a dry tear into Feyre’s hair. 

The last few parts of the bond still forcefully breathing oxygen into my body whispered from the shattered pieces of my soul to stay. To hold on, just to protect them from the inevitable pain of my death, it wanted me to stay here wrapped up in their arms and fight. 

But I was tired, the only time I slept was when I passed out from the intensity. Every waking moment was filled with nothing but excruciating pain, my mates moving along the room in a frantic scatter each day begging for the healer’s help when they all told them the same thing. 

Let them go. 

They didn’t listen, no, they bit at their shredded leashes and barked orders. Even my family wasn’t allowed to see me anymore, Feyre and Rhys had banned them after they all pleaded them to do the same thing, taking one look at me and knowing what had to be done.

When I could use my voice I begged them too. Begged from the darkest parts of my torment, each word itched up my throat and laced with the agony I was left with. But they couldn’t hear me over the sound of my heart slowing and my mind breaking into pieces.

I was a living, breathing corpse, stuck in a body that had no function other than to be emaciated with the truest and uncut form of suffering.

Rhysand moved his arm so it lay across my body, intertwining his fingers with mine and Feyre’s. The soft sounds in the room were our shuddering inhales. Better memories of us laying like this flickered through my mind in a dull light before the poison stole that thought away from me too. Every thought sluggish and dragged as consciousness took an effort I didn’t have anymore. I missed the people we were, the relationship we had before this tragedy.

I tried to enjoy their touch, trying to seek the familiar sensation of holding and being held by them that had been by my side for more than half my life, what once was light now was tainted. Haunted by the ghosts of the people who existed before this poison had torn me apart.

Still they soothed only the littlest part's of me they could. A pebble in an ocean of agony.

Truth is I was already dead, and I had taken Feyre and Rhys with me. 

They fought every unraveled thread of fate and when it got worse they turned just as lifeless as I did. Unknowingly tormenting me because they could not face the reality. 

I wish I was dead. 

Actually I wish I had died sooner so we had not turned into the husks of ourselves we are right now. Laying in this bead with our hearts technically beating, yet I know our souls left this realm of living long ego.

Endless torment and I would endure it just for a little while longer. I had too. I couldn’t run or hide from it. I had no choice but to stay still and experience it.

It wouldn’t be too long hopefully before I go, but in my frozen state it would feel as if the stars had decided to take the time to reshape themselves. 

I would do my best to just try a little longer. 

If only to save this world from their pain when they finally realize they cannot fight for me any longer.

Feyre shifted so she was facing me, I could tell because of the way her breath tickled my skin in a gentle caress.

Her voice finally broke through the haze, holding the weight of a women breaking behind her words. "We love you."

I love them too.

I just didn't have the energy to say it back.

[leavesonthetrees]

Tea is at Four

Summary - Bilbo stands in the doorway of Bag End, one last time.

A/N: I’m really sorry, I feel like I need to preemptively apologise for this one. Please let me know if it made you feel anything, I did in fact cry writing this.

Today was a happy occasion for Bilbo Baggins, of course, it is not every day it is your 111th birthday! Frodo is down at the Party Tree with his best friend Samwise Gamgee, a kind young man with Frodo’s best interests at heart. Not entirely necessary of course as his dearest nephew is of age and is more than capable of taking care of himself but you can hardly blame a senile old hobbit for worrying.

Bilbo stands in the doorway of Bag End at the end of Bag Shot Row, knowing it is the last time he will walk these floorboards, warm his feet in front of the fireplace, make a scrumptious pot of tea in that kitchen, tend to his flowers in the garden. From here, while his eyesight is beginning to go, he can still see the acorn tree before the tears blur his vision. Oh Yavanna, how many years has it been? 60 whole years since he ran out that door, the ink still drying on the crinkled parchment of his contract as he flew past his stunned neighbours, past prying eyes and gossiping biddies to the most brilliant adventure of a lifetime.

Until it wasn’t. Thorin lies cold and unmoving in his trembling hands with Bilbo praying to every deity he could think of that this was all a bad dream. He notices drops of rain landing on Thorin’s cheeks, wiping the wetness away in a futile attempt, only to realise they are his tears. It is only when Dwalin places a hand on his shoulder can he tear his eyes from that pale face, raising himself on shaky, numb legs to walk back to camp. Alone.

The blows keep coming. What does Balin mean Dain shall be King Under the Mountain? Fili is Crown Prince, should he not be next in line? He would have been if his heart still beat in his chest. The grief is not earth-shattering like how he knows his dwarves are describing it. Instead, he feels as if he is walking through Hobbiton in the evening, each light in the windows turning off in preparation for bed, the quiet of the night creeping in around him until he stands back in the doorway of Bag End, all of his belongings, gone. Alone.

Once Thorin, Fili and Kili are laid to rest in the halls of their forebears, he leaves. They are barely within the stone when Bilbo packs his things and stands at the gates. He clears his throat, rocking on his feet slightly as he gives them all a watery smile.

“If any of you are ever passing Bag End, tea is at four. There’s plenty of it. You are welcome anytime.” Bilbo swallows, hard. Proper hobbit manners kick in once again and the treacherous tears remain at bay but his smile becomes a little more real at the memory.

“Don’t bother knocking.”

By the time Bilbo feels ready to look at the acorn again, he wonders if it shall ever grow, kept in the pocket of a Durin blue coat which is folded in a chest on top of a vest made of mithril. Sometimes he swears in the darker evenings that he can hear a baritone humming that same song he heard many moons ago; but every time he runs to look, the fire just crackles in the grate as if to say ‘You are seeing ghosts, Burglar.” But it does grow, a sweet little sprout into a strong sapling and from there into a magnificent oak tree; on some days he thinks he can hear Fili and Kili’s laughter whistling through the leaves on the wind.

But with the little acorn from Beorn’s house, all the way from half across the world, Bilbo too grows. The grief that used to make the world seem so grey evolves…well it doesn’t evolve but Bilbo learns to cope. By putting one foot in front of the other, Bilbo keeps going and the day that a young faunt by the name of Frodo arrives on his doorstep; suddenly that lonely walk doesn’t seem as lonely anymore. He finds the smiles aren’t as strained anymore, they reach his eyes again when little hands covered in dirt come running into the smial with an “Uncle Bilbo! Uncle Bilbo! Look! A snail!”

There is but one thing. Bilbo spends hours hovering in his kitchen, checking, double-checking and checking again for a floppy hat, an ear trumpet, a set of axes. He always keeps his pantry stocked full in case of any surprise visitors of the dwarven variety. For years he makes an extra cup or two in the pot of tea and a fruit tart on the table. He craves that knock at the door like all those years ago like the need to breathe, to have Dwalin standing there in his green cloak, to have Balin commenting on the rain. It never comes. He tells himself at first they have forgotten him but he knows deep down it is the same reason he cannot bring himself to go back to Erebor again. Over and over again he says he has responsibilities and later, a duty of care to Frodo. ‘That didn’t stop you the first time’ a voice like Gandalf’s says. Neither side visits because they cannot face each other knowing their company is incomplete.

Bilbo’s hand, gnarled and wrinkled from old age grips the door frame as the weight of the grief threatens to buckle his knees. The other goes to cover his mouth, to stifle the noise or perhaps an attempt to physically tamp the feelings down. After all, today is his 111th birthday and that only comes once you know.

[totheidiot]

listen i could write and be an actual fucking godly at it, but i will never be able to write something half as good as the hinterland doctrine (those who stand for nothing fall for nothing) and that's kind of. fucked up.

[strangerstilinski]

can i just say? having a notes app or smth open while i'm reading a longer fic that i can quickly drop my silly little thoughts and immediate reactions into while i'm reading, jumping back and forth every time a tidbit speaks to me.. Game Changer!

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

.

[pixiefelixie]

⭑.ᐟ MAKE HIM SNAP: LEE FELIX (NSFW / 18+ ONLY)

: ̗̀➛ pairing: lee felix x brat fem!reader (a bit of seungmin x reader) : ̗̀➛ word count: ~8k : ̗̀➛ content: fluff, smut, felix is the sweetest thing but so mean, reader actively tries to make felix mad, minor injury in the kitchen

part 2 is out!

you make a bet with seungmin: you've got one week to get your boyfriend, felix—who seems completely incapable of getting mad at you—to finally snap. after a series of failed attempts, you figure if anything’s going to work, it might as well be in bed.

author's note: i’ve been on a writing grind lately so here’s a second fic in one sitting because apparently i have no self-control. i’m shitting my balls. i need felix like yesterday. enjoy! ♡

smut warnings below the cut!

: ̗̀➛ smut warnings: hard dom!felix, explicit sexual content, oral (f. receiving), reader has the biggest degradation kink, brat taming, slight edging, light bondage, power play, unprotected piv (don't), missionary, doggy style, semi-voyeurism

you’d always thought of him as sunshine.

everyone did.

even when he wasn’t smiling, felix had that glow—warm and unbothered, with freckles that danced across his cheeks like constellations and a voice that made people turn around just to hear him speak again. he was soft. gentle. sweet in that quiet, domestic way. the kind of boy who folded your laundry before you even remembered you’d done it.

even in bed—he was gentle. worshipful. like every touch was a question and you were the only answer. he was all murmured praise, soft sighs, slow hands. he loved you softly. every time.

which is probably why no one—including you—had ever seen him mad.

not truly.

you were perched on the edge of the couch in the boys’ dorm, nervously fidgeting with the sleeve of your hoodie. it was felix’s, naturally—oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like his laundry detergent.

you were here because you’d accidentally taken something you weren’t supposed to. a usb, to be exact. felix had handed it to you earlier in the day along with your own, and in your rush to leave, you’d pocketed the wrong one.

“i just feel so bad,” you groaned, glancing toward the hallway. “he said he needed it for something tonight. like, deadline-needed.”

seungmin was sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs kicked up, eyes on his phone. he barely glanced up as he responded.

“you’re being dramatic.”

“no, like—really bad. i shouldn’t have—”

“honestly?” he cut in, finally looking at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “i don’t think he’s even capable of getting mad at you.”

you blinked. “what?”

he chuckled, flipping his phone over. “i mean, come on. you could probably punch him in the face and he’d apologize for getting in the way of your fist.”

you laughed despite yourself. “that is so not true.”

“isn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to argue—but then the front door opened.

felix stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his eyes found you immediately.

“hey,” you said, standing. “i brought it—sorry again, i seriously didn’t mean—”

“shh.” he was already moving toward you, gentle hands coming up to cradle your arms, thumbs brushing soothingly against the fabric of his hoodie—the one you were wearing. “don’t stress, angel. it’s okay.”

“but you said you needed it for tonight,” you mumbled, guilt creeping up your spine. “i should’ve double-checked—”

“and i should’ve labeled mine.” he gave a small laugh, pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin with that easy warmth that always made your chest flutter. “it’s not a big deal. really.”

you swore you saw seungmin choke on a laugh in your peripheral vision.

your eyes flicked sideways—just in time to catch him turning away, phone suddenly so interesting he might’ve been reading the terms and conditions. his shoulders were shaking, just barely.

felix either didn’t notice or chose to ignore it.

“i’m gonna head out again to drop this off,” he said, voice still soft, fingertips lingering at your elbow for a second longer before letting go. 

you nodded, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “right. of course.”

“thanks for coming all the way back,” he added, gaze warm and fond, like you’d just done something heroic instead of, you know, returning the thing you accidentally stole. he gave your arm one last squeeze. “text me when you get home, yeah?”

“i will.”

then he was gone—door shutting behind him with that soft click that always left the room feeling quieter somehow.

and the very second it closed, seungmin’s voice rang out from behind you.

“god, that was disgusting.”

you turned.

“excuse me?”

he didn’t even look up from his phone. “you took his drive and somehow walked away with a hug, and a thank you.”

you opened your mouth to argue.

then closed it.

“okay, but—”

“nope. don’t justify it.” seungmin pointed his phone at the door.

you rolled your eyes, hoisting your bag over your shoulder, but the words stuck with you. warmed you a little too much. annoyingly so.

still, you couldn’t help yourself.

“he’s still a person. he’s not, like… impervious to irritation.” you muttered, half to yourself, half to the room. “if i pissed him off enough, he’d crack,”

seungmin didn’t even flinch. “tell me when that ever happens.”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “you know i’m gonna try to, just to prove you wrong.”

“mhm,” seungmin said flatly, not even looking up. “60 bucks. you have a week.”

“60 bucks,” you repeated. “i’m gonna find his limit,” you said, dead serious. “he has to have one.”

“good luck.”

you’d been thinking about it for days—how to do it, how to gently prod at the edge of felix’s emotional limits without actually hurting him. you weren’t trying to be cruel. you just wanted to see something other than that unwavering calm, that endless warmth. you wanted to prove he could feel sharp things, too. that he wasn’t made of clouds and soft blankets and chamomile tea.

jealousy. that was your angle.

was felix ever jealous? you genuinely didn’t know. he’d never so much as blinked when people flirted with you—though to be fair, you’d never exactly flirted back. you never had a reason to. you didn’t want to.

but now, you needed a reaction.

just enough to light a spark. not enough to burn the house down.

so when your company hosted a casual dinner event—open to significant others and friends—you didn’t hesitate to bring felix. he looked unfairly good that night, dressed in soft black slacks and a black button up that hugged his frame a little too well. his hand found yours under the table the second you sat down, thumb stroking slow, lazy circles against your palm like always.

you were seated at a long table with a mix of coworkers and guests, plates being passed around, wine glasses clinking gently, soft laughter filling the room.

he was beside you, of course—close and warm and always tuned in to you.

but the guy on your other side?

friendly. talkative. a little too charming in that “business casual” way. you leaned into it. not too obvious. just enough to let felix notice.

you laughed at something the guy said—tilting your head just slightly, touching his arm in that way that could maybe be seen as flirty. maybe. you were careful. just close enough to the line to toe it, not cross it.

felix didn’t say a word.

he was smiling, even. still soft-spoken. still squeezing your hand every now and then. still brushing your thigh under the table with his when he shifted in his seat. he even leaned in at one point and murmured, “you okay?”

you nodded, playing it cool. “mhm. just chatting.”

felix grinned. that same soft, sunny smile that always made you feel like you were the only one in the room.

“alright,” he said, brushing your cheek with his knuckle before pulling back like nothing was even slightly off.

he went back to being quiet and polite. still engaged in the conversation going around the table, nodding at someone’s story, chiming in with a laugh when appropriate. he didn’t stiffen. didn’t narrow his eyes. didn’t even glance at the guy beside you like he might be competition.

you sat there smiling and nodding at whatever work guy was saying about his vacation to bali, but your stomach was knotting. tighter by the second.

because you knew what you were doing. you knew exactly how much you were leaning. exactly when you let your laugh ring just a little louder, your fingers trail just a little longer.

but felix wasn’t reacting.

or at least—he wasn’t reacting the way you expected.

he was just… him. gentle. warm. steady. and he could’ve been using this moment to get back at you.

there were plenty of chances. the woman across the table who complimented his accent. the one seated diagonally, sipping wine and laughing just a little too brightly at his jokes. one even asked him how his skin was so clear and if he worked out—which, in fairness, was a valid question.

felix didn’t take the bait. he was polite, as always. gracious, even. gave small answers. thanked them with a nod and a soft smile. but he didn’t engage.

didn’t lean in. didn’t flirt. didn’t offer even a flicker of attention that could be mistaken as anything more than manners.

and slowly—almost like he was aware of your internal panic creeping in—he started leaning in closer to you. gradually, without showiness. his knee pressed against yours beneath the table. then reached for his water glass and poured some into yours before you could even realize it was empty.

this wasn’t going to work.

you weren’t going to rattle him. you weren’t going to get that flash of possessiveness, that glint of sharp jealousy in his eyes.

because felix didn’t play games.

not with you.

he loved you out loud, completely, and without keeping score. he didn’t need to punish you or mirror your actions to prove a point. he didn’t flinch under pressure. he didn’t crack under quiet provocations.

he just was. wholeheartedly. constant. grounded.

this wasn’t going to work.

it had been a few days since the whole work dinner experiment—since felix had gently, unknowingly, demolished your plan by doing absolutely nothing except love you the way he always did. respectfully. consistently. infuriatingly.

but you weren’t done.

not yet.

jealousy didn’t work, sure. but irritation? that had potential. everyone had a limit, and you were determined to find felix’s.

you were at his place now—well, technically his and seungmin’s—kitchen lights warm, sleeves rolled up, and flour already dusting the countertop like early snow.

the goal today was mild sabotage. nothing irreversible. nothing that would actually ruin the cake. just… enough sugar to make it way too sweet. enough to maybe make him sigh. maybe scold you a little. maybe just something.

you waited until he stepped away to grab a new mixing bowl, and then—quickly, quietly—you dumped in an extra quarter cup. maybe a little more.

by the time he came back, you were standing innocently with the spatula, “gently folding” the batter like you hadn’t just committed a culinary crime.

he paused. looked at the bowl. then looked at you.

“…did you add too much sugar?”

you blinked up at him. “no?”

he hummed. scooped a bit of batter on his finger. tasted it.

and then—smiled. not annoyed. just… amused.

“if you wanted it sweeter, you could’ve just told me,” he said, voice playful, handing you a towel to wipe your fingers off. “i’m gonna balance it so it doesn’t taste like pure syrup.”

you sighed loudly, dramatic, flopping back against the counter. “this is so annoying.”

he laughed and leaned past you to grab a lemon from the fruit bowl.

“go chop up some of the fruit, okay? i’ll deal with this.”

you looked at seungmin, who hadn’t said a word. he gave you a look that screamed pathetic.

you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to the cutting board, muttering under your breath.

great. jealousy failed. chaos failed. sugar sabotage failed. what were you supposed to do now? bake the cake upside down? hide the eggs?

you didn’t know.

you really didn’t know anymore.

your plan—whatever it had been—was unraveling, slipping through your fingers like flour dust in the air. and the worst part? you kind of… didn’t want to push anymore. felix had been so patient, so kind through all of it, and suddenly, you just felt silly. immature. you had something good, and you were trying to poke holes in it just to see if it would leak.

lost in thought, you didn’t even realize how close your fingers were to the blade until it was too late.

the knife slipped.

there was a sharp sting.

you yelped, the sound cutting through the warm haze of the kitchen as the knife clattered onto the counter and fruit scattered everywhere.

“ah!” you gasped, clutching your hand. blood was already rising.

felix’s head snapped up instantly. “what happened?”

you stepped back, breath shallow. “i—i cut myself—”

he was already there. crossing the kitchen faster than you’d ever seen him move, his hands reaching out to check your fingers—but the moment he saw the blood, something in him shifted.

“what were you even doing?” he snapped, voice sharper than the knife that slipped. he grabbed a towel with jerky, frustrated movements, wrapping it around your wound with practiced precision but no softness. “were you even paying attention?”

your lips parted, stunned. “i—i don’t know, i was just—”

“you weren’t thinking,” he cut in, tone clipped.

his voice rose, not yelling, but full-bodied, biting. that low, velvety rasp he usually used to whisper sweet things into your ear was now slicing through the air like it had teeth.

“for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shaking his head, “i asked you to do one simple thing. not play with the goddamn knife.”

you stared at him, completely disarmed. not just by the tone. but by how he looked.

chest rising and falling under his fitted sweater, sleeves pushed back just enough to show the flex of his forearms. his jaw clenched, eyes dark with something deeper than just irritation. he looked… furious. unshakable. and so hot it was almost insulting.

your mouth went dry.

you couldn’t stop staring—at the way felix was breathing, his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to bite back whatever else he wanted to say. his hands, still stained with flour, flexed at his sides. every muscle in his jaw was tense.

seungmin stood up, crossing the kitchen to the cabinet.

he grabbed the first aid kit, crouching beside the chair you’d sunk into. he opened it like this wasn’t the most charged atmosphere he’d ever stood in. like felix hadn’t just snapped for the first time in recorded history.

“here,” he said, pulling out some antiseptic and a few band-aids. “don’t bleed on the tile. it’s ugly enough already.”

you gave him a weak glare, but he just smirked.

felix hadn’t moved. he was still standing there, looking at the floor now, his expression twisted with something like regret.

seungmin didn’t let up.

“you got really worked up there, man,” he said, tone light but clearly pointed.

that finally made felix move. he blinked like he was coming out of something, then turned toward you—eyes wide now, softer, voice quiet.

“i’m sorry, baby” he said.

you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, still a little stunned by the whiplash.

but even now, with his shoulders slumped and his tone apologetic, he still looked good. still had that raw energy simmering just under the surface. still had you simmering.

you swallowed hard.

“it’s okay,” you said slowly. 

seungmin raised a brow but said nothing, silently peeling the wrapper off a band-aid.

felix crouched in front of you, his hand ghosting over yours. his voice was soft again, almost too soft.

“i won’t yell like that again,” he murmured. 

you blinked at him, and for a second—just a second—you wanted to say don’t promise that.

because god, the way his voice had cracked when he was angry. the way he looked at you like your carelessness hurt him. the way he shook with something that wasn’t just rage, but deep, desperate concern—you hadn’t expected it to do something to you. 

but he was still doing everything out of love.

even when his voice rose and his hands tightened and his eyes darkened—he was still the same felix. still checking if you were okay. still apologizing even though you had started this whole mess.

and somehow, that made it worse.

you hadn’t even pissed him off correctly. not really. he didn’t yell because you were annoying. he yelled because you were bleeding and he didn’t know how else to handle the sudden fear curling in his gut.

and now he was kneeling in front of you, shame written in every line of his face, like he had done something unforgivable.

you wished he hadn't come down from it so fast.

you wished—maybe more than anything—that he knew he didn’t have to keep being perfect for you to love him.

you didn’t know what else to do.

jealousy had failed. sabotage had failed. even blood hadn’t done it right. every attempt chipped at something inside you—your confidence, your ego, your grasp on what you were even trying to prove. and yet…

seungmin had texted you the evening of the baking incident: [ that was a close one ] [ but it didn’t count. try harder. ]

you'd stared at it for a long time. not because he was wrong—but because you agreed.

so now? one last attempt.

if you couldn’t get felix to be mad at you, then maybe—just maybe—you could make him lose control somewhere else.

which is why he was between your thighs right now.

you were sprawled across his bed, hips twitching, sheets clutched in your fists.

felix was eating you out like it was a mission. like you were something sacred, and he had all the time in the world to worship every inch of you.

his mouth was obscene—lips slick, tongue working you open so slowly you wanted to scream. and he kept murmuring things between licks, low and reverent.

felix’s tongue traced a slow, reverent line up your slit, lips closing over your clit with a tenderness that made your hips twitch. he groaned softly into you, the sound vibrating through your core like a low hum of devotion, and his arms curled tighter around your thighs, anchoring you in place. every motion was soaked in patience, in worship. you were trembling, half mad with need already, and all he’d done was kiss you like he loved you—which, of course, he did.

“taste so good, angel… always so sweet for me, aren’t you?”

“f-felix…” your voice broke on his name, hands knotted in the sheets. he just hummed again, content like he could spend the rest of his life here, lips gliding over your clit, tongue flicking in slow, perfect circles that had your thighs quivering. he was gentle, god, so gentle. like you were the only thing in the world worth touching delicately.

and maybe that was the problem.

you were panting, already so close—too close—and he hadn’t even slipped a finger inside yet. you could feel your orgasm mounting fast, could feel the heat blooming in your belly, the ache curling in your spine, and you knew what would come next. he’d hold you through it. he’d kiss your thighs, murmur praise, make you feel like you were the center of the universe.

you were already trembling, one hand fisting in his sheets, the other tangled in his hair, breath coming in staggered whines. he didn’t speed up. didn’t deviate. tongue curling soft and hot over your clit again and again until your hips twitched and a ragged moan slipped out without your permission.

and then he paused. just for a second.

his eyes lifted to yours, warm and glassy, lips shiny with you.

“shhh, darling…” he whispered, and the way he said it made your stomach flip. “seungmin’s in the living room, remember?”

your chest heaved. right. right—he always told you. always so careful to remind you, not because he was annoyed, but because you’d confessed once—embarrassed and flushed, the sheet pulled up to your chin after a particularly loud session—that you hated the idea of his roommate hearing. and since then, felix had always made sure to keep things quiet. to warn you. to soothe you when your voice got too high, your cries too desperate. he’d press a kiss to your throat, a hand to your mouth, shushing you.

but tonight, something twisted in you.

you weren’t going to hold back.

so when his mouth dipped again, lips closing over your clit in a slow, gentle suck, you let it out—a high, shaky moan that cracked on the end, followed by a breathless, “fuck, felix—!”

he froze.

lifted his head.

his mouth was still glistening, chin slick with you, flushed and beautiful in that way that always made your stomach twist. but his brows were drawn, just slightly, and his voice—when it came—was low and firm, not scolding but edged with something new.

“hey.” his thumb stroked up your inner thigh, slow but deliberate. “quiet down.”

it wasn’t a question. wasn’t a soft reminder like before. it was a command.

and it did something to you.

your breath hitched, thighs twitching around his shoulders as the authority in his tone settled in your chest like a stone dropped into water—rippling outward, stirring everything.

still, something in you bristled.

not in defiance. not exactly.

but you couldn’t stop yourself.

you pouted. just a little. “why?”

his eyes narrowed. there was a flicker of disbelief there, a tension that rippled beneath the surface like he didn’t quite believe you were pushing this boundary.

“because seungmin’s out there,” he said, slower this time, more deliberate, as if you’d forgotten. “and you hate being overheard.”

you shrugged, arching your back slightly, enough to grind your hips closer to his face again. “maybe i changed my mind.”

his eyes flicked to your cunt, glistening and swollen and shamelessly on display, then back up to your face. his expression had shifted. no longer just disbelief. something darker had crept in now—possessive and sharp, curling like smoke at the edges of his voice.

“well i don’t want him to hear you.”

the words were quiet. flat. measured.

you blinked, breath catching.

“i don’t want anyone hearing what you sound like when i’ve got you like this,” he continued, leaning in until you could feel the heat of his breath against your inner thigh. 

you bit your lip, the heat rising in your face. in your chest.

“but…” you started, trying to keep your tone airy. “you always do what i want.”

that did it.

you watched his jaw clench tighter, watched the tension rise in his shoulders, watched the composure crack. just a little.

felix rose—slowly, smoothly, like a tide pulling back before it crashes—and settled over you, forearms bracketing your head, chest brushing yours as he leveled his face just above yours.

you felt it instantly.

that shift.

gone was the usual ease in his posture, the warm, pliant softness you always leaned into. what loomed above you now wasn’t your sweet, sunny felix—it was the part of him he always held back, the part that simmered under the surface like magma, always contained, until you poked at it.

and tonight?

you’d done nothing but poke.

he leaned in again, slow, like a tiger in tall grass, and planted his palm flat against the mattress beside your head. his voice was soft now, but laced with something that made your spine arch—authority, finality, control.

“you really think i don’t know?”

you swallowed hard.

“that you’ve been bratty for days,” he said, like it was fact. like it was math. “flirting with that guy at dinner. cutting your hand because you couldn’t stand that i didn’t break. ”

your cheeks flamed, breath catching, but you still held the edge in your smile.

“i was just distracted—”

his hand moved fast, gripping your jaw—not hard, just enough to make you stop talking.

“don’t,” he said. “don’t give me that look.”

your heart kicked up behind your ribs. he’d never grabbed your face like that before. never interrupted. never spoke like that.

it made your thighs press together. instinctive.

and he noticed.

he dipped closer, forehead brushing yours, and you could feel his heart beating in time with yours—hard, steady, controlled.

“you think i haven’t been watching you push?” he hissed. “every little act.”

you whimpered, lips parting—but he kept going.

“you’ve been begging for this,” he said, biting out the words. “not out loud. but with every goddamn thing you’ve done.”

you shivered.

“and you think i don’t see you?” he growled. “you think i don’t know exactly what that look means?”

his hand grabbed your jaw, fingers firm, tilting your face toward his—close enough to kiss, but he didn’t. he just held you there, breath brushing your lips, eyes burning through you.

“tell me the truth,” he said, voice a warning, a promise. “tell me what you want.”

you could barely breathe.

your voice came out thin, cracked around the edges. “you, like this…” your eyes were wide, lashes wet, trembling as you looked up at him. “this is what i want.”

felix didn’t flinch.

didn’t soften.

he just stared, his grip on your jaw unrelenting, eyes dark and unforgiving as they searched your face—saw the way you shook beneath him, the way your thighs pressed together, the way your chest rose and fell in shallow, panicked little gasps.

“of course it is,” he said flatly.

you blinked.

he tilted your face up a little more, enough that it hurt your neck to hold the position. his voice dropped, hard and disgusted. “look at you. shaking like a leaf, soaking the fucking sheets—just because i stopped being nice.”

you winced.

but your cunt clenched hard.

the words cut. not because they were cruel—but because they were true. and he knew it. you weren’t just turned on. you were unraveling. dripping and desperate, your body buzzing from the tension, your shame crawling over your skin like fire ants—but still, the burn felt good.

“you’re pathetic,” he said, letting go of your jaw like your skin burned his fingers. 

he pushed you back roughly, your bound wrists catching against the bed as your shoulders hit the mattress. his hands were already on your thighs, spreading them open without care. not reverent. not gentle.

like you were his and he was sick of pretending otherwise.

“you want to be hated, don’t you? love isn’t enough for you?” he muttered, gaze locked on your slick cunt as he stroked two fingers through the mess between your legs. 

your hips bucked.

“well,” felix said, voice like gravel dragged slow across glass, “if that’s what you want…”

his fingers sank into you—two at once, fast, merciless. your body jolted, a high cry tearing from your throat before you could stop it. he twisted his wrist, curled just right, and you felt the tremble start in your toes.

“i’ll give it to you.”

you gasped, back arching. “y-you don’t mean that,” you choked, words splintering on a sob. “you love me—”

he laughed.

dark. sharp.

“i’m gonna fuck you like i don’t.” he said, without softness. 

his fingers pulled free. you barely had a second to breathe before he shoved your thighs wide, leaned over, and pressed his cock to your dripping cunt—still wet from your own need, from the tears and the shame and the way his voice had stripped you bare.

he held there.

right at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing just enough to make you squirm, to make your hips buck in desperate little jerks that only dragged the moment out longer. he could’ve slammed in. could’ve torn the rest of you open in a single thrust, left you breathless and sobbing.

but he didn’t.

because under all that dark fire, under the roughness and anger and heat, he was still him. still sweet. still good. still felix.

his jaw was tight, the muscle ticking as he looked down at you—ruined and trembling, legs spread wide, wrists bound and face flushed with lust and tears and something more fragile. he blinked, and for a second, just a second, you saw the question flicker through his expression.

“is that what you want?” he asked.

his voice had dropped low. he was still offering you a way out. still giving you that choice.

you knew it for what it was.

you nodded, frantic. fast. moaning as you tried to roll your hips, tried to force him inside again, but his grip on your thigh only tightened.

“talk to me,” he rasped, a thread of control still clinging to him.

you blinked at him through the haze, a smile curling on your lips—half brat, half breathless.

“yes,” you said, voice thin and greedy. “yes, i want it. i want you to fuck me like you’re sick of me. like i finally got under your skin.”

he cursed.

low and vicious.

you saw it—the moment that final wall crumbled, the way the storm in his eyes finally spilled over. his cock pushed in deep, slow at first, like he wanted to draw it out, make it last.

but then your cunt clenched—tight and wet and fluttering around him—and he snapped.

“you did,” he growled, pulling back and slamming in hard enough to make the bed jolt, your cry piercing the room. “you fucking did.”

his hips snapped forward again—louder this time, harder, brutal enough to knock the air from your lungs, the rhythm punching out soft, choked sounds from your throat with every thrust. not words. not anymore. just ragged little whimpers, helpless and high, your whole body jostling beneath him as he used you—fucked you—with none of the gentleness you’d always known.

“you wanted this,” he spat, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline onto your chest as he folded you tighter, pushing your thighs up toward your shoulders to drive in even deeper. “you fucking asked for it.”

you sobbed—quiet at first, then louder, messy and wet as the tears finally spilled. they streaked hot down your cheeks, dripping into your hair, your jaw slack with pleasure too sharp to feel good and too good to survive. your wrists twisted uselessly in their binds, fingers curling tight as your whole body tried to keep up with the pace of him.

it was too much.

it was everything.

he growled—an actual growl, raw and guttural—as he looked down at you, at the tears rolling over your cheeks, at the way your mouth opened and closed, begging silently for something neither of you could name.

his rhythm never faltered.

not once.

even as your body broke beneath him—hips arching, wrists straining, cheeks soaked with tears that burned like proof—he kept going. kept fucking you with that same relentless pace, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, the sound obscene, wet and cruel in the dark.

he watched your face twist with every thrust—watched you come apart, watched the edge of pleasure curdle into panic and drag you right back down into need.

and even then—you didn’t stop.

you couldn’t stop.

your lips trembled open around another sob, your voice half-hoarse, but still you met his glare with a shaky smirk, eyes glazed and bratty to your last breath.

“i never knew you were capable of being mean,” you gasped, voice cracking as you arched under him.

he snarled, something between pain and disbelief, and slammed in so deep you screamed, your entire body jolting up the bed from the force of it.

“because i love you,” he growled, voice so low it scraped the inside of your chest. “i’ve only ever tried to treat you well. like you matter. like you’re everything to me.”

he leaned in closer, one hand pressing hard into your hip, the other curling around your throat.

“but that’s not what you wanted, was it?”

you sobbed. not an answer. just a broken, keening sound.

he dipped lower, lips barely brushing yours. “you wanted this. you wanted me mean. you wanted me to use you, and now you’ve got it.”

his cock dragged out slow, thick and aching—and then drove back in so hard your moan broke on your tongue.

“you never wanted soft.”

you blinked up at him, tears hot and sticky down your temples, your mouth quivering.

“i was—” you panted, a hiccupped cry catching in your chest, “i was trying to prove a point—”

he sneered, not stopping, not relenting, pounding into you like he wanted to fuck the brat right out of your soul.

“to who, y/n?” he hissed, words snapping like whips.

you moaned—high and messy and wrong, because you were still so turned on, because the way he said your name made your body sing even while you trembled.

“who?” he shouted again, voice rising with disbelief and something deeper—something unspoken that cracked open in his throat like it hurt to say.

and you said it.

whimpered it.

half-mindless, but not mindless enough.

“seungmin.”

felix went still.

then he laughed.

it was low. bitter. a hollow bark of disbelief as his hand slid up the length of your thigh, slow and mocking, his cock still throbbing just barely inside you.

“fucking knew it,” he muttered, more to himself than you, jaw tight as he gave a small, almost deranged shake of his head. “you and him. the way you bicker. the looks.”

his hand curled around your throat again, thumb dragging over the mess of tears smeared across your cheek. not to wipe them.

just to feel them.

“and of course you’d moan his name out while i’m balls deep in you.”

you gasped, breath stuttering under the press of his palm, legs twitching around his hips.

he laughed again—sharper now, teeth flashing in the low light. “fucking pathetic.”

you whimpered.

“here i am,” he snarled, voice dropping to a whisper, “treating you like you’re mine—spending months giving you everything. folding your laundry. holding you when you cry.”

he slammed into you again, cruel and sudden.

you screamed, head snapping back.

“and you’ve been pushing me,” he said, voice quiet, almost calm—but beneath it, something was cracking. something brittle. 

another thrust, hard and fast, punching a choked cry out of your lungs.

“all of that just to prove a point to kim seungmin?”

your mouth dropped open—useless, silent, your head lolling on the pillow as his cock hit that deep, devastating spot again and again, your body unable to hide how badly you were still enjoying it.

he sneered. “do you even understand what you’re doing?”

your eyes flicked to him—blurry, swimming, lashes soaked—and your lips moved, trying to form a denial. but you couldn’t lie.

not with your cunt sucking him in so greedily. not with the moans that still clawed up your throat even when you bit down on them. not with the guilt chewing holes through your stomach while your body begged for more.

“i—i wasn’t trying—” you whispered, but he cut you off.

“you weren’t trying?”

he laughed. dark and sharp and filled with something that sounded like it hurt his ribs to release.

“god, you’re worse than i thought,” he spat, pulling out just enough to let the next thrust slam in deeper. “you don’t even know what game you’re playing. you’re playing me, you’re playing him—”

you didn’t know anymore.

if he was really mad. if this was just another version of his anger wrapped in arousal, or if something had actually shattered under the weight of everything you’d done. you couldn’t tell if he meant the things he said—or if he was just saying them because it was what you’d asked for, begged for, pushed for until something inside him snapped.

all you knew was that your head was spinning, your lungs barely worked, and your body couldn’t stop trembling around him.

“i’m close,” you whimpered, your voice a rasp, broken and high and soaked in panic, “felix—please—”

he didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder.

you were sobbing now, face sticky with tears, wrists straining in the binds as your body shook from the pressure curling tighter and tighter in your belly.

“i don’t think you deserve to cum,” he hissed, biting the words like they tasted foul. “not after what you did. you little bitch.”

the word slapped.

“i’m sorry,” you cried, the words tumbling out, raw and hoarse and true. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—i didn’t—felix, please, i’m sorry—”

and for a second, just a second, something shifted in his face.

his brow twitched. his grip faltered. his eyes—not all the way, but just a little—softened.

he looked down at you, at your flushed face, your tear-soaked skin, your body trembling and still trying to push back against him, even through the guilt, even through the shame. begging for him.

he cursed under his breath. a low, ragged sound.

then he pulled out.

you whined—sharp and instinctive, your whole body lurching, chasing him.

“no—please—”

but he grabbed your hips and flipped you, fast and rough, until you were flat on your stomach, then dragging you up to your knees with no gentleness, no care. 

he leaned in, lips at your ear, voice back to that quiet, dangerous whisper.

“all fours.”

you scrambled to obey, tears still dripping from your chin onto the sheets, your ass high, back arched, your pussy swollen and dripping and empty.

he stared for a long second.

then, flatly:

“prove it. prove your sorry.”

he didn’t move.

not even a little.

just knelt behind you, one hand resting heavy on your lower back, the other wrapped around the curve of your ass—fingers digging in, spreading you open so wide the air hit your cunt like ice. his cock stood thick and flushed against your thigh, glistening with everything he’d already taken from you. close. so close.

but he didn’t move

“you want to cum so badly?” he said, voice low and flat, unreadable, like it didn’t matter either way. “then do it yourself.”

your breath caught.

you blinked, stunned.

he gripped your ass harder, a sharp squeeze that made you jolt forward, but he didn’t move to stop you. 

“come on,” he said, the cruelty now bitter instead of sharp. “you were so good at playing games earlier.”

your whole body shook.

you whimpered once—just one broken sound—and then moved. slowly. shamefully.

you rocked your hips back. tentative at first. your slick folds kissed the head of his cock and you moaned, soft and strangled, before pushing further, inching down onto him until the stretch began to burn again.

it wasn’t graceful. it wasn’t like when he took care of you.

it was work.

every inch felt like a trial. your legs trembled under the weight of it, thighs threatening to give out as you lowered yourself onto him, your breath coming in ragged sobs, your cunt pulsing with how close you were, how desperately your body wanted him to take over.

but he didn’t.

“make yourself cum,” he snapped, voice tighter now. 

you nodded, rocking your hips again—sliding down fully this time, burying him inside, your body jerking as your sob turned to a long, high cry. your knees were slipping, your arms too bound to help you balance, and every time you moved your hips, your body twitched with the effort.

he just watched.

watched you ride his cock without rhythm, without grace—just need. just ruin. his hands stayed on your ass, holding it open, holding you wide for him to see.

but he didn’t help.

you were doing it alone.

“felix, i can’t—”

“you wanted this.”

and so you kept going.

kept fucking yourself back on him, over and over, your movements messy and broken, your body trembling with the weight of everything you’d done—everything you’d wanted.

and as you cried, he gripped your ass harder, dragging his thumbs over the skin, watching your hole stretch around him like it was all you were good for.

your thighs were giving out.

completely.

each roll of your hips got weaker, sloppier—your knees buckling inward, your movements more tremble than thrust, the sheer weight of him inside you unbearable. 

your arms were still bound, chest pressed into the sheets, your cries muffled now—raw and constant, more sob than sound—as you tried to keep going. but your body wouldn’t move. 

you shook your head, weakly, voice cracking as you rasped, “i—i can’t… i can’t do it…”

you felt his exhale first—long and deep. then the weight of his hands on your hips shifted. and his voice followed, low and so done.

“of course you can’t.”

you shivered.

“you couldn’t even fuck yourself properly,” he muttered, hands gripping your hips with new purpose. “you begged for this. cried for it. ruined both of us trying to prove something—and now you can’t even finish what you started?”

you sobbed but that was all he gave you time for. because he snapped his hips forward. you screamed, head slamming into the pillow, the thrust knocking your whole body up the bed.

and then he didn’t stop.

he fucked into you from behind, deep and punishing, dragging you back onto his cock with every stroke, the sound of skin on skin wet and violent, your cries rising in pitch until you couldn’t hold anything in anymore.

“isn’t this what you wanted?” he growled, voice right at your ear now, one hand on the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist so tight it burned. “to get used like this? to cry on my dick and act like you’re sorry?”

your throat was raw, your eyes stinging, your body screaming with the oncoming wave, your orgasm building so hard it almost felt like pain.

“felix—fuck—i’m gonna—”

his pace didn’t stutter.

didn’t falter.

“yeah?” he breathed, his voice a rasp, full of hate and heat and something so possessive it twisted your stomach. “that’s right.”

his thrusts turned vicious, his cock pounding into you, his voice ragged and shaking.

“cum then.”

and you did.

you came with a scream—full-bodied, wrecked, your spine arching like it was trying to tear free from your skin. it hit so hard you thought for a second you might black out. your pussy clamped down around him, fluttering and pulsing in rhythmic spasms, gushing slick down his cock in hot, wet waves that soaked your thighs and his lap and the sheets beneath you.

felix groaned—a sound ripped from the very pit of his chest, primal and deep, his pace faltering for the first time as he felt it. felt you soak him. felt you break.

“fuck—” he hissed, slamming into you again—chasing it now, rutting through the mess of your orgasm, the loud slap of his hips against your soaked skin. “you’re dripping, baby—fuck, you’re making such a mess—”

you sobbed into the sheets, body twitching, overstimulation crawling up your spine like static. but he didn’t stop. wouldn’t let up. not now. not after all of it.

and then—slowly, like the fire had finally started to burn itself out—his rhythm began to falter. just a little. his groans turned heavier, strained, his thrusts rougher but less precise. his body hunched forward, chest heaving, cock throbbing inside you as he buried himself one last time.

he shuddered against your back, hips twitching as he came inside of you, the warmth of it spilling deep and raw, filling you in heavy bursts. he stayed there for a moment, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your hips, breath ghosting against your shoulder.

then, gently, slowly, his body folded over yours.

his forehead pressed to the space between your shoulder blades. his chest to your back. one hand slid forward—shaky, tentative—and rested just beneath your ribs.

he stayed there, breathing with you.

then, without a word, he eased back.

his chest lifted off yours, his grip on your hip released fully, and for a moment, the loss of contact felt colder than the air in the room. he slid one palm down the arch of your spine, a soft, absent stroke. then came the slow shift of his hips—his cock slipping out, careful and deliberate, so tender in contrast to everything before.

you whimpered from the loss and the mess—his cum already spilling out of you in lazy drips, sliding down your thighs, thick and warm, clinging to the backs of your knees as gravity pulled it down. you twitched from the sensitivity, your body still trembling in little aftershocks, your hips useless, your arms limp where they lay tangled and bound under your chest.

you heard the faint shuffle of a drawer, the rustle of fabric, the hiss of warm water being poured. your eyes fluttered closed, head sinking into the pillow, your whole body too loose to lift.

you barely registered the soft wet cloth between your thighs until it was there—warm, soothing. he held you gently, one hand under your hip to tilt you, the other cleaning you with slow, careful strokes, wiping away the slick, the sweat, the release still dripping out of you.

he then settled you on clean sheets, wrapped a new blanket over your shoulders.

still nothing.

not a single word.

but he lay beside you, close but not pressed in, his fingers brushing soft through your hair, over your temple, down the curve of your jaw. you blinked slow and you opened your eyes.

and there he was.

your felix.

bathed in the low light of the room, hair a tousled halo of gold against the pillow, freckles blooming soft across his cheeks, lips pink and parted just barely. he looked tired. beautiful. like something that shouldn’t exist outside a dream.

you loved it. all of it. the softness now. the brutality before.

the way he made space for every version of you. the way he let himself be more than just the sun.

“i love you, felix.”

his hand stilled, resting against your cheek. his eyes softened then blinked, and they turned glassy.

“i love you too,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, still thick with the weight of everything.

you gave a little smile, lids already starting to droop again, your limbs heavy under the blanket he’d wrapped around you.

“i wouldn’t want you any other way,” you murmured.

that made him laugh—quiet, breathless, a sound like surrender.

and then you laughed too. barely a sound, more breath than voice, your smile curling into the pillow as your eyes slipped closed again.

he stayed beside you.

his fingers returned to your hair, softer than ever now, smoothing it back from your face as your breathing evened out, your body finally letting go.

and when you fell asleep, it was in silence.

the next morning, you woke slowly—warm, sore in all the right places, and still tangled in the soft scent of felix. the sheets around you were a little crooked, the pillow beside you empty.

you blinked blearily and reached for your phone, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your eye.

there was a note. folded and sitting neatly on the nightstand.

recording right now, but i’ll be back soon. pour yourself a cup of coffee. i love you! – lix ♡

you smiled—small, sleepy, still a little ruined from the night before. the words made your chest ache and flutter all at once. he hadn’t said anything heavy. no apologies. no over-explanations. just soft and simple. just felix.

you stretched out your limbs, wincing slightly at the ache before dragging yourself out of bed and into one of felix’s oversized sweaters and boxers. 

barefoot and quietly smug, you padded down the hallway into the kitchen.

and there he was.

seungmin.

leaning against the counter in sweats and a hoodie, eyes fixed on his phone, coffee half-drunk on the table beside him. he looked up when he heard you—expression unreadable—and you did what anyone would do after getting absolutely obliterated in the next room over by his bandmate.

you pretended nothing happened.

“morning,” you said, voice light, moving straight to the coffee pot. “didn’t think you’d be up.”

“i’ve been up,” he said simply.

you nodded and reached for a mug—felix’s, the pale blue one with the tiny chip in the rim—and poured yourself a cup. steam curled up around your face, and you focused on it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

and then you felt it.

his presence. he stepped closer. closer.

you didn’t dare turn around.

then, casually—like it was nothing—he reached over your shoulder and set something on the counter in front of you.

sixty bucks in cash.

you stared at the bills for a second.

then turned.

slowly.

seungmin was already taking a sip of his coffee, eyes flicking to yours over the rim of his mug.

“congrats.”

your mouth twitched, the corner pulling into the smallest smile.

you looked down at the cash again and without saying anything, you plucked the bills off the counter and shoved them straight into the front pocket of felix’s hoodie like you’d just been handed your trophy.

“you really thought i wouldn’t pull it off?” you asked, turning back to your coffee, tone breezy.

“i hoped you wouldn’t,” he deadpanned. “i was rooting for the soft boy.”

you huffed a laugh, lifting the mug to your lips. “he’s still soft.”

seungmin gave you a long, dry look.

you shrugged, eyes twinkling over the rim. “...just not all the time.”

he snorted.

then leaned back against the counter, sipping slow from his mug. “so,” he said casually, “how’d you do it?”

“do what?”

“make him snap.” 

you licked your lips, fighting another smile. “i might’ve… slipped your name in there a few times.”

his eyes narrowed, slow. “yeah?”

“just—it got him pretty worked up.” you said, laughing as you set the mug down. seungmin stared for a beat.

then—he rolled his eyes. “of course it did.”

there was a long pause. not uncomfortable. just tension.

he said, quiet but clear, “tell him he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

you nodded.

“i will.”

you stepped back slowly, letting the silence hold, and turned toward the hallway—when the front door clicked open.

both your heads turned.

felix stepped in, hair tied back, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows, a little windblown from the walk. his eyes lit up the moment he saw you.

“hey, angel,” he said, smile so warm it melted straight into your ribs.

you crossed the room in a few slow steps, rising onto your toes to meet him halfway. your hand curled around his jaw, thumb brushing the skin just below his cheekbone, and you kissed him.

his other hand found your waist immediately, like muscle memory, pulling you in as he smiled against your lips. he pulled away just enough to wrap his arms around you, tucking you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, breath warm as it fanned through your hair.

you melted into him, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin at his waist. his heart beat steady against your cheek, and you let yourself breathe him in.

then, behind you, a shift in the air.

felix’s gaze lifted—over your shoulder.

met seungmin’s across the room.

you didn’t see what was unraveling between the two of them.

after a moment, you pulled back slightly, enough to tilt your head and meet his eyes.

felix looked down at you with a smile. and that was all you needed.

[angelicjas]

"WHY DONT YOU LOVE ME DADDY ? "

starring ꒱ gojo, s. geto, k. nanami.

sum ꒱ plethora of jjk men to fuel your daddy issues — which we all know you secretly have

wc: 2.3k

@warnings! ꒱ daddy!kink, age gaps, p in v, basic sex stuff, filthy smut, cumming inside, cunnilingus, degrading, praise, not rlly proof read, kind of buns but oh well. dumbification kinda, i think thats it lmk if not !!

SATORU GOJO; the sugar daddy.

that new bag you eyed for 2 seconds last week? you find it on the dining table with a note that simply writes, ‘enjoy baby!’. your amazon cart? shein cart? bought with fast shipping, no matter how expensive or full it is. those cute pants you keep seeing everyone on tiktok gloating about? bought and on your nightstand.

satoru, loved to spoil his baby in all sorts of shiny jewels and designer, he loved to see the big smile on your face no matter how many times he’s bought you things. when you go out for girls night? he’s sending you with a stack of money, the size and weight of atleast 1000 dollars cash, throwing it down as if it was a mere 20, his only request was to call him if you or your girls needed anything.

but what satoru loved most, was buying you pretty lingerie.

“mmh!- fuck. .” pap, pap, pap. was the only sound that could be heard in your shared bedroom, your body was wrapped in a light blue lace satoru had bought you, the light color matching his eyes beautifully, the panties were pulled to the side, since he claimed he just ‘had to fuck you with it on.’

“fuck baby, you look so gorgeous with this. .” he pants in your ear heavily, he had your legs on his shoulders, ankles to his ears,

“yeah, mmph- you’re taking me so well baby.”

you could barely register his words, the only thing on your mind was how fucking deep he was, you could feel him in your stomach as he hits that spongey spot deep inside over and over.

your jaw seemed to be stuck in a permanent ‘o’ shape, the only thing coming out of your mouth was the pornagraphic moans that you couldn’t seem to hide even if you wanted too.

your body was bouncing with every thrust, your eyes rolling to the back of your head on a particularly hard thrust.

“yeah, fuck- mhm, you look so fucking pretty, holy shit.” gojo never seemed to shut up during sex, even as he moans inbetween every word. he just felt like he had to let you know how good you look and feel.

the pleasure he was feeling made his body want to roll his head back so bad, but he refused to look away from the fucked out expression on your face.

gojo could also never keep his hands off you, caressing your hips, to your waist, down your arms.. groping and pawing at any skin he could get his greedy hands on.

his mouth was no better, when he wasn’t talking your ear off he’s kissing you sloppily, mostly containing of teeth clashing and tongues colliding more then actual lips touching, or kissing down your neck in a poor attempt to muffle his moans.

“t-toru!” you barely whimper out as more tiny ‘ah, ah, ah!’s leave your lips, he shushes you gently with a sinister grin plastered on his face. “I know baby, I know. you can take it though right?” he whispers moving his head next to your ear, nipping at your skin lightly.

“hmm?” he hums in question, as if you were even able to answer.

“yes!, yes! holy fuck, yes!” you weren’t even quite sure what you were saying yes to at this point, the repeated jabs to your g-spot making you dizzy, you could feel the pleasure slowly become overwhelming.

“mmm,” he hums and speeds up his hips impossibly faster, causing more moans to usher past your lips unexpectedly. he tilts your chin to look at him, making you kiss him as your teeth bump together and your tongue’s tie. “good fucking girl.”

he breathes into your mouth as his eyebrows furrow, he knows you’re just as close as he is.

“g-g’nna cum!” you just barely find the words as you had been fucked utterly senseless. he hums in delight into your mouth before pulling away, kissing and sucking at your neck sloppily,

“cum baby, please.” he begs as he feels you clench around him and chant his name like a mantra.

hearing his name swarm out of your mouth mixed with the way your tightness squeezed around his cock, it sent him over the edge aswell, moaning even louder then you as he buries himself deep in your wetness, letting the ropes of his warm cum spill into you.

SUGURU GETO; the kids you babysits daddy.

It’s probably wrong, the way the same night you tucked his girls into bed after reading them a sweet story, you’re downstairs getting fucked over the kitchen counter.

it was a side gig, an attempt as a broke college student to get some money, eventually you grew to love the two girls you babysat as if they were your own. it also helped that their dad was a fucking smokeshow.

the way you’d run home and tell your girlfriends all about how hot the kids you babysit's dad is, “id call him daddy.” you speak into the phone as you all giggle, in that moment you can also feel your heart drop to your stomach as you hear someone clear their throat from behind you.

“call who daddy sweetheart?” you hear your friends exchange “ooo’s” and laughs through the telephone as you slowly turn around, much to your horror, and see the same man you were just erotically speaking about..

“such a whore baby, is this really the way my children's babysitter should be acting? hm?” he had you in a mean arch, pounding mercilessly into you, the only sound throughout the kitchen being your muffled moans and the squelching beneath you two. you were bent over the kitchen counter, the same one you’ve made the girls food countless time.

it was wrong, you’re sure of that, but its hard to think about that when the only thing on your mind is how fucking deep he was, you swore you could feel him rearranging your guts with each harsh thrust, he knows how to hit that spongey spot deep inside with perfect precision over and over, much better then all those stupid college hook-ups you had.

“s-sugu!, so deep! . . s-shit!” you hear a menacing laugh behind you, mocking you.

realistically, suguru always knew you found him attractive. he could tell by the way your eyes lingered a little to long when you thought he wasn't paying attention, but he always was. he kept a keen eye on you because, frankly, he was also head over fucking heels.

he thought you were the cutest little thing, always showing off in those cute dresses and skirts that hugged your body so tightly, even the days where you wore sweatpants and tracksuits he found himself drooling, still imagining what was underneath.

call him a pervert all you want, especially going for a girl so much younger, so naive. but you were just as much of a pervert. always bending over a little to far in front of him, showing off your cute dainty panties. hugging him a bit to tightly as you left, making sure your boobs pressed riiiight up against him.

which is why he wasted no time bending your little slutty ass over as soon as he could.

“cmon baby, do what you told your friends, yeah?” his head tilts lower, giving open mouth kisses over your neck and down your back, groaning against your skin everytime he feels you clench around his cock.

“mmm-!” you could barely form a coherent thought, hearing the ‘schlick, schlick, shlick’ noises of your messy cunt drooling around him.

“f-fuck! can’t- jesus-!” you stutter out, your eyes crossing as you throw your head back impossibly farther, making suguru reach for your hair and grab it into a sloppy ponytail.

he pulls you by the makeshift pony so your right up next to his own face, “not gonna ask again, little girl.” the husk in his tone, the vile words he’d say, all made you clench tighter and moan louder, biting your bottom lip until it was raw and swollen from trying to contain them.

“s-sorry!” you moan out, the sound of your skin clapping with the wet noises echoing louder throughout the kitchen.

“daddy! fuck fuck- daddy, daddy, daddy!” you can barely contain your screams as he hushes you gently, all with the same sly smirk on his lips that hasn’t left ever since he walked in on your little phone conversation.

“thatsss it,” he groans feeling his own orgasm creeping up. “atta girl, so fucking good.” you felt like you could cum from his words alone, tightening around his shaft once you feel that familiar pleasure consume you.

“c-c’mming!” is all you can manage to get out before it hits you like a fucking train. your legs are shaking, eyes rolled back, uncontainable moans spilling from your lips.

looking at your disheveled state, suguru moans against you burying himself deeeep inside your tummy, what really pushed him over that edge was one more small tight hug from your pussy, causing warm ropes to shoot into you as you squirm, still trying to recover.

“whoopsies, maybe you’ll just have to carry our own kids, hm?”

oh fuck.

KENTO NANAMI; daddy issues daddy.

your relationship with your father was…never great, to say the least, it caused a few problems in your life, sure, but the main one, was the attraction you had in much older men. your friends never understood, i mean, why don’t you want a young guy that can handle you? or a guy your age you can grow old with?

they didnt understand, of course they wouldnt. an older man can throw you around much better then any young guy you’ve been with ever could.

which is why nanami, who you happen to meet at a bar, is practically your dream man ever since the moment you laid eyes on him.

“come here often handsome?” you sit next to him with a seductive smile, leaning your elbow on the bar and resting your cheek on it. he simply turns to look at you, and with an amused huff shakes his head.

“very nice sweetheart,” you can feel your heart swoons at the name. “but im far to old for you.” tch, yeah right.

you aren’t exactly sure how you got where you are now, whether it was the booze, your head being clouded with lust, or maybe both, but your seated in the back of his fancy ass car, with him between your legs.

“you don’t have to do that y’know, if you don’t want too.” you pant looking down at him, I mean afterall no man you’ve ever known has ever really wanted to eat pussy. yet, he still shoots you a perplexed look, shaking his head aggressively.

“I want to,” the words catch you off guard yet make the ache between your thighs even louder. “need to teach you how a real man does it, hm?”

you moan simply at his words and nod your head, throwing your head back as he continues his work kissing along your thighs, humming here and there.

he eventually, comes face to face with your glistening cunt, blowing on it causing your legs to squirm shut, before he quickly grabs ahold of them, now putting your knees allll the way up to your chest, you whine at this before it quickly gets cut off with a real moan once he swipes his tongue through your folds, humming into your wetness.

his tongue swirls around, collecting and swallowing every ounce of your slick as if he was a dehydrated puppy. you’ve never been eaten out with so much . . pleasure? every guy that’s done it before was either terrible at it, completely missing and licking the lips, or just plain hated it anyway.

“mmh- shit. . . feels s’ good.” your head lolls back and more whimpers escape past your lips blissfilly, his lips curl to suckle your sensitive clit, causing you to grab at his hair and whine loudly.

“fuck- so needy baby.” he pants into your soaked hole, mixed with your arousal and his spit. “she’s never been treated right has she? poor thing.” he coos and speaks to it as if it was a real person,

the filthy wet noises emitting from between your thighs only turned you on more, between the constant torture to your clit mixed with his dirty talk? you knew you were a goner soon.

his tongue explored you as much as he could, thrusting the wet muscle into your opening as you needily moan from above him, the grip on his once put together hair, becoming tighter. he sped up, tongue lapping at your essence as he switches between suckling on your clit, to drinking up your dampness.

“s-shit! wait- . . nanami!” the sudden change in pace causes your legs to shake and much louder moans to escape your lips.

unfortunately, everyone that could see the car definitely knew what was going on inside. not only could they hear, but could probably see the car shaking.

your head flew back and your legs attempted to clam together again before a harsh smack! landed against your thigh, causing a whimper to escape your lips.

“keep ‘em open.” the man speaks between your thighs.

“’m close, so f’ckin close-!” the windows were fogged with heat already, nanami slurping at a quickened pace, never failing to reach the most sensitive parts inside of you.

you can feel your climax approaching, the warmth in your belly growing with lust,

“cum.”

was all it took for your legs to shake and your body to writhe and twist above him, he continues to gulp at your creaminess until you ride out your orgasm and have to practically push him off of you.

“wanna see how a real man fucks angel?”

hell yeah you do.

-

toji was supposed to b in this but i got lazy

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

I love your work, could you please write a viktor x reader who takes care of him. like makes sure he eats, they make baked goods for him or make him go to bed in time. I think it would be cute

Heyo! Sure I can, even if it’s been a while since I wrote for Viktor (or anything) lmao

Caretaker!Reader

Viktor takes well enough care of himself, to his own standards

So we all know he can use a little more help and a little helping hand

I think Viktor is pretty independent so it takes a lot out of him to even be able to do this kind of intimate thing with you

If he does, it takes a lot of vulnerability as you would see him at his lowest

There have been times where he probably refused and would try and get out of any situation where you found out he needed help and to be taken care of

He doesn’t want to bother you or anything when he deems it able to be done by himself

It takes a while for him to be comfortable enough with you and your relationship to let himself be vulnerable in that way

As he has never done this kind of thing with anyone else before

But once it happens, trust me, you’re golden

I think he does like sweets and baked goods, so to have you bring him any on a whim and not because you have to, but because you care warms his heart absolutely

He often forgets to take care of himself and his basic needs, like eating and stuff like that for his experiments and research

So he relies on you for that a little bit once he knows you will always be there for him

He loves when you cook or bake for him and knowing it’s so he knows he’s taken care of makes each bite better than the last

At first when you attempted to get him on some sort of decent sleep schedule, he resisted

He went to bed whenever, or whenever his research was done or he passed out and often it was in the lab or at his desk or in the middle of his studying at the table

SOO you would often have to bring him to bed yourself

Once you wore him down enough, he acted like you won

You thought you did until you found out he was just waiting till you fell asleep and slipped out off bed, and slipped back in just before you woke up and pretended to wake up beside you

You had to scold him probably, or it was some sort of argument

He realized you just wanted him to be healthy, and for him to be well rested

Reluctantly, he began going to sleep with you and waking up beside you in the mornings

He found he actually did like this habit because sleeping beside you was surprisingly comforting

He loved hearing your breathing pattern as you fell asleep, and it helped him fall asleep to hear and feel your heart beating as you both snuggled to sleep

And he loved watching you wake up slowly in the mornings

It was all worth it

One thing he was very stubborn about you not doing was taking care of his leg I think

Probably because he feels as his sort of disability is a bother enough, he doesn’t want you to be burdened with it

He probably thinks that if you see that part of him, you’ll think he’s not worth it and leave

And that’s not the case

He only finds out on a particularly harsh day when it hurt so bad, and it was so sore all he could do was want to fall asleep and alleviate the pain by any means

You maybe kissed his leg, maybe rubbed out the pain, maybe helped him in any way

But as you did it, he loved the feeling and could only watch you do so and the warm feeling in his chest never left

So, on the hard days, he would drop subtle hints that he wanted to be taken care of

Like subtly saying “oh, it just hurts, I have no clue how to fix it…” and wait for you to offer to rub it

I feel he likes being babied a little bit, but not to much

He doesn’t like being treated as glass or like he is incompetent

But he does love being taken care of by you

Be it food, tending to him or showering or making sure he is fed and clean

He loves showering with you

He loves having you wash his hair and the feelings of your hand in it or feeling you lather the soap on him while he just gets to relax and close his eyes and know your there

And that he’s able to soak in all the love

Obviously he returns it all in his own way but

It’s just all the love you pour in

[buckyseternaldoll]

bad desire

this is the final story from my 707 followers' milestone event 💖

Pairing: WinterSoldier!Bucky x Civilian!Female!Reader

Summary: Hydra tried to turn you both into monsters. But even as the Winter Soldier, Bucky still chose you.

Disclaimers: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v (standing & bed positions), oral (m giving), light dubcon (serum influence), winter soldier mode, overstimulation, soft dom!bucky, recovery sex, emotional aftercare, post-Hydra escape, angst with resolution, semi-public surveillance

Word Count: 8.5k

Author's Note: As much as I love Winter Soldier, writing his smut scene is very challenging 🥹😭

Bucky escaped Hydra with Steve’s help—though “escape” wasn’t quite right. It felt more like a release. A bleeding, uncertain kind of freedom.

He vanished into a quiet Eastern European village, tucked between cold hills and roads long forgotten. Somewhere small. A place where the language felt foreign in his mouth, and the people kept to themselves. No tourists. No curious eyes. Just cobblestones, an aging clocktower, and silence.

It was perfect for him.

He rented a room above a bakery. Kept his head down. Never let anyone walk behind him. The locals didn’t pry, and he didn’t offer anything back.

But you noticed him.

He was tall, broad, always in the same dark jacket. He moved like someone studying life from the outside—trying to memorize the rhythm of it. Watched more than spoke. At the bakery, he never haggled—just nodded, paid in full, and left. Over time, he started greeting the baker. Murmured a stiff “thank you” like he’d practiced it. You even caught him trying to smile once. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but the attempt was there.

At the market, he lingered. Watched people barter. Mirrored how they tapped scales or leaned in to laugh. He looked like he was trying to relearn how to be human.

He often came to the café where you worked part-time. A small, tucked-away place across from a crooked bench and flickering lamp post. That bench became his perch. He’d sit, stiff-backed, notebook in hand—too small for his fingers, but he wrote in it anyway. Not often. Just a few lines, then he’d tuck it away like it mattered.

You watched him from behind the counter. Pretending not to. But he stood out—quietly. Like a story you couldn’t quite read.

Once, you saw him flinch—actually flinch—at a fat green caterpillar crawling over a daisy by the café door. He took a full step back like it had hissed at him. You barely kept your laughter in. He took a full step back, like it had hissed. You barely kept your laughter in.

Another time, a stray cat jumped onto his bench. He just blinked at it, then scratched behind its ear like he wasn’t sure how. Two more joined. That evening, he walked in covered in cat fur.

You handed him his usual—black coffee. No sugar. No milk. But this time, you added a glazed donut beside it.

“On me,” you said softly. “You’re a regular now.”

He stilled. Shoulders tense, gaze sharp. Like he hadn’t planned for kindness.

You raised your hands gently. “No pressure. Just sugar.”

He hesitated, then gave a slow, reluctant nod.

And he ate the donut.

—

The next day, he was back on the bench again—early afternoon, sunlight brushing through the thinning trees. You brought his coffee out and hovered a little longer.

“Do you like cats?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. Just gave a tiny nod, almost imperceptible.

Your grin grew. You pulled out your phone. “Wanna see mine?”

You held up your phone—a photo of a chonky black cat sprawled across your kitchen table like a lazy prince, belly up, legs akimbo, mid-yawn. “That’s Noa,” you said, grinning. “I found him at night, back in Romania. So—Noa. From noapte (night). He only answers when he feels like it. Fat chonk gremlin thinks he’s royalty. Loves pumpkin purée more than tuna, for some reason.”

You chuckled softly to yourself, expecting silence again.

But then came his voice—quiet, deep.

“Noa. Suits him.”

You blinked. It caught you off guard—not just that he spoke, but the way his voice wrapped around the name. Calm. Unhurried.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You can actually talk?”

He huffed through his nose. A breathy, reluctant sound. But it was amused. The closest thing to a laugh you’d seen from him yet.

You’d take it.

—

A week later, he tapped the edge of the table when you brought his drink.

You raised a brow. “Want me to sit?”

He nodded, eyes still on his cup.

So you did.

You didn’t talk that first time. Just sat, close enough that your knees brushed beneath the table whenever one of you shifted. He didn’t flinch. That felt… like something.

It became a habit. Not always. But often enough that the seat across from him started feeling like yours.

One quiet day, after closing early, he was still there—scribbling in that little notebook. You sat down with your tea, watching him.

“I’ve seen the way you move through the village,” you said. “Like you’re learning. Studying how people work.”

He stilled, pen pausing mid-stroke.

“I think you’re trying to be more human. Or trying to remember how. If you ever need help… I’m good at pretending to be human.”

Still no reply. But he didn’t leave.

You leaned in slightly. “I swear on Noa, I’m a solid secret keeper. He’s the only one I tell things to. And unless he starts speaking, your secrets are safe with the cats.”

That did it.

A low chuckle escaped him. He shook his head, eyes down—and smiled.

It wasn’t wide. Not perfect.

But it was real.

Something pulled tight and warm in your chest. You smiled back, trying to play it cool while your heart scrambled.

—

You’d started seeing him outside the café more often.

Not exactly planned meetings—but they became frequent enough to feel like a habit. You’d catch him on your way home. Sometimes, he’d be waiting at the park bench with his notebook. Other times, you’d spot him loitering near the market until you finally walked up and dragged him into conversation.

You were the one insisting on it—on helping. And to his quiet credit, he let you.

“I mean,” you said one afternoon as the two of you strolled down a quiet lane just past the edge of the village, “you’ve gotten pretty damn good at talking, considering how you used to communicate in grunts and side-eye.”

He gave you a sharp glance, but there was warmth tucked into it. “Didn’t grunt.”

You snorted. “You did. I have witnesses.”

He shook his head, but you caught the curve of his mouth. He wasn’t quite smiling, but it was there, that pull—like he was getting used to the idea of letting something reach him.

“I’m serious, though,” you said, more gently now. “You’ve picked up on social cues really well. You don’t stare at people like they’re puzzles anymore. You even laugh sometimes.”

“I don’t laugh.”

“You chuckled when I told you Noa tried to eat my eyebrow pencil. That counts.”

He sighed. It wasn’t irritated. Just resigned.

You looked at him, eyes soft. “Anything else you want to work on? Anything you need practice with?”

That made him pause.

You both stopped walking, the dusty road quiet around you. The breeze shifted, carrying the smell of firewood and something herbal from a nearby window.

Then he said it—low and measured.

“Human touch.”

You turned to face him. “Touch?”

There was a silence between you, and in that moment, it held weight. Like a breath held too long.

“I forgot,” he said slowly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “What normal touches feel like.”

You felt something stutter in your chest. You wanted to ask more—about what he meant, about what kind of touches he did remember—but something in his voice told you not to. There was a darker layer beneath that calm tone, a history stitched into his skin, and you knew better than to tug at those seams without invitation.

Your gaze dropped for a second—to the gloved hand at his side. The right one.

That other arm—his left—was usually hidden, but sometimes you’d catch it glinting beneath his sleeve. Sleek metal, darker than silver, and forged with faint grooves along the knuckles. You’d never asked about it. Even though you were curious as hell.

Even now, it caught the light—a quiet shimmer beneath the worn fabric.

You took a slow breath. “Do you want to try?”

He blinked. “Try what?”

You lifted your hand, palm up. Open. Gentle.

“I mean… my hand’s not exactly groundbreaking,” you said with a light smile, trying to ease the sudden weight of the moment, “but if you want to… I dunno. Start small. No pressure.”

He stared at your hand.

For a second, you weren’t sure he’d move.

But then—without a word—he reached up and tugged the glove from his right hand. His flesh hand. The one that looked weathered but strong, broad-knuckled with veins that caught just beneath the skin. His fingers flexed once in the air, almost uncertainly, like they were trying to remember how to approach something.

He didn’t grab you. Didn’t squeeze.

Instead, he touched the center of your palm first. Just with the tips of two fingers. A featherlight stroke.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

He traced slowly. His forefinger curling against your skin, drawing a slow, shaky line toward the base of your thumb. His touch wasn’t smooth—it trembled, faintly. Like he was afraid he’d do it wrong. As if even this small contact required permission.

Then, after a pause, his entire hand lowered into yours—deliberate, careful. He fit his fingers into the spaces between yours, but not all the way. Just hovered there. Testing.

You let your fingers curl softly around his. Closed the gap.

His breath caught.

For a long, quiet moment, you stood like that. His hand warming against yours, every inch of skin-to-skin charged with something unspoken. And when he finally wrapped his hand fully around yours—gently, so gently—it felt like a tether. Like he was anchoring himself to something he couldn’t name.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t tease. You just let him hold you, because it felt like he needed it.

And when he looked down at your joined hands, eyes blinking slow, the smallest crease formed between his brows—confused, maybe. Or overwhelmed. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with softness that didn’t come with strings.

You squeezed lightly. Just once.

He didn’t let go.

And something about that… moved in you.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly—only that it lit something behind your ribs. Like an invisible string tugged its way from your palm to somewhere along your spine, curling low and quiet and warm. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t wrong. But it made you feel… squirmy. Restless. Like there was something else happening beneath your skin that hadn’t been there a second ago.

You stayed still anyway. Let the moment stretch.

But he must have felt it—something shifting, or maybe just the timing of it all—because after a few more seconds, he slowly unhooked his fingers from yours and pulled his hand back. Carefully. Like he didn’t want to break something.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But from that day on, the “touch training” became a regular part of your meetings.

It started innocently enough. A brush of shoulders while walking. The occasional graze of his knuckles when he passed you something. You let him explore the idea of safe contact—real, present, unprogrammed. And in turn, he let you see how deeply lonely he must have been to crave it in silence all this time.

Today, you told him you were ready for the next step. “We’ve done hands,” you said with a teasing smile, standing beneath the low branches of a pine tree that shaded your usual path. “Now let’s try hugs.”

He didn’t move at first.

Then—slowly—he nodded.

You took a breath. Arms out. Waiting.

He stepped forward, movements uncertain but controlled. His arms wrapped around you not like someone who had done it a thousand times, but like someone trying to replicate something from memory. Not tightly at first. Just enough to encircle you.

You stood there, letting the contact settle in. His chest was warm. Firm beneath your cheek. His breath slow against your hair. But then…

Something inside you curled.

It was that feeling again—that tight, electric buzz in your stomach. That low twist of pressure that felt… weird. Not in a bad way. Just… complicated. Your insides knotted, not from fear or nerves, but something else. Something unnamed.

He smelled like cedar soap and wood smoke. His heart beat slow. Heavy. Constant.

And then his arms shifted—pulling you in closer. Just slightly. But closer.

The hug deepened. Changed.

You weren’t sure how, but the second his body pressed more fully against yours, you felt it again: that same shiver in your chest, sliding low through your belly like something melting. Your breath caught. You didn’t understand it, not really. You didn’t even have a name for the feeling.

You didn’t know that was what want felt like.

You swallowed hard and buried it. Ignored it. Because he didn’t seem to notice anything strange.

At least, you didn’t think he did.

—

The last thing you remembered was the sound of his breath near your ear. His hand between your shoulder blades, steady and warm.

The next time you opened your eyes—he was gone.

You were no longer in his arms.

You were strapped to a chair.

Metal. Ice-cold. The kind that bit through your clothes and dug into your spine. Thick cuffs pressed around your wrists, holding you in place. Your ankles were bound, too—tight and immovable. The room around you was dark, echoing. Empty, except for the faint buzz of electricity overhead.

A single bulb swung slowly above you, the only source of light. It flickered once. Twice.

Your vision was still blurry. Mind fogged, sluggish. But your body knew something was wrong before your brain could catch up. Your head pulsed with pressure. And your arm—your right arm—ached.

You blinked downward, slow and heavy, catching the faint pinprick of dried blood at your inner elbow. A needle mark.

You’d been injected.

The panic didn’t hit all at once—it crept in slowly, like ice cracking beneath your skin. Your breath came shallow. You tried to move, to speak, to scream, but nothing useful came out. Just a hoarse breath. Dry. Weak.

And then you heard it.

Voices. Low and sharp. Coming from beyond the door.

Russian.

At least three men, maybe four, talking quickly—too quickly for your foggy brain to translate. The hinges of a metal door groaned. Then footsteps. Heavy boots. Closer. Echoing.

You tried to brace yourself.

But you couldn’t even remember how you got here.

All you knew was that a moment ago, you were in his arms.

And now… you were alone.

—

The door creaked open with a loud metallic groan, and four men stepped into the cell.

All in black. Boots heavy. Faces unreadable under buzzcuts and shadows. One of them—broad, smug, older—stepped forward like he owned the ground he walked on. The others fanned out like guards, or wolves waiting to be told when to bite.

He tilted his head. Eyes gleamed as he looked you over like you were inventory.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Feeling better?”

You barely lifted your head. Everything ached—your skull, your arm, your gut. You tried to speak, but the words clung to your tongue like glue.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Got what we needed, thanks to you.”

You blinked at him, dazed and confused.

He grinned like a jackal. “Soft little village girl walks into his life, and boom—he forgets what he is.”

He crouched a little, closer to your face now. His breath reeked of blood and smoke.

“Our asset went soft,” he spat. “You made him soft.”

The word dripped with disgust.

You stared at him, blinking through the fog in your brain.

“Where is he?” you rasped. “What did you—where’s the man I was with?”

His grin widened. “Man?”

He laughed. Sharp and cruel. One of the others snorted behind him.

“That wasn’t a man, darling. That was a weapon. And now he’s exactly where he belongs.”

He rose to full height again. “Different cell. Alone. Like he should be. We’re reprogramming his brain.”

The blood in your veins turned to ice.

Hydra.

You didn’t even have to ask.

You knew exactly what they were—what that name meant, what it carried.

The older man smirked, noticing your change in expression. “Ah. Now it clicks.”

You felt sick. Your stomach turned. But still—you shook your head.

“No,” you said. “You’re wrong. He’s not like that anymore. He’s—”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the man interrupted, lips curling with glee. “Winter Soldier. Ring any bells?”

You went still.

James.

The name slammed into your chest like a blunt weapon.

“And you,” he sneered, “got in the way. Made him weak. Turned him into a fucking puppy.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

“We should’ve killed you,” he added, almost casually. “Collateral damage. But lucky you—we had something better.”

He gestured to your arm. “You’ve been injected.”

You glanced down, breath catching at the sting on your inner elbow. The tiny welt. The bruising.

“A gift,” he said, all false cheer. “We call it a mirror. Brings out the dark stuff. Whatever’s locked deep inside. Instinct. Want. Urge.”

He leaned down one last time, lips close to your ear.

“You’ll be placed in his cell when it’s time. Once he’s been… tuned.”

He straightened, already walking away.

“Let’s see what happens when we give the monster exactly what he wants.”

The men laughed—cold, barking sounds that echoed as they stepped out.

The door slammed shut behind them with a brutal, final thud.

—

[BUCKY POV]

The sting in his neck came first.

Then the cold.

Then nothing.

Just flashes.

Boots dragging him across concrete. Metal floors. Voices scraping through static—low, clipped, familiar.

Russian.

Fucking Hydra.

He came to strapped into a chair.

No. The chair.

The one they used when they wanted to rip you out of yourself and leave the bones behind.

Thick leather cuffs bit into his wrists. Ankles locked. Wires pressed cold and sharp against his chest. A band wrapped tight around his head, wired into the humming machine behind him. He didn’t have to turn to see it.

He knew it. Every screw. Every sound.

He could feel the current buzzing in the wires before it even touched him.

His jaw tensed. Shoulders squared.

Don’t show it. Don’t move. Don’t give them anything.

Then the door creaked open.

Three of them stepped in—uniformed, smug, smiling like they were about to unwrap a weapon, not a man.

“Back where you belong,” one sneered. “Didn’t take much, huh?”

The second laughed. “Too easy. Poor thing really thought he was human.”

The third passed by, tapping a syringe. “Relax. We’re not wasting the asset. Just giving him a little… reminder.”

Bucky stayed silent.

They didn’t expect a response. Not yet.

“We already dosed the girl,” one of them said, voice curling with amusement. “Desire-enhancer. She’ll be begging for him before the hour’s out.”

“And yours?” the last one smirked, fingers hovering over a switch. “We upgraded it. Stronger. With a twist.”

He flipped it.

The current hit like fire.

Bucky’s spine arched against the restraints. A choked sound tore from his throat as electricity ripped through him—nerve to nerve, bone to bone. Sparks blurred his vision. Static roared in his skull.

His name vanished.

His mind split.

But somewhere, buried in the white-hot haze—you.

Your laugh. Your voice. The softness of your hand in his. The way your eyes never flinched when they met his.

Hold onto that. Don’t lose her.

He tried. God, he tried.

But the machine clawed deeper. Pulling him apart from the inside. Ripping softness from his bones, kindness from his memory. Replacing it with silence. Precision. Directives etched where memory used to be.

When it finally stopped, his body sagged forward, gasping. Muscles trembling. Jaw clenched so tight he tasted blood.

But something was off.

He wasn’t gone.

Not all the way.

Not the Soldier. Not Bucky.

Something in between. Something worse.

The serum already pulsed in his blood, coiling around every raw edge. Every flicker of need. It sank claws into the parts of him that still felt.

And what he felt now—

Was you.

But not with love.

With hunger.

Every memory of your skin, your voice, your scent—it all shifted. No longer comfort.

Triggers.

He needed to hear your breath catch. Feel your body tense under his. Mark you until you knew he was there, even after he was gone.

To take.

To claim.

To never stop.

[END OF POV]

—

The door to your cell groaned open, flooding your ears with the shriek of rusted hinges.

You blinked against the sudden light, but it barely helped. Everything around you was still dark—your vision tunneled, your limbs heavy, your skin burning.

You barely registered the two guards entering.

Thick fingers undid the straps around your wrists and ankles. Cold hands hauled you up before you could find your own footing.

Your legs buckled once.

“Move,” one of them growled, dragging you out into the hall.

You stumbled forward, caught between their grips. The corridor was dim and narrow, stone underfoot, cold air brushing your fevered skin. You could hardly see—just outlines and flickers of shadows along the walls.

But none of it mattered.

Because you felt him.

Somewhere ahead. Close.

Your whole body throbbed with it. Like your nerves were no longer your own. All you could think—feel—was the need for him. Not the gentle kind. Not the kind with whispered touches and stolen glances.

You wanted him inside you.

You wanted him to tear you apart and put you back together with his hands, his mouth, his body.

It was a hunger that crawled under your skin and made you feel like you’d melt if you didn’t touch him soon.

The guards reached a door at the end of the hallway—wider, steel-reinforced. One of them punched in a code. The other turned the handle.

You shivered, your skin hypersensitive under the thin fabric of the knee-length dress you still wore—soft and light, now clinging slightly with sweat. It felt out of place here. Too exposed. Too easy to pull up. A whisper of softness in a place built to break you.

And then they shoved you in.

You stumbled again, caught your balance on instinct, heart hammering.

The room was bright.

Too bright. Walls blinding white. Sanitized. Cold and clean in a way that made your skin crawl.

There was a bed, bolted to the floor. A single chair in the corner. No windows. No shadows.

Cameras. You knew there were cameras. Probably hidden in the corners, blinking silently as they watched you unravel.

Your eyes adjusted—and then you saw him.

Bucky.

Only—he wasn’t quite Bucky anymore.

He stood near the back of the room, facing the opposite wall. Shoulders tense, spine straight, chest heaving beneath the thin black shirt that clung to every ridge of muscle. His metal arm gleamed under the overhead lights—exposed now, the red star dark against the metal.

He turned toward you.

And your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes.

Not soft. Not tired. Not like before.

They were darker. Sharper. Focused.

Predatory.

He looked at you like he already knew what you were feeling—because he felt it, too. Because he wanted it. Wanted you.

But not gently.

Not sweetly.

There was no careful Bucky here.

This was the Winter Soldier.

And he wanted to ruin you.

—

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears as you took one slow, trembling step forward.

“James…”

The name slipped out—quiet. Barely above a whisper.

His head tilted slightly at the sound of it. His eyes flicked toward you, nostrils flaring like a wild animal scenting prey. His shoulders rose with a slow inhale.

But he didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

You swallowed hard, body tense, skin prickling as the serum’s grip twisted deeper in your belly. The heat was unbearable. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to stop the ache, but it only pulsed harder. Your cunt throbbed, needy and swollen, aching for him—only him.

Still, you tried to stay in control.

“I want you,” you rasped, your voice hoarse with restraint. “God, I want you so bad it hurts—inside, everywhere—but I know it’s the serum. I know Hydra did this.”

He didn’t move. His jaw flexed.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I never wanted this to happen like this. Not with you like this. I wanted—I wanted you—but not like this.”

He was still silent.

But something flickered in his eyes.

A shadow of the man you’d held before. The man who’d brushed his fingertips across your palm like it meant something. Who smiled when you talked about your cat. Who let you into his world one inch at a time.

That man was still there.

Barely.

And he was fighting.

But the desire was eating you alive.

“I’m trying to fight it,” you whispered, stepping back until your shoulders hit the wall. Your hands flattened behind you, bracing against cold white. “But I—fuck—I can’t. I’m so wet it hurts. I’ve been clenching around nothing thinking about you, and I hate it. I hate how badly I want you right now. I want you inside me. Filling me. Stretching me. Ruining me.”

His eyes darkened.

A crack formed in his stillness.

Then he growled something low under his breath—in Russian.

“Хватит говорить.”

Stop talking.

The words barely left his lips before he moved.

He lunged.

In less than a breath, his body crashed into yours, pinning you against the wall. The impact stole the air from your lungs. You gasped, but he was already on you—his metal hand seizing your wrist and slamming it above your head, hard and cold and unrelenting.

The other hand gripped your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground as his mouth crushed into yours.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a claim.

Teeth. Heat. Pressure. Desperation.

You tried to push him away—tried to gather what little control you had left—but it was useless. Your hands, your mouth, your body all betrayed you. Your hips rolled up against him like they had a mind of their own, your thighs shaking.

You moaned into his mouth, unable to stop yourself.

There was no softness in the way he kissed you.

It was all teeth and heat and panting breaths, mouths crashing over and over, no rhythm—just hunger. Every movement from him was brutal, precise, urgent. Like he was trying to rip the need out of himself and shove it into you.

Your body burned.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, soaking through your underwear.

The sound of your whimper made his grip tighten.

His metal arm held you like steel, unrelenting, fingertips bruising where they curled around your skin. You were pinned in place, completely at his mercy—and yet, all you could think about was how badly you wanted more.

Your free hand curled in his shirt, yanking him closer. Your legs lifted, wrapping around his hips as he held you pinned.

Your back hit the wall again with a thud as he ground against you—rough, hard, hot. His cock was already stiff beneath his pants, pressing against the curve of your cunt, and it made you cry out—the contact was too much, not enough, everything and nothing at once.

His mouth tore away from yours, lips red and wet, breath ragged.

You barely heard the static click of the camera in the corner behind you.

Hydra was watching.

And they were delighted.

The serum wasn’t meant to end in one round.

It was designed to feed itself.

To keep you both burning.

To keep you needing until you were hollowed out.

Even if it killed you.

And right now, with Bucky’s mouth on your throat, his hand tearing at your clothes, and your body already grinding down against him—

You weren’t sure you’d live through it.

But God—you wanted to.

—

His mouth dragged lower, tongue hot against your collarbone, and then suddenly—

RIP.

Your dress split down the middle with one brutal yank—his metal arm tearing through the fabric like paper. The sound cracked through the room, echoing against the white walls.

You gasped, trembling, suddenly half-naked—left only in your soaked underwear and a thin, non-padded bra. The cold air met your feverish skin, and your nipples peaked instantly, painfully hard under the sudden exposure.

He saw them.

And groaned.

A low, guttural sound. Not desperate. Not hungry in the way a man would be. But programmed. Like a predator recognizing its target.

His mouth closed over your left nipple through the thin fabric—biting, sucking, dragging his teeth over it like he wanted to bruise you there. The stimulation made your knees buckle, but he didn’t let you fall.

His arm still held your wrist tight above your head, unrelenting, while his free hand gripped your waist to keep you still.

He was in control. Utterly. Entirely.

You squirmed, hips rolling forward, grinding against the solid length of his cock through his pants, your wet panties dragging along the ridge of it with every movement.

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “James.”

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t pant.

Didn’t tremble.

Not like you.

He was still—his eyes sharp, his mouth ruthless, his body composed like he wasn’t even breathing hard.

Because he wasn’t.

He was in Winter Soldier mode now.

And Winter Soldiers didn’t pant.

With a quick shift, his flesh hand reached behind you, unclasped your bra with a practiced jerk. The clasp snapped open, and he yanked it down your arms, tossing it to the floor without ever loosening his grip.

Then his hands—both of them—were on your breasts.

He squeezed hard.

Too hard.

You cried out at the pressure, but your cunt clenched in response. Slick coated the inside of your thighs, your underwear already soaked through, sticking to you like a second skin.

“James—James, please,” you gasped. “I need—I need you inside me, I need it, I can’t—”

Still no response.

Just that single flash of his eyes before his metal hand dropped down, hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t pull it down.

He tore it off.

The fabric snapped apart in his grip, and your gasp turned into a full moan.

Your thighs parted without thinking. Your hips bucked.

You were so fucking wet.

The air hit your pussy and made it worse—the heat, the slick, the hollow ache deep inside. You were clenching around nothing, sobbing through your teeth, begging like it was the only language left in your body.

“Please, please, please—James—fuck me—”

You barely had time to breathe.

You felt the heat of him between your legs—thick, hot, pulsing. Then came the sound of a zipper—fabric shifting just enough for him to free himself.

He didn’t undress. Just shoved his pants low enough to free his cock.

Thick. Veined. Angry-red and leaking.

You gasped. “Wait—”

But he wasn’t built to wait.

His metal hand gripped your hip, cold and unrelenting. His flesh hand slid under your thigh, hoisting your leg up and pinning it to his side.

Just one leg.

Just enough to open you.

And then—he drove forward.

No warning. No teasing. No care.

Just a brutal thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs and slammed your back into the wall.

You screamed.

The stretch lit your nerves on fire, forced your body to open around him—thick and hard and so deep it hurt. But the pain was nothing compared to the ache that came before it.

Now that he was inside you, your body clenched like it never wanted him to leave.

He pulled back, barely.

Then thrust in again.

Harder.

Faster.

He fucked you like he was trying to purge something from his bloodstream—his hips snapping forward with unrelenting force, again and again, every motion slamming you into the cold wall behind.

You weren’t just holding on—you were unraveling.

Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingers digging in wherever they could find purchase. One leg hooked up high on his waist, the other shaking, barely able to hold you upright, but he didn’t falter.

The wet slap of skin echoed in the sterile white cell. Your moans cracked open and feral, your body shaking with every punishing stroke—and he?

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t groan. Didn’t pant.

He just fucked.

Mechanical. Precise. Feral.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t built to feel.

He was built to finish.

And that’s exactly what he intended to do.

—

He didn’t stop.

Not even when your spine slammed against the wall again, the shock rattling through your ribs.

Not when your lifted leg started to tremble, slipping a little against his side.

Not when your moans broke into gasps—ragged, breathless, barely hanging on.

He only growled—low and wordless—and wrapped his arms around you, metal and flesh, lifting you clean off the ground with a brutal grip.

You cried out as your back arched involuntarily, still so full of him.

He carried you—still inside you—across the room in a few fast, purposeful strides. His cock didn’t slip once. The stretch remained deep, unforgiving, dragging across every nerve inside you like it belonged there.

Then you hit the mattress.

Hard.

The springs squealed beneath your weight as he slammed into you again. No rhythm now—just sheer force. He was fucking like a machine with one directive: use. release. repeat.

Your eyes rolled back. You couldn’t breathe.

You didn’t even want to.

You were burning alive from the inside out and still you needed more.

But then—he stopped.

Pulled out.

You gasped from the loss, legs trembling, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Flip,” he barked. The only word he’d said since entering you.

Your dazed mind barely registered the command, but your body obeyed—rolling over, knees digging into the mattress, arms braced, still shaking from the first onslaught.

You didn’t even get the chance to settle before he grabbed your hips—his metal hand gripping tight enough to bruise—and slammed into you again.

No warning. No patience.

You screamed into the mattress, forehead dropping forward, hands clawing at the sheets for something to hold onto.

He pounded into you from behind with no rhythm, just relentless depth—every thrust jarring your body forward, dragging a fresh moan from your throat.

It hurt.

It burned.

But God, you were so close.

So close you were choking on it, dizzy with it. Your body betrayed you completely, clenching, spiraling, seconds away—

But he didn’t let you come like that.

Not from behind.

Because the Winter Soldier wasn’t done with you yet.

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over like a ragdoll—no tenderness, just force—and shoved himself back in with a violent thrust that made your hips lift off the bed.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as he slammed into you, now facing him.

His face was blank. Eyes wild. Breath controlled.

You, on the other hand—were falling apart.

He fucked you violently, brutally, each thrust harder than the last, hips crashing into yours like you were built to take it.

And you did.

You came hard.

So hard your body spasmed, your nails digging into his shoulders, your voice breaking apart on his name—“James—oh fuck—James—”—as you shattered beneath him.

You shook.

Convulsed.

Almost blacked out.

But he didn’t stop.

You tried to breathe, to beg for a pause, but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate and neither would he.

His thrusts grew even rougher—inhuman—and then with a sharp, guttural exhale, he came too.

You felt it.

Hot and thick, pumping inside you in waves.

But he didn’t stop moving.

He kept going.

His cock still hard, still twitching inside you, still thrusting, like his brain didn’t register release as a signal to stop.

You gasped, overwhelmed. Your hands scrambled for his chest—“wait, wait—”

But he didn’t hear you.

Didn’t want to hear you.

Your body convulsed again, overstimulated, throat hoarse from moaning and screaming and gasping for air like you were drowning beneath him.

It almost felt like you could die from it.

And only then—finally—he pulled out.

Leaving you empty, ruined, soaking in your own slick and his cum, your legs still spread, your chest heaving like you’d run for miles and your heart might never slow down again.

—

He wasn’t done.

Even after spilling inside you—after wringing you dry and watching you break—he still wasn’t done.

The Winter Soldier moved with a single, controlled motion, shifting downward along the bed, his metal hand still gripping your thigh, prying it open wider. You tried to close your legs, weak and trembling, but it was useless. He forced them apart like it was protocol. Like this was routine.

He dove between your legs without a word.

Not hungry.

Not greedy.

But driven.

Programmed.

His tongue dragged along your folds—slow, deliberate. Gathering everything. Your slick. His cum. All of it. He wanted it. Wanted to taste it. To keep stimulating you until you broke again. Until your body couldn’t take it anymore.

He licked deeper.

Sucked on your swollen clit until your legs kicked out on reflex, your throat catching on a sound you couldn’t even shape into a word.

Your hips bucked weakly. You tried to push at his shoulders, but he didn’t move.

He was a machine.

And you were his task.

He kept going—precise licks, tight suction, his tongue fucking into you like he had been ordered to memorize your body and extract your climax as efficiently as possible.

You were already so sensitive. So raw. You couldn’t even process the pleasure anymore—it felt like pain. Like lightning.

You sobbed out his name again. “James—please—”

Still nothing.

No reaction.

And then—

You came again.

Your body convulsed violently, back arching off the mattress, vision tunneling. Your voice cracked open around the moan, and this time, it wasn’t lust.

It was a cry for help.

“B-Bucky—!”

His name tore from your throat like a sob—like a plea from somewhere deeper than instinct.

And it stopped him cold.

His mouth froze. His grip loosened. The relentless pace, the way his tongue had been driving you toward the edge—all of it stopped in an instant.

You couldn’t breathe right. Your chest was heaving, every sob catching sharp under your ribs. One arm had gone slack beside you on the sheets. Your thighs trembled where they draped over his shoulders—still open, still shaking. Your back arched off the bed in aftershock, your cheek damp with tears you hadn’t realized were falling.

And then—he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

His head tilted slightly, like something wasn’t computing—like your voice had hit a frequency he couldn’t filter out. His eyes, still dark and storming, moved over you slowly. The marks on your hips. The red prints around your wrists. Your swollen lips. The way your body shook in his arms.

His gaze landed on your face last.

The tears.

The way you whispered his name again, softer this time.

“Bucky…”

A breath caught in his throat—different from the harsh, mechanical rhythm he’d been running on. This one was shallow. Fragile. Human.

And then—

Something cracked.

You saw it.

Like a wire snapped behind his eyes. His brows drew in sharply, lips parting, shoulders falling—not with discipline but with shock. The kind of shock that came with recognition.

The Soldier had no use for guilt.

But Bucky Barnes did.

He stepped back.

Stumbled.

Like his legs suddenly remembered how to give out.

“No—” he rasped, voice frayed and hoarse and unmistakably his. “No, no, shit—fuck—I didn’t—”

He looked down at his hands like they didn’t belong to him. One metal, one trembling. Covered in sweat, in your slick, in proof of everything he’d just done.

His breath hitched. “I’m sorry,” he whispered—raw and cracked open.

And when he reached for you this time—

It wasn’t to hold you down.

It was to hold you up.

—

He eased you up—gentle now. Hands soft under your arms, cradling your head as he slowly pulled you into a seated position. You gasped for air, your body shaking like a leaf, lungs still catching up to the storm he’d left in you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice shredded. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—I lost control. I didn’t know how to stop.”

Your head dropped into his chest. You were still trembling. Still clenching around nothing. Still throbbing for him.

But now… it was different.

Now it was safe.

Now it was him.

You felt his heartbeat under your cheek—fast, uneven, not cold or programmed, but human. Real.

“Bucky,” you rasped, barely a breath.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his fingers trembling as they tucked your hair behind your ear. “I’ve got you. I’m so fucking sorry—I’d never hurt you. I swear I’d never—” His voice broke. His mouth pressed into your temple, like he was trying to will the shame out of his body. “I’d rather die than touch you like that by choice.”

You exhaled shakily. Your palms pressed to his chest—warm, solid, familiar.

You nodded.

You believed him.

Because you were just… you.

Just a civilian.

And even with that serum still curling in your veins, you were never built to keep up with the machine he’d been forced to become. Not with the brutal rhythm. Not with the stamina. Not with the feral need he had been hijacked by.

You were still aching—still wrecked, still wanting—but now, what you needed more than anything…

Was a breath.

A pause.

A moment to live.

And for the first time in hours…

You had one.

—

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed—his dark shirt clinging to him, damp with sweat. His breath had evened out, but his shoulders stayed tense, like something inside him still hadn’t fully unclenched. He hadn’t stopped watching you—not since you said his name. Not since the Winter Soldier slipped back into the dark, and something human took its place.

He reached out, slow and unsure, brushing a knuckle along your jaw.

“Do you… need to stop?” he asked, voice low. Careful. Not cold. Not commanding.

Just a man trying to make sense of what was left.

You didn’t answer right away.

Your body was still shaking, legs drawn in now, curled close to your chest. You’d pulled the sheet around your hips at some point, but the sweat, the slick, the after of everything still clung to your skin.

And the ache between your legs hadn’t faded.

If anything—it pulsed deeper. Slower. But steady.

“Hydra’s watching,” he said, quieter now. “They’ll see I broke protocol. They’ll know I’m not… him.”

He swallowed hard. Shame flickered behind his eyes like a faultline.

“I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I shouldn’t have touched you like that—not with them watching. Not like I was still—” He cut himself off.

He reached for the shredded fabric of your dress, trying to drape it over you again.

“I’ll get us out,” he muttered, jaw tight. “I’ll rip through every one of them if I have to. I’ll make them pay for using you. For using me.”

But before he could stand, your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist.

Not to stop him.

Just… to hold him there.

“No,” you whispered, voice raw and dry. “I still need you.”

His brow furrowed, uncertain.

Your hand slid down—hesitant at first—then wrapped around him directly, where his cock rested heavy between his thighs.

He was half-hard. Already twitching back to life.

You stroked once.

Then again.

“I’m still aching,” you murmured. “Still burning from that serum. It hurts, Bucky.”

He flinched at the sound of his name.

“I know it’s wrong,” you continued, your palm moving slow and steady. “But it’s still inside me. It hasn’t worn off. You can help. You can stop the burn.”

His hand came down to catch yours—trying to still it, but not really pulling away. Just… pausing.

“Not like before,” you added, your voice quieter. More certain. “I don’t want the Winter Soldier.”

You shifted your knees apart, just enough to make the invitation unmistakable.

“I want you.”

His jaw locked.

He was still for a long second—then his hand eased around yours, guiding the stroke. His shoulders dropped, tension melting like ice under sunlight.

You were still looking up at him when he bent forward and pressed his lips to your forehead.

It was brief.

But it was him.

He didn’t move at first. Just sat there beside you—silent, tense. Like he was waiting for you to change your mind. Like he wouldn’t touch you unless you asked.

You reached out first.

Fingers curling gently around his wrist. Not to drag him close.

Just to let him know you hadn’t pulled away.

That you still wanted this.

Bucky looked at you—longer this time. Eyes searching. Then he gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he’d follow your pace, whatever it was.

He leaned in slowly, like every inch forward was a question.

Then his mouth met yours.

Not rough. Not rushed.

Just heat. Just lips. Just a man trying to ground himself in something real.

The kiss was soft, tentative. Testing the shape of trust between you. His tongue brushed yours carefully, tasting—not claiming. His hand slid to your side, fingertips brushing sweat-damp skin. He paused at your hip, his touch feather-light, almost unsure.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured against your lips, voice strained. “I need to know.”

You nodded, breath shaky.

“I will.”

He drew back just enough to look down at you—then shifted, lowering one hand from your side. His flesh palm found your breast, cupping it gently. You gasped as his thumb circled your nipple—slow, delicate, like he was memorizing the way your breath hitched for him.

Then he moved, steady and deliberate—propping himself up slightly on his metal arm while his other hand slipped between your bodies.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock—still slick, still heavy—and stroked it once, twice. Just enough to guide himself to your entrance.

You parted your legs.

Not in surrender.

In choice.

He hovered there, the head of his cock barely pressing into your folds. The heat between your bodies simmered. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and tight. “Do you still want this?”

You met his eyes.

“Yes.”

That was all he needed.

He pressed in—carefully, inch by inch. Your breath hitched at the stretch, your body still tender and sore, but it wasn’t pain that bloomed in your chest now.

It was fullness.

Connection.

He exhaled through his nose, brow furrowing as your body clenched around him.

You whimpered when he hit too deep, too fast.

He stopped instantly. Eyes wide.

“Did I—?”

“No,” you whispered. “Just… slow.”

So he did.

He eased in fully, hips flush to yours, both of you stilling—your foreheads brushing, your breaths shaky. Letting the moment settle.

Letting it be real.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I didn’t want it to be like before.”

You shook your head, touching his shoulder.

“Just… stay with me.”

He rocked his hips—slow and deliberate. Nothing like before. Nothing like a weapon. Just heat and care. The rhythm built gently, each thrust a quiet apology, each movement asking instead of taking.

Your legs drew around his hips, locking him deeper.

The stretch no longer burned. It warmed. It ached in a way that felt right.

He adjusted his grip, bracing his legs before slowly sitting up—keeping you wrapped around him, keeping himself buried deep. You moved with him, your thighs tightening around his waist until you were straddling his lap, chest pressed to his. His hands slid up your back, steadying you as the new position settled in.

The new position made you gasp.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice barely holding steady.

You nodded, hips beginning to move on your own.

He let you take control.

You rode him slowly, finding a rhythm that made both your mouths fall open. Your hands flattened to his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as your body pulsed around him.

And when you came—it was soft, drawn out. A slow unraveling that started low in your spine and rippled outward, your breath catching, your voice shaking as you gasped his name.

“Bucky—Bucky—”

That was what broke him.

He came with a guttural sound, arms locking around your waist, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning through clenched teeth as he emptied into you.

Then silence.

Just the sound of breath and heartbeat and the sharp edge of being alive.

Not owned.

Not broken.

Just alive.

—

Hydra didn’t miss it.

The climax. The soft moan of his name. The tenderness.

The serum was meant to create hunger that burned until it destroyed you.

Not… this.

Not love.

Not care.

Not healing.

Alarms didn’t blare, but you felt the tension in the air shift.

Somewhere behind those walls, someone flipped a switch. Surveillance feeds caught tenderness where violence was expected. And Hydra? They didn’t like malfunctions.

You barely had time to breathe before Bucky’s body tensed beneath you.

“They’re coming,” he said, voice low. Calm. Steady.

Different.

No longer cold. No longer detached.

Just… Bucky.

He adjusted his hold, lifting you gently off his lap. His hands moved with purpose now—grounded, clear. He peeled off his shirt and pulled it over your head, helping guide your arms through the sleeves. It wasn’t oversized, but it covered what needed to be hidden. Then he grabbed the torn remains of your dress from the floor, wrapping it like a makeshift skirt around your waist.

“You okay to move?” he asked, gaze locked to yours.

You nodded, heart pounding.

He stood, turned to the metal door—and with a single kick, it crashed open with a screech.

You flinched at the sound. He didn’t.

Hydra guards rushed in, shouting orders in Russian. Too late.

Bucky was faster than them all. Brutal, efficient. He didn’t kill them—but he made sure none of them would walk straight for a while. Every strike was calculated. No wasted motion. All precision.

And then he grabbed your hand.

“Stay close to me,” he said, glancing back. “Don’t stop running.”

You nodded again, breath shallow, legs unsteady but moving.

Together, you sprinted through the narrow corridors of the Hydra base. Red lights pulsed on the walls. Somewhere behind you, someone shouted his name—the wrong one.

“Soldat!”

But Bucky didn’t turn.

He didn’t flinch.

He ran.

You ran after him.

The metal halls gave way to concrete. Concrete to dirt. Dirt to pine needles and open sky.

When you both finally burst into the night, the forest swallowed you whole. The air was cold. Clean. Real.

You stumbled, and Bucky caught you before your knees hit the ground. Without a word, he swept you into his arms and ran deeper into the woods—his chest steady, breath even, grip unshakable.

And you?

You weren’t aching anymore.

You weren’t burning.

You were… full.

Filled with him. With air. With a strange new peace.

He wasn’t just a weapon.

Not anymore.

He was a man. A human being. One that had been taken apart and rebuilt—but still capable of love, tenderness, control.

He just needed someone to help him remember.

And maybe—just maybe—that someone was you.

[thankskenpenders]

The Lara-Su Chronicles: Beginnings review

The day has finally come. Many, understandably, thought we'd never get here. Maybe we shouldn't have gotten here. We've been through so much. Lawsuits, reboots, redesigns, unreleased NFTs, empty legal threats over the fact that movie Knuckles has a dad, an attempt to license out Scourge the Hedgehog to fans that immediately got canceled (in both meanings of the term), and many, MANY idiotic Twitter controversies. But now, here we are.

Thirteen years after first announcing it in the middle of his legal battles with Archie and Sega that changed the American Sonic comics forever, former writer Ken Penders has released the first part of his new series: The Lara-Su Chronicles.

Yes. I had to buy the book. I had to take one for the team. Look at the fucking URL of this blog, a blog I've been using to talk about the American Sonic comics for nearly a decade while the specter of this book loomed in the distance. The one time I've actually been paid to write an article about anything in any professional capacity, it was an article about the Penders lawsuits. I'm cited on his Wikipedia page. There was no way I was going to skip reviewing this, and there was no guarantee that scans would ever turn up online given the incredibly small audience for this trash. (Only 166 people preordered this, and even that number feels way higher than it should be.) No, I had to preorder it to ensure I could get a copy and cover it for the blog... even if that meant my name would be forever immortalized in the list of "supporters" in the back of the book. These are the sacrifices I must make as a woman who stumbled ass backwards into being an amateur Archie Sonic historian.

So, what exactly is in this book? How much of it is new? How bad is it? How did we even get here in the first place? How can this exist without Sega pursuing legal action? What happens next? And, most importantly... why are there multiple depictions of an Archie Sonic character breastfeeding in this book?

I'm here to answer those questions as best I can, and in agonizing detail.

First, for those just tuning in to this decades-long saga or those who maybe don't know the full story, here's a refresher on the background info.

"What the hell is this?"

The Lara-Su Chronicles is Ken Penders' long-dreaded long-awaited continuation of his 1994-2006 run on Archie Sonic, ignoring everything written after he left by other writers like Ian Flynn. In particular, it picks up from the cliffhanger ending of the 2003-2004 arc "Mobius: 25 Years Later," which was set in what Ken considers the definitive canonical future of the series. It stars Knuckles' daughter from that future era, Lara-Su, among other new and returning characters. The project was first announced near the start of Ken's legal battle with Archie in 2011, and he's been posting WIP previews online for about a decade. Now, after all this time, a Lara-Su Chronicles book finally exists.

We'll get to the actual contents of that book in a bit.

"He can do that without getting in trouble with Sega?"

Believe it or not, yes, he can.

Thanks to the outcome of Archie Comics' woefully mismanaged lawsuits against Ken (yes, they sued him after he started filing for copyrights, not the other way around), he now has full legal ownership of every story he wrote for Archie Sonic and every character he created for the series. This was explicitly granted to him in the terms of the settlement between him and Archie (acting on behalf of Sega). He can even reprint his old Sonic material as-is to his heart's content. The main catch is just that he can't write new stories featuring Sega characters or trademarks, and his new stories also have to be distinct from Sonic at a glance to avoid confusing readers. As such, reprints can't use Sonic iconography on the cover, a few Sega characters (mainly Knuckles) have been renamed and slightly redesigned in the new stories, and the art style has been changed to less closely resemble Sonic. But otherwise, he can do whatever he wants with his own characters.

All of this is because Archie lost the original copy of Ken's work-for-hire contract that signed over the rights to his work. Without that (or any alternative that was considered permissible in court), his comics and characters are the property of their creator by default. Yes, those old comics are full of Sega stuff, but Sega doesn't automatically own the copyright for every drawing of Sonic in existence. And Sega put their stamp of approval all over those comics and let them get sold at retail for decades, even though (in the eyes of the court) there was no legal paperwork granting them ownership of any of it. It's almost like they were unwittingly distributing a fan comic for years and declaring it a fair use of their property, and now there's no takesies backsies. It's a strange and unique copyright situation. Again, they worked all this out in the settlement. And, yes, fans have long speculated that Ken stole and destroyed his own contract to regain the rights to his work, but frankly Archie was so incompetent throughout the lawsuit (it went so bad that they had to fire and replace their lawyers midway through) that I completely buy the idea of them just losing important legal documents.

Also, in case it needs to be spelled out: while Ken's a weirdo, it's ultimately a good thing for creatives everywhere that Archie lost their lawsuit against Ken. We do not want to live in a world where corporations can claim ownership of peoples' work without the contracts to back it up. That would be an incredibly dangerous legal precedent to set. And more comic creators, and artists in general, should own their own work! Corporations are not your friend! They'll delete your work for a tax write-off in a heartbeat! It's just bewildering that this guy, of all people, was the creator who ended up successfully getting his shit back, and that this is what he's doing with it.

"What about his old collaborators? Are they involved? Is he paying them?"

Ken is mostly doing The Lara-Su Chronicles solo, though he has, in fact, talked about compensating the artists involved in any material he's reprinting. The ones who give enough of a shit to get paid for a small scale reprint of something they did 20 years ago, anyway.

On the subject of his collaborators, it's also worth pointing out that Ken's wasn't the only contract that was lost. Most of the early Archie Sonic writers from before Ian Flynn's time seem to be in the same boat as Ken, with the ownership of their stories and characters defaulting back to them. Again, Archie fucked up big time. But like I said, most of them don't really seem to give a shit. For most of them, Sonic was just a random temporary gig they took to pay the bills while Marvel was busy going bankrupt in the '90s, not the thing that defined their entire careers.

The only other Archie Sonic contributor who's tried to do anything on the level of what Ken is doing was writer and editor Scott Fulop. In 2016 he attempted to sue Archie for the unauthorized use of what are now retroactively considered his copyrighted characters and stories, and he even announced a standalone comic about his most famous Sonic character, the recurring villain Mammoth Mogul (sort of a pastiche of DC's Vandal Savage and Marvel's Kingpin, with wizard powers added for spice). However, Fulop lost his lawsuit because he didn't put together a particularly compelling case. Since then he seems to have wiped all traces of his ill-advised Mammoth Mogul comic and his company, Narrative Ark Entertainment, from the internet. For now, this leaves The Lara-Su Chronicles the only project of its kind.

"What about those other Archie Sonic reprints he just announced?"

At the time of writing, Ken is once again claiming that he's trying to get the band back together to reprint all of Archie Sonic, now under the bad new banner "Floating Island Productions: MOBIAN LINE" that I can't imagine he consulted literally anyone else on.

So, like, look. As we've established, Ken can reprint his own stories. And if he can work something out with the other contributors whose contracts were lost, he can print their work, too. But there is no fucking way he's getting his hands on Ian Flynn's run, which Sega undoubtedly holds the copyright for. Even if they don't, Ian needs to maintain a good working relationship with both Sega and IDW if he's to keep his job, so he'd never go for this. Not to mention that Ian and Ken just... don't get along! Ken's whole plan here seems to be predicated on IDW going out of business (a thing he REALLY wants to happen) and freeing up the Sonic comic license, after which he knocks on Sega's door and goes "hey I've still got dirt on you guys," blackmailing them into giving him the Sonic license back so that he can reprint the later comics. Every step of this plan is ludicrous. It's never gonna happen.

He's been saying he wants to reprint the whole series for a few years now, though. This isn't really anything new. And despite his lofty plans that set Sonic Twitter ablaze, he quickly backpedaled. The only specific things in the works right now are a "two-volume omnibus" of all of his Knuckles stories and a collection of artist Scott Shaw's work on the very early Archie Sonic issues, since they're on good terms with each other. I have no idea how Ken plans on packaging these when he can't put any Sega characters or the Freedom Fighters on the covers, but these projects are small enough in scale that there's a decent chance they'll see the light of day. Scott Shaw only did like five issues. But anything beyond that? I'll believe it when I see it.

Or, y'know, this could've all just been a publicity stunt for his new book. I wouldn't put it past him. Let's just focus on the book that actually exists.

"So he finally did it? He made a whole Lara-Su book? It's out? He finished it??"

Yes and no.

The book that's out now is The Lara-Su Chronicles: Beginnings, a prologue for the series of seven graphic novels Ken somehow plans on making, even though it's taken him 13 years to put out literally anything new. I don't know whether or not this counts as book one of seven, because it only features 30 pages of new comics. 30.5 if I'm being generous.

Most of the book is actually just a reprint of his infamous Archie Sonic storyline "Mobius: 25 Years Later", which ran from issue #131 to #144 in 2003-2004. (Again, yes, he can reprint this, he just can't put Sonic on the cover.) Why's it infamous? Well, Ken had been building anticipation for this future era of the series for basically his entire run. We kept seeing King Sonic and Queen Sally from the future. Knuckles' entire backstory hinges on his dad having a vision of this future. Several years before Silver the Hedgehog was created, it was Lara-Su who was Sonic's equivalent to Future Trunks, the cool-looking child of one of the main characters who traveled back in time to try and prevent a dark future. Believe it or not, yes, there was hype for Lara-Su. And then we finally got M25YL, and none of that cool stuff happened. Instead it really ended up being about how unbearably boring the middle aged Sonic, Knuckles, Sally, and co. are in this peaceful future where Robotnik is dead and they're all married with kids, forced into traditional nuclear family gender roles. Lara-Su is present, but she mostly just does generic teen girl stuff and complains about how Knuckles won't let her do anything even though she REALLY wants to be the new Guardian of Angel Island, like, super bad! Come on, dad!!!

In its original printing, this meandering arc ended on an abrupt time travel cliffhanger that Ken was never able to follow up on before he left Archie in 2006. This new printing slightly changes that ending, using the unresolved timey-wimey shenanigans as a convenient excuse to alter the entire timeline. This creates the slightly different world of The Lara-Su Chronicles, where the few relevant Sega-owned characters have been replaced and everyone is ten times uglier.

After this, we finally get two short new stories picking up where M25YL left off: "The Storm," starring Acorn Kingdom super-spy and known creep Geoffrey St. John, and an early release of the first chapter of The Lara-Su Chronicles: Shattered Tomorrows, the first full TLSC graphic novel.

And now that we're all on the same page about what we're looking at, let's actually talk about the book!

The cover

Let's start by beating a dead horse. The cover art: it's still bad! But why is it bad?

The cover is, of course, based on Patrick Spaziante's cover from Archie Sonic #131, the start of the "Mobius: 25 Years Later" arc. (Ken did the layout for that cover, though, so in the eyes of the law he's the original creator who owns that cover.) That cover was, itself, a tribute to the iconic cover of Giant-Size X-Men #1 by Gil Kane and Dave Cockrum, the issue that introduced the version of the team with Wolverine, Storm, Nightcrawler, etc.

Ken seems to have forgotten that the point of both these covers was to hype up the arrival of a new cast of characters. The new guys are supposed to make a dramatic entrance front and center. That's the focal point. Meanwhile, the cover for Beginnings has the old timeline versions of the cast from Archie Sonic dramatically bursting out of a shattered crystal ball, while their new counterparts look on in mild bemusement - if they're even bothering to look at all, since most of the characters here are just copied and pasted from their profile pages. That's just not how you do this particular homage! The point is supposed to be "out with the old, in with the new." And why are they using a crystal ball to view the past? Hell, why are they even using a crystal ball at all? The original arc was presented as a magical vision of the future courtesy of Tails' uncle Merlin (don't ask), but the new story leans all the way into being futuristic sci-fi.

Of course, there is no real artistic intent at play here. The old versions of the characters are placed front and center in the crystal ball simply because Ken traced over Spaziante's original art of Lara-Su and Julie-Su (the only two characters on the Sonic cover he owns) and threw out the rest, ruining the composition in the process. Look at the awkward empty space where Sonic, Sally, and Rotor once were, and the new drawing of The Character Formerly Known As Knuckles who's no longer properly centered between his wife and daughter. Even if Ken can claim ownership of the cover because he did the original layout, this all just feels scummy and lame.

And, yeah, if it needs to be said, the new characters and Ken's new rendering style look like absolute fucking dogshit. Putting new Lara-Su directly next to old Lara-Su does her no favors. The shattered glass effect looks absolutely atrocious. I could go on, but we'll have plenty of time to talk about the art style when we see how bad the stories inside look.

Changes to "Mobius: 25 Years Later"

Overall, 99% of M25YL is presented identically to its original printing. Sonic, Sally, Knuckles, et al. are still present with no changes to their names and no tweaks to the art. Even the original cover for issue #131 is included only a few pages into this book with its Archie, Sonic, and Sega logos still intact and everything. Again, because of the weird copyright situation described above, these preexisting comics can be released without any changes.

There is exactly one bizarre change to the art, though, where a hand drawn shot of Angel Island is replaced with an unfitting photo background and the ugly Floating Island photobash that Ken has been using as his personal logo for decades. I think he only did this as part of a test for his motion comic app that nobody asked for. I don't know why this had to make it into the print version. It's like the book is firing a warning shot for what's to come if you keep reading.

The new content begins on the final page of M25YL. In the original wet fart of a cliffhanger ending, Sonic and co. accidentally alter the timeline with an old time machine of Robotnik's and Lara-Su begins to fade away. Then, after everything goes white, we just cut to the present day heroes going "gee, you ever think about the future?" In this new printing, that last bit has been cut, and the rest of the page has been awkwardly shrunk down so that Ken can fit in a new panel. We now see the hands of an off-screen villain, seemingly named "Override," proclaiming that "the Praetorian" (Knuckles) has messed up the timeline again and that they'll finally get their revenge.

Who is this Override? I have no fucking clue. The new stories in this book make no mention of them. You have to buy the next book to find out.

My confusion over the identity of this villain overlaps with another big problem: name changes. So many names and nouns have been arbitrarily changed in The Lara-Su Chronicles, even ones Ken didn't have to change for copyright reasons, and I only know what half of them are replacing because Ken's been tweeting about this shit for years.

The echidnas are now a totally original alien race called "the Echyd'nya." Even in flashbacks to events from M25YL attempting to mimic the old art style, if it's on a new comic page, they're gonna call themselves "Echyd'nya." Evil echidna faction the Dark Legion is now the "Cyberdark Dominion," hailing from the "Cyberdark Colony." The Brotherhood of Guardians is still the Brotherhood of Guardians, but now the main guardian is called "The Praetorian." Angel Island is still called "The Floating Island," like it was in the older Archie comics, but it's ALSO sometimes called "Avion"? When I read this I wasn't sure if he had randomly renamed Albion, the other echidna city from the Archie comics. But no. Now we have an Albion AND an Avion. Sally is mentioned simply as "Princess Acorn," while Sonic is referenced once as an unnamed "blue-spined Erinaceinae," using the scientific name for hedgehog to make it sound more sci-fi. In an incredibly ballsy move, Ken even mentions Robotnik as "the Insurrectionist Kintobor," retaining his original surname from the Archie comics that's just "Robotnik" backwards. Guess Sega never trademarked that one.

Aside from every name change being a downgrade, this leads to confusion when you're not sure if something is supposed to be new, or if it's just an Archie thing you're supposed to recognize despite having a new name and design. Is "Override" someone I'm supposed to know already? Am I just supposed to have read a fucking tweet from Ken where he said he changed the name of some existing villain to "Override"? The answer is no, but I had to term search his Twitter just to verify this.

Moving on!

New story #1: "The Storm"

If you've been following the WIPs, this is that story about Geoffrey St. John that Ken's been posting previews of for almost a decade. The title page copyright dates it to 2015, and that absurdly long gestation is probably why the art is so inconsistent here. Even the style of speech bubbles and the font change between pages two and three.

This is a problem when there's supposed to be a deliberate and noticeable change in art style here signaling the moment where the time travel stuff alters the timeline, replacing the Archie Sonic world with the Lara-Su Chronicles world. If you don't already know that's what's going on, the idea isn't conveyed clearly at all. It just goes from one hideous art style to a slightly different one with no explanation.

The main problem here is that Ken has hitched his wagon to a franchise about anthropomorphic animals when he can't draw furries to save his life. (Though a bit later in the book we'll also begin to wonder if he can even still draw humans.) He's shifted away from the cartooniness of the original designs and given them more human proportions and facial features, but this just ends up making them look incredibly uncanny and lumpy and gross. With some designs he's trying to lean into more of a Star Trek alien vibe, but then he still insists upon retaining the giant Sonic eyes on most characters even though he has no idea how to make them emote.

The rendering of these godawful designs doesn't do them any favors, either. Ken's going for more of a painterly look now, but it almost seems as though he's shading everything with Photoshop's burn and dodge tools that are designed to darken and lighten select areas of a photo. The result is a muddy, smudgy look that makes it feel like the color layer has been smeared in vaseline. And it only looks worse after coming off of 14 chapters of M25YL that have way more palatable art.

The backgrounds, too, are a complete mess, a jumble of low res jpeg photo elements (sometimes with extremely noticeable pixelation), stock textures, and smooth digital gradients. There's no real sense of place here, and it gives everything a surreal, dreamlike quality when you can't really tell where anything is supposed to take place. This first story is seemingly set in a high-tech stronghold below Castle Acorn called "the Bunker," but it could just as easily be confused for the bridge of a spaceship. This whole story features characters speaking to each other over floating video displays and hologram projectors from three different locations, but without a hologram effect and without a clear sense of where the characters are it often feels like they're just in the same room as each other. Characters will be in one location on one photo background, and then the camera angle changes and they're in a completely different place, because Ken just uses mismatched photos off of the internet. It's been like 25 years since he first tried using photo backgrounds in the Archie comics and he hasn't gotten any better at it.

When I had my boyfriend read the book to see if it made literally any sense to him (it didn't), Anthony said this: "This is the kind of shit I'd see linked on a Second Life world that hasn't been touched since 2004." I think he really hit the nail on the head. Now, there's actually a contrarian part of me that thinks that might theoretically almost be kind of cool, in sort of a messy counterculture way. I love weird indie shit. I was a Homestuck reader! But this isn't a scrappy mixed media zine, or experimental outsider art from someone just messing around with Photoshop, or a loving throwback to weird old internet art, or even something intentionally bizarre and offputting like Xavier: Renegade Angel or a PilotRedSun video or whatever where the fact that it's weird and ugly is part of the humor. This is supposed to be a sincere sci-fi epic drawing on Star Trek and Jack Kirby comics, made by a guy who's been drawing comics professionally since the '80s. This is supposed to look good. This is supposed to compete with mainstream comics that are on sale right now. He thinks any day now IDW's gonna go out of business and Sega will come crawling back to him so that he can stamp the Sonic logo on shit like this. It just doesn't work.

But, okay. It's ugly. We knew it would be ugly. But that ugliness would be much easier to accept if it was in service of an otherwise genuinely good story. So what about the writing? After all this time, how does Ken choose to kick off this new saga? Well, credit where credit's due. "The Storm" feels like a proper continuation of Ken's writing style from M25YL.

Because it's eleven pages of characters standing around and talking while nothing fucking happens.

Here's the synopsis: A dog woman named Brownie, an ensign in the Royal Secret Service fresh out of training and the only character who's almost cute, walks up to Geoffrey to deliver a report. He's immediately suspicious of her, asking who let her in and if she's a spy for Elias (Sally's brother, if you're new here) or Alicia (Sally's mom). The art style suddenly shifts when the timeline is altered, but the scene continues uninterrupted. Geoffrey points a gun at Brownie when she won't say whose spy she is. Geoffrey is distracted by a call and proceeds to have a conversation via a mix of holograms and video screens with Remington (head of Echidnaopolis security), Spectre (Knuckles' great great great great great grandpa, the one with the helmet who always looks evil), and a new scientist character named Dr. Zephyr/Zephur. (The spelling of this character's name changes multiple times throughout the 11-page story, because I guess nine years wasn't enough time to spellcheck this shit.) They say a bunch of made up technobabble nonsense about how it looks like the timeline was just altered and Knuckles and co. seem to be involved. It's complete drivel that I'm not even going to try to make sense of. Everyone decides to investigate further, and the conversation ends. Brownie tells Geoffrey she's his spy, then walks out and implies she's actually Alicia's spy in her inner monologue.

To be continued!!!

Yes, that's it. It's really just a bunch of technobabble where some characters talk about how it seems like the timeline has been fucked with. That's it. The whole time Geoffrey doesn't even get up out of his damn chair, which he's of course sitting in backwards to show how cool he is. It's just 11 pages of Geoffrey sitting in a chair and talking to people and looking uglier than he's ever looked. Nothing happens. Nine years for this.

I'm also struck by how meaningless all of this is to anyone who hasn't read Archie Sonic. The added context from M25YL may help a little, but "The Storm" focuses on characters who weren't in that arc, and the story does very little to introduce who any of them are. Brownie could've been super useful as an inexperienced point of view character who's only meeting the others for the first time here, but instead she's really just a passive observer who's here as part of some kind of 4D chess game between Geoffrey and Alicia, an off-screen character whose motivations in this era of the story are completely unknown to even returning readers. Who are the good guys and bad guys here? What are the conflicts and the stakes of the story moving forward? What do these characters want? Basic questions like this aren't really answered. I can't imagine a new reader being able to make heads or tails of this. Hell, I can't really imagine a returning reader who hasn't been following the last decade's worth of Ken's tweets about this story making heads or tails of it, either.

...Maybe more will happen in the next story?

New story #2: Shattered Tomorrows preview chapter

After another message from Ken, the story of The Lara-Su Chronicles proper begins with the redesigned Lara-Su walking along a jpeg photograph beach at sunset and crying while thinking about how Knuckles - sorry, his name is K'Nox now - is dead.

Yep! Straight into the dad stuff!

Look, I'm the last person to complain about writers getting super personal and drawing from their own baggage in their writing, but Ken's just no fucking good at it. There's no nuance, nothing interesting to say. He just keeps writing mediocre-to-horrible dads whose misdeeds are always justified by their "good intentions," and then sometimes they die and their kids are like "we may have fought but actually you were the bestest dad ever and I'll miss you forever, I'll never be able to fill your shoes!"

This is the only part of the new material here that feels like it has any heart behind it, because I know how much his complex relationship with his late deadbeat father means to Ken (there's an author's note in this outright saying as much). But the guy died 42 years ago, and it doesn't feel like Ken has had any new thoughts about this part of his life in those four decades. He's just not an introspective or self-aware enough artist to actually mine his personal baggage for anything beyond "father knows best."

Anyway, so then it jumps forward in time(?) and now we're following this human guy who looks like this.

Previously, Ken got a lot of shit for literally just using the likeness of Anthony Mackie for this guy, based on his IMDB profile photo. Ken has thus redesigned the character... and by that I mean I think he looks more like Ernie Hudson now? Ken's clearly just working off of photo references (if not straight up tracing), given his face is the most detailed and realistic-looking thing on any page where he's present.

But you may be wondering: who is this, and why is he here? Well, for one, he's here to run around in front of some low res space photos while making trite references to things like Planet of the Apes and Star Trek. Haha, he makes a joke about red shirts! Original!! But beyond that, Commander Mykhal Taelor (yes, that's really how he chose to spell it) is a human... from Earth! Archie Sonic readers are probably confused, because in those comics Mobius is Earth in the distant post-apocalyptic future. Well, despite being a Planet of the Apes fan, Ken always hated that particular worldbuilding decision from Karl Bollers, always preferring to think of Mobius as a separate alien planet. And now he gets to make that canon in his own stories and throw out Karl's ideas. So Mobius is basically just, like, a Star Trek planet now, with its own alien creatures that sometimes just so happen to look like anthropomorphic Earth animals.

Also, at one point Taelor wonders if the inhabitants of the dead Mobius might have been human, and the alien ally he's talking to over the radio says it's unlikely. "I don't understand why your kind has a problem understanding you're a minority within a minority." Perhaps poor wording for a line said to the only Black character in the story.

Anyway, Commander Taelor here seems to have discovered the uninhabited husk of Mobius after the vague time-space cataclysm everyone was worried about in M25YL has come to pass, and he finds an audio log from Lara-Su that I presume will explain what happened. I guess those are the titular Lara-Su Chronicles. In theory this flash forward establishes some sense of pressing danger, but when the threat to the planet is so unclear and technobabble-y it just kind of lands with a thud.

It doesn't take long before we get back to Lara-Su being sad about her dad. A good little chunk of the chapter is spent with this new timeline's Lara-Su recalling moments in her life, including echoes of the original Lara-Su's memories from M25YL, which feels redundant coming hot off the heels of a straight reprint of that entire arc. And boy, for anyone who read the later Archie Sonic comics, the protagonist having vague memories of the old version of the series from before a lawsuit-related timeline reboot sure does sound familiar, huh?

The art inconsistency somehow becomes even worse in this story, with Ken flip-flopping on whether or not he wants to use outlines, with the no-outline art managing to look even worse by relying entirely on Ken's awful rendering. By this point in the book, readers are also likely to start noticing how often Ken reuses art from previous panels. This is a shortcut that tons of comic artists use, of course. Invincible famously did a joke about this. It's often understandable. But, again... it sure does stand out in a book that took 13 years to make with only 30 pages of new art. Amusingly, Ken even manages to combine his inconsistency and recycling problems by reusing the same art with and without outlines. And, of course, any time Ken tries to draw the Archie era designs it's just... the worst.

And, yes, it's in this dreamlike montage sequence of Lara-Su's life that we get...

The uncomfortable family nudity scene, followed by the dual timeline Julie-Su breastfeeding scene.

Yeah, you might have heard about this one already. If this incredibly eerie presentation of Lara-Su's hazy memories of the two different timelines make it hard to tell what's going on, don't worry. There's another, clearer version later in the book as part of Julie-Su's character profile, because I guess Ken was just so proud of it.

(I censored these myself because I'm not playing Russian roulette with Tumblr's inconsistent nudity rules and risking getting banned lmao)

Like, okay. Is a mother breastfeeding her child really that shocking of a thing to see in a story? No, not at all. But, like... when it's two characters who you previously created for an officially licensed Sonic the Hedgehog comic for 7-year-olds... and some of those officially licensed Sonic the Hedgehog comics for 7-year-olds are reprinted in the same book... and when it's drawn like this... yeah, it's kind of a shocker.

It just looks so unnatural. Julie-Su is posed very deliberately so that you'll see both of her breasts, and in the new timeline version she's barely even holding Lara-Su so you can really get a good look at her supermodel body, showing zero physical signs that she just gave birth. Most people will immediately jump to this being Ken putting his fetishes in his work (a type of criticism that I'm incredibly tired of - it's 2024, all the cool artists are blatantly putting their fetishes in their work now). And my immediate response is that, no, this is probably just Ken trying to come off as really mature on a surface level, a thing he's been obsessed with since the Archie days. Free from the shackles of writing a licensed children's comic, of course he's going to jump immediately into depicting some nonsexual, artistic nudity to try and prove he's A Real Mature Artist For Grown-Ups who just thinks the human body is beautiful and breastfeeding shouldn't be a taboo etc. etc.

But then, like. You look at some of the other character designs. Like Espio's daughter Salma, who's now this horrifying alien lizard person who's always nude, and her scale pattern puts scales exactly where her nipples should be. Or you look at his comments about the Echyd'nya age of consent. Or you look at how he keeps drawing Lara-Su in this. Like, does the shuttle really need this, like... reverse chaise lounge thing in the cockpit? So that we can keep getting these shots of the 16-year-old Lara-Su lying on her stomach and posing with one of her legs kicked up, her naked ass in plain view?

The vibe isn't great, is what I'm saying!

I'm not going to try to ascribe authorial intent here. I don't know. I'm not a psychic. Given his very blatant reliance on photo references elsewhere in the book, it's entirely possible he just referenced some figure drawing photos that were maybe just a little too sexy. And also, he's an American comic book artist, and a boomer one at that. Those guys tend to draw women a certain way, even when it's not supposed to be sexual. I don't fucking know. It just sucks. I'm not gonna make some hyperbolic statement about how this makes him a literal pedophile who should be in jail, but it is deeply offputting and objectifying.

But if you already knew about the nursing scenes and were hoping there was some other really shocking stuff in there for me to talk about in this review, sorry to disappoint, but nope. That's the only shockingly weird new thing in here. Once again, not a lot happens in this story, and what does happen is pretty boring.

Once we get past the recap stuff and the human guy, the plot developments boil down to this: The timeline was altered at the end of M25YL... but not as much as you might think. In the new timeline, Knuckles ("K'Nox"), Cobar (now looking significantly younger), and Rotor (now a rhino just called "The Emissary") still traveled via shuttle to go find a time machine in the Badlands and fix the time-space continuum, like in the climax of the original arc. This time, though, Sonic wasn't there, and Lara-Su came along without having to stow away. Lara-Su watches the ship while the grown ups go deal with the time machine, and then after a couple panels Not Rotor comes back with Cobar and is like "Hey, Cobar got hurt, we gotta leave. Dunno what happened to your dad." And then they just, like. Presume that Knuckles must have died. Even though we have no idea what happened to him. And then they just fly away. And then Lara-Su is sad that her dad died.

And that's pretty much it!

This is supposed to be a really emotional sequence - it's literally the scene where Lara-Su learns that Knuckles is dead - but instead it comes off as unintentionally funny because of how poorly it's portrayed. Not showing Knuckles' actual disappearance is a huge misstep, for one, making his uncertain fate more confusing and anticlimactic than dramatic. But also, Ken keeps just using the same two drawings of Rotor for two pages, so he doesn't really seem to be emoting at all, and he's in this spacey hazmat suit that honestly just makes him look like fucking Moltar from Space Ghost. So the whole time I'm just reading his dialogue in Moltar's deadpan voice as he's like "I dunno. We did what we could. Anyway, let's leave."

After this, we get a two-page spread previewing the rest of the story from Shattered Tomorrows. It's basically like a trailer in comic form. It has one of the most mystifying layouts I've ever seen in a comic book. I have no idea what order I'm supposed to read this in.

Yeah, I kinda have a feeling this is the full extent of what Ken has drawn for the rest of that book. I'd love to be wrong, but I fear that I'm right.

Bonus material: Data files

These are mostly very dull, recapping a lot of events shared between Ken's Archie run and the new Lara-Su Chronicles timeline. It seems like almost his entire run is still considered canon to the backstory of the new timeline, just with some names changed, and things only really diverge at the climax of M25YL. But I'll share the interesting stuff here.

Lara-Su

The main thing you'll notice in Lara-Su's profile is the massive, unreadable wall of text where Ken felt the need to list the entire Knuckles family tree, split across both pages.

This is literally so long that Lara-Su's personal history has to awkwardly cut off mid-sentence and be continued on the final page of the book, after the rest of the data files.

Also, please note that this list gives Julie-Su's mom's full name as Mari-Su of the House of Atrades. Incredible on all levels.

There's also a reference to the dark timeline Lara-Su was originally supposed to come from. You know, the one where Julie-Su is the leader of a rebel movement fighting against a Knuckles who had gone mad with power? The timeline that would have been way more interesting than the one in M25YL? Here it seems to have been written off as the result of another "timeline disruption." Lara-Su allegedly has vague memories of this timeline, in the same way that she has vague memories of the M25YL timeline.

Geoffrey

Geoffrey's bio mostly recaps events from the Archie comics, which means the Sonic/Sally/Geoffrey love triangle has to be alluded to. His rivalry with Sonic is described like this:

"He would later resurface when Kintobor was transporting his latest hi-tech weapon, the Dynamac-3000. It was during that mission he discovered a rival for the Princess' affections. Whereas the Princess would be one of a line of conquests where St. John was concerned, the blue-spined Erinaceinae who protested doth a bit too much regarding his affections for the Princess for St. John's taste would prove to be a source of great sport and amusement."

Yes. It's gross. Saying that Geoffrey saw Sally as "one of a line of conquests" is gross. Ken writing this and then still treating Geoffrey as the coolest badass ever is gross. The "Princess Acorn" is also first on the list of Geoffrey's "female relationships" elsewhere in his bio, though I suppose how much of a "relationship" they had is left vague. Honestly, at this point the fact that Ken didn't explicitly confirm that Geoffrey took the underage Sally's virginity in the book comes off as a display of restraint. The bar couldn't be any lower, I know.

Remington

His bio is, frankly, shockingly long for such a minor character, though I guess he does get a large portion of the word salad dialogue in "The Storm." There's a lot of stuff here about how the identities of his biological parents are shrouded in mystery, a plot point that fans have long speculated Ken just straight up forgot about in his time at Archie. (Ian confirmed that Kragok from the Dark Legion was Remington's dad, though, so this isn't really much of a mystery.)

Lien-Da

She gets a bio even though she's not present in the two new stories, just so we get to look at her awful new design and compare it to how Steven Butler drew her earlier in the book:

Commander Taelor

We get to see two drawings of him with the same exact Ernie Hudson face side by side! That's fun.

Julie-Su

She gets a list of "known friends," but the only character listed is Knuckles' mom. Poor Julie-Su.

Also, Ken feels the need to reiterate that Knuckles and Julie-Su are still distant cousins. He made a whole new timeline where he can change whatever details he wants, but THAT had to remain canon. Thanks, Ken.

And then after the data files we get the special thanks page, listing everyone who preordered the book and/or bought TLSC merch from Ken.

With my name on the list. Because I had to buy a copy to cover it for the blog.

My name is on the very next page right after the breastfeeding panel in Julie-Su's data file.

Yep. He got me.

Is it at least a well put together book? Like, in terms of manufacturing quality?

Its physical quality is... fine. It's a nice, sturdy hardcover. The print quality seems fine, though mine does have a bit of smudging from some sort of printing error on one page. The pages don't seem like they'll fall out on me. The image quality is crisp. The colors are vibrant. This is a low bar, but this is one of the few places where I'm able to give this book anything resembling praise.

The formatting and graphic design work, on the other hand...

(I didn't crumple those page corners, it came like that.)

For one, the placement and sizes of the M25YL pages is inconsistent, largely due to the fact that the book doesn't actually match the proportions of a comic. A lot of pages aren't properly centered vertically. Some pages go all the way up to the top edge of the paper, while others leave a visible gap of about half a centimeter. Every page has a 1cm gap to its left and right, which is sometimes filled in with a solid color or gradient that doesn't quite match the page it's surrounding. I have to assume Ken didn't have any sort of source files or original artwork to work off of, as those ideally would've had more generous bleed to account for slight shifts in printing. It kind of seems like he just got the highest resolution versions he could find of the digital releases online and printed those. The colors are a dead ringer for the digital versions, which have always looked slightly more saturated and pastel than they did in print.

I can't say this bodes well for his further plans for Archie Sonic reprints - sorry, Mobian Line reprints. If they ever come out, please, for the love of god, do not buy those. I don't care how much you love Archie Sonic, they aren't going to be good reprints. For comparison, IDW's similarly priced hardcover Sonic collections have none of these formatting problems, because they're made by people who know what they're doing with access to the actual source files.

The book also has its fair share of text-focused pages, split between the data files and messages directly from Ken about the history of his career and this project, and these are formatted in the most amateurish way possible. Just massive walls of Arial text over either plain white backgrounds, simple gradients, or faded photos. I've seen school yearbooks with better graphic design. Even ignoring my subjective feelings about the art and stories within, this book does not feel like it's worth $36 USD.

It's frankly shocking how shabby he let this thing look considering it's supposed to be his baby. And doesn't that really sum it all up?

Closing thoughts

Obviously, I did not expect this to be any good. But I'm still left kind of dumbfounded by it.

I think what really strikes me about it is that Ken had a blank check to do whatever he wanted here. He got an opportunity many writers would kill for when he gained complete ownership of his most famous work. He's free from the limitations of a monthly licensed comic book for children, free to make whatever creative decisions he wants without editors or other writers or Sega to worry about, free to completely reinvent the series to his heart's content and finally tell the story of his dreams. And with that opportunity and 13 years of his time, he made... this. A direct continuation of "Mobius: 25 Years Later" that barely changes anything about the characters or world beyond their awful new designs, even though much of the word count is spent rambling about how the timeline has changed. A story that makes zero concessions for new readers, or even returning readers who don't already have the last decade's worth of Ken's tweets explaining his creative decisions burned into their memory. 30 pages where nothing really happens and the story barely moves forward an inch despite the decades-long wait - but maybe something will happen if you buy the next book!

Who is this for? Maybe this really is a project for no one but Ken. Maybe he just really, really wants to finish the story he started, a story that's personal to him due to the family history it evokes, and the number of people who enjoy it or buy it beyond that is irrelevant. I think that many of the best artists are incredibly self-indulgent ones working with that exact mindset, artists whose enthusiasm for their own work jumps off the page or screen. So, if that's the case, then why the fuck isn't he telling the damn story? What's stopping him? Why is he still spinning his wheels? Where is that passion for his own work? Because it sure as hell isn't there on the page. There's a huge part of me that really wishes I could say "Man, what a weirdo, but you do you, Ken. You tell your weird little story." But there's barely any story here. It's like he loves styling himself as a storyteller, but he's terrified of finally having to actually tell a story after all this time. He's still stuck in the exact same mode of writing he was in almost 30 years ago when he was doing 6-page backup stories about Knuckles, just killing time and stringing readers along until he's eventually able to truly realize his vision. If not now, then when, Ken?

Even the back cover blurb is mostly just a dry recap of the history of this thing. It was a Sonic comic, the original arc was published in these issues, it went unfinished, Ken left Archie, the lawsuits happened, now he's continuing the story. There's nothing about why anyone should give a shit about this as its own story, even though Ken has spent years trying in vain to convince people TLSC is its own beast that shouldn't be judged as a Sonic story. I think deep down he knows that there's no pitch for this beyond the novelty of it originating from Sonic. And that's why, despite declaring that he'd leave the site, he's still on Twitter riling up Sonic fans. It's the only attention he gets at this point.

Maybe this is too harsh when those 30 pages of new comics are just intended as a preview for the "real" book. But the elephant in the room is that we have no idea if that "real" book will ever actually come out, let alone the entire series of seven graphic novels that will supposedly complete this saga.

Ken is undeniably a complete jackass and all around unpleasant, vindictive person who's rightly become an industry pariah. He's a self-proclaimed paragon of progressive values who'll send Comicsgaters after his successors for the crime of not worshiping the ground he walks on, and then turn around and announce he's going to reprint their work without even consulting them. He's a sore winner who already won his copyright battle on a level most comic writers would never dare to dream of, and yet still won't truly be satisfied until he sees an entire major comic publisher go out of business, putting god knows how many people out of work, because he thinks this would get him back the license to a video game franchise he doesn't even like.

But I still have to pity him.

As an artist, the trajectory of his life is my nightmare. I think all of us fear dying before we can tell all the stories we want to tell. There's simply never enough time to do everything. And here's Ken in his 60s, talking about how he's still planning on making his magnum opus all by himself out of stubbornness and pride, despite demonstrably proving he can't handle the workload, and also talking about how if he dies before the project can be finished he'll have to pass the torch on to his kids and get them to finish it for him. It's so grim. Even just typing that sends a shiver down my spine. It took nine years of his limited time on Earth to finish and release an 11-page comic about Geoffrey St. John sitting backwards in a chair.

This is a purgatory of his own creation. And yet... I'm not sure he's ever been prouder. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

I guess if I want people to take anything away from this review, it's this:

Lesson one: If you're an artist or writer of some kind, or an aspiring creator, don't wait around. No one else is going to tell your story for you. Start writing that novel. Start drawing that webcomic. Start making that game. If Penders can put out this damn book that no one asked for after 13 years of work, then proudly proclaim that he's still going to make six or seven more books and also reprint hundreds of comics he doesn't have all of the rights to, then show up to cons with that foul Lara-Su Chronicles: Shattered Tomorrows banner and sit in front of it beaming with pride, fully aware of his critics but saying "fuck 'em, I know I'm hot shit," then you can do fucking anything. Tell the weird, sincere, cringe story of your dreams. If Ken Penders doesn't have imposter syndrome, then nobody should.

And lesson two: Don't buy Ken's books.

[b1mbodoll]

hung virgin jake is too good!!! he watches too much porn and thinks he can just slide into you, surprised and a little mad at your whining, mocking you when you tell him it's too much

pairings: sim jaeyun x f! reader

warnings: noncon + use of the word r*pe + big dick! jake + virgin! jake + blood + creampies + breeding + degradation + impact play + manipulation + fingering

💌: shut up i just moaned /pos /lh ☆ ok hi this is gabi after writing. i didn’t mean to make this so dark, but what is b1mbodoll without noncon.

jakey thinkin he can just slide in with no prep…. i actually feel insane. you’re whimpering and begging him to take it slow n be gentle because he’s so big. so fucking girthy, too. he thinks a little spit on your tight pussy and the steady dribbles of precum trailing along his length are enough to spread you open.

his cock is heavy where it rests over your cunt and genuine fear courses through you because there’s no way he’ll fit like this. “j-jakey, wait,” you pant, hands reaching out to push at his abdomen, eyes wide. “you need to prep me, baby, look at you. you’re too big, ‘s gonna hurt.”

“no, sweetheart, you’re wrong. i’ve seen a buncha videos before, it’ll feel good, jus’ take it, yeah?”

he sounds so earnest; there’s no way he truly thinks porn is real, right? you can’t take him and you’re unsure how else to convince him of that. “i can’t! jakey, you’re not listeni — fuck! oh god, stopstop.”

it feels like you’re being split in two, tiny pussy stretched beyond it’s limits despite your pleas for jake to fucking stop as he forces the blunt head of his fat cock inside; just the tip and it’s already too much, your inner walls spasming and clenching around him, eyes squeezed tightly because it hurts so bad and he hasn’t even filled you up completely yet.

jake stops once his cockhead slips in, afraid to cum before he’s had the chance to properly fuck you, nostrils flaring while he tries to hold off his orgasm, dick pulsing and his balls tight, more and more precum drooling from his slit and wetting your hole, teeth sinking into his lip so hard the soft skin breaks, the taste of blood bringing him back to his senses.

you feel so good wrapped around him n he cant help but continue to sheath himself in your pussy, pressing his hips forward and groaning as his cock bullies its way into you, inch after inch causing you to let out pained cries that make his chest ache but he can’t stop, not until you’re stuffed full of his thick cum.

you’re hitting him now, throwing your fists at his chest in a weak attempt to get him off, full on sobs making the guilt he felt a second ago shift into something meaner.

“you’re fucking weak,” he spits, and gone is your sweet boyfriend. you don’t recognize the man above you. “y’wanna cry so bad, i’ll give you something to cry about, whore.”

jake’s earlier fear of cumming too soon is long forgotten; he catches your hands when you go to strike him again and pins them to the mattress before slamming his hips against yours, remaining inches now fully inside and you can feel him snug against your cervix, prodding at the entrance of your womb.

he doesn’t give you a chance to at least try accomodating to the discomfort, setting a brutal pace immediately, headboard knocking against the wall as his cock ruins you, hurts you, violates you.

you don’t want this anymore, so why is he continuing this torment?

jake believes you were made for him, for his cock. it shouldn’t hurt.. you’re lying. you have to be. it’s supposed to feel good. crocodile tears and yelps wont change his mind. you’re his little plaything. his pocket pussy. he’ll only get better at fucking you with practice, so he’ll use you whenever and however he wants.

you can’t do anything except let him have his way with you, too tired to continue fighting him, but just coherent enough to try convincing him with your words.

your voice is strained, throat raw but you ignore the soreness and attempt to speak through whines. “jake, y’gotta stop. i don’t — oh god — don’t want this. y’know what the means don’t you? this is…”

tears blur your vision.

“this is what, huh? ‘s rape? is that what you were gonna say?” the condescending tone like a knife to your heart. “you’re such a fuckin’ dummy — hah fuck, so tight —” he groans. “this isn’t rape. you like it, i know you do. your pussy’s so tight, so fucking wet, all for me.”

your face crumples at his words; there really is no getting through to him.

jake continues to abuse your poor, sensitive cunt. it’s sickening how every brutal thrust allows for his cock to kiss the opening of your uterus, his balls slapping your ass creating an audible plap, plap, plap that makes you cringe and your hole gushes, drenching the sheets with your combined juices; the realization that you’re wet makes you wonder… was jake right? do you like this? it’s too much for you to process, body beginning to go limp beneath him.

“stay with me,” barks jake, clapping his palm against your cheek, “‘m not — fuck! — done, haven’t even cum yet. can’t pass out on me, i won’t let you.”

as if to prove his point, jake speeds up the pace, driving his length so deep it’s agonizing. “pretty pussy gripped me even tighter when i did this,” he backhands you this time and again, your walls contract, squeezing him so tight it makes him think you don’t wanna let go.

“are you a..” he starts, wracking his brain for the word used in a particularly violent porn clip he saw, split lip reopening when he smiles, “are you a painslut? like bein’ fucked open and slapped around, hm?”

you shake your head in denial, but jake’s having none of it. “yeah you fucking do, slut. say it. tell me you like this or i’ll do so much worse.”

“y-yes!” you all but scream, “yes i like it, jakey. i like it, i do, i do, i do! j-jus’ cum, ‘kay? fill me up, do it!”

god, jake really is stupid. you’re only agreeing and urging him to cum to get this over with but he seems to think you actually want him to cream your insides.

maybe you really do; if the way you wrap your legs around him are any indication.

his orgasm’s building with every drag of his impossibly thick cock, your body surrendering to him, forcibly used for his own pleasure and he presses his mouth to yours, his eyes shutting as your lips meet, your own wide open due to the taste of iron flooding your senses, a mess of spit and jake’s blood smearing onto your skin

he humps at you like a dog; desperate, sloppy, uncoordinated.

and although you hate to admit it, you can feel your own impending climax, not quite there but close. you need more; you need — oh fuck.

jake stills once he’s fucked into your womb, ropes of his thick, sticky cum painting you white and there’s so much, it feels neverending; despite the pain, despite the rough treatment you received and despite the fact that he did all of this without your consent; you cum.

you clamp around him tighter, if that were even possible, and pleasure makes your mind go blank. you try to block him out, unable to believe he did this and the fact that you came, but he makes it impossible.

how are you supposed to ignore jaeyun when two of his thick fingers join his cock inside of you after catching the globs of sperm that have dribbled out of you.

“said i’d fill you up,” he reminds you. “now i gotta make sure it sticks.”

[angel-eyes05]

going over easy

pairing: bob reynolds x powered!thunderbolts!fem!reader

summary: two of the same. after breaking through inital barriers, you and the sentry appear to be inseperable, a pull almost forcing you two to each other. the strength of that pull has been getting pretty testy recently, and the two of you begin to wonder who you are to the other.

warnings/info: nsfw and mdni warning by the end of the fic, ill section off that part if you just wanna read the cutey parts, veryyyyyyy soft sex, no use of y/n, this bob is gonna be a little different from how i see him in a lot of other fics so disclaimer about that ig, but dw he's still very soft and sweet, oral sex and fingering (f!receiving), self depreciation on readers side, lots of my headcanons are gonna shine through here, reader is powered as well (yes that is gonna play into this lol) and is less of a blank slate than usual (aka shes kinda side rip), a scene in the void so we can know reader a little more and just for plot purposes lol, bob's powers are gonna be limited to whatever we saw showcased in thunderbolts so please dont get picky if somethings comic inaccurate thanks, its bob so ofc theres a little bit of angst too but dw this is very fluffy as well we love being well rounded lol

word count: 13.3k

notes: so guess who's obsessed with thunderbolts now.....and guess what half of the reasoning is.....if your guess was a man YOUD BE RIGHT!!!! i had to write for him ofc, i put a steve harrington fic on pause for this i had to jump on it lol. one thing i will say about bob fics that annoy me is that ofc everyone turns bob into a cutesy pootsy uwu boy which, hate me or whatever, he is NOTTTTT to me, that man was so sassy and sarcastic in the vault (to walker especially lol) so i wanted that to come out a little more here while still being his naturally sweet and soft self. i go a little bit into 2016 mcu fandom mode on some of the early character descriptions and relationships BUT CAN YOU BLAME A GIRL CAUSE IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BE BACK, I JUST HAD TO </3. i also didnt proofread this cause yet again its like 1am when im posting this and im so tired so if you catch anything uhhhh my bad lol. anyways this is standard to most of my other fics, so have fun lol enjoy!!!

dividers by: @cafekitsune

You always overcooked your eggs. It was part of your routine at this point in your life. As a kid, your irrationally large fear of getting salmonella caused you to force your mom to always burn your eggs, chicken, and other foods of the sorts. It didn't even taste bad to you. It was all you had ever known. Uncomfortable, but natural. You scooped the rubbery eggs out of the pan and onto your plate while you attempted to squirt whatever ketchup you could out of the bottle. Taking your lunch, you leaned on the kitchen island and stared out of the sweeping windows of The Watchtower.

Valentina finding you was complicated. On one hand, you were out of the hell hole of a compound you called a home. However though, her manipulation paired with constant missions and training proved to be its own task entirely. And still with all that, your mind had a knack for traveling back to that dark, damp room. Like a looming threat over your head that if you ever messed up, that's where you would return.

That fear pushed you for the past few years. You worked till your bones cracked fixing up Valentina's messes. It was monotonous, but you had convinced yourself to be grateful for the opportunity to become something more with what you had. You had a special gift after all. Thrusted onto you, sure, but Valentina said that it meant you were worth something now. A living shield and sword. Each time you got hit, your body was able to process the kinetic energy into physical blasts. Meaning dodging an attack was actually bad form on your part. So you got hit. A lot. Most days you'd stumble back to your apartment, knocked in the head so silly you didn't know what was up or down.

But it was good work. Kept you busy. That was until Valentina attempted to have you assassinated, trying to tie up all her loose ends. That's all you were to her at the end of the day. A fly on the way she had to clean up before her guests arrived. Turns out though, she had lots of other flies on the walls, who would in fact turn their forces against her, becoming the world's New Avengers in the process.

One of Yelena's first personal tasks on the job was to find any other lost associates of Valentina. Lucky for you, you fell right into that category. After proving yourself physically capable and trustworthy to her and the rest of the team, you eventually joined as an official member. Your rise to glory had been long and tough, but man was the view from the top nice.

As you grew closer with each of the teammates, you noticed each of their little knick-knacks. Yelena was very easy to let you in, almost like she was begging to share herself with someone else. She must've gotten it from her father, Alexei. He didn't take anything more than four hours to warm up to you. The other three went at a much slower pace, Ava and you eventually bonding over your mutual teasing for Walker, who you made sure knew it was all in good fun. Bucky was last, but it seemed thats how he was with most people. You let him take his time, which seemed to work well in the end. All of them had made their way.

Well. Almost.

Bob was kind of a weird guy. He was kind of an Avenger? But not really? If anything, he was more of their dog that would show up to public appearances with you and the team, but never missions. He spent most of his time lounging around or cleaning up the Watchtower, or in sessions with his therapist. He was always looming around, but kept a specific distance. Mainly physical. Whenever you'd seem to be about to brush by him, he'd scatter away, like a cat who got spooked. You had talked to Yelena about it before, but she said to just give him his time. That this was probably natural after his "incident" a few months back.

You weren't in New York for it, but it of course was on the news everywhere. How a sea of black ink had devoured the city and all of its civilians in their own personalized trauma nightmare. Something you were secretly grateful to have missed. You knew exactly what you'd see if you were in there.

In the recent time of your arrival, you had managed to find and take up your role in your little group. Their own little weird mage, banned from making food for anyone but yourself. No one else liked your burnt food, big shocker.

As you wrapped up with said burnt lunch, you took your plate and utensils to the sink, as a pair of bare feet patted into the room. "Good morning sleepyhead," you called out, knowing who they belonged to already. "Morning's a bit of a stretch, it's like what, 1:30 already?" Bob replied, mid yawn. "I told you guys to start forcing me up earlier," he complained. "Yeah yeah, but Yelena says it's good for you. Your body needs its rest after the serum treatment," you retorted. "Doesn't..." he paused mid sentence to check his sleep tracker on his watch. "....14 hours seem like a little much?" "Hey, your body's gonna take what it needs," you said, finally turning around to face him. He was wearing his usual lounge outfit, a gigantic, comically oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. His body had grown incredibly sensitive to touch after the serum, so the less fabric tightening down on him, the better.

Bob gave a half smile to your comment and attempted to wipe the drowsiness off his face. "You can leave that for me, it's fine," Bob commented, as you took the dish soap and drizzled it over your dirty plate and pan. "I don't mind, I'm already here anyways," you insisted, turning on the tap. Bob sighed and shrugged his shoulders backwards in an attempt to wake his body up. "Alright, but I'm taking charge on the stovetop," he insisted, walking over to your area.

Something must've been in the air today, because this was the most Bob had talked to you in a while, and this was definitely the closest he had stood near you ever before. His presence was a sweet one, as he himself was a sweet guy. You had seen it in the way he acted with everyone else. You knew it probably had to deal with the fact that you were the newcomer, a different face than what he was used to, but you wanted to badly to have something that close with him too. A deep, lingering jealousy had proved to be a close friend of yours when you would see how he would act with John or Yelena compared to how he would act with you.

Hopefully, this was a step in the right direction.

"You know where the others went?" Bob almost immediately asked.

Or maybe not.

"Downstairs in a meeting with Valentina. I got a pass to skip on this one." In the last meeting you had been to, Bucky had to hold you down before you had the chance to blast her smug smirk off her face.

Bob made a hum in acknowledgment. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded, which you caught out of the corner of your eye. "How do you feel about....her?" Bob paused for a moment.

When Yelena had told you Valentina was at majority blame for The Void Incident, you had no doubt in believing it. You didn't know how the others were so okay with it, but Ms. de Fontaine being your boss still unsettled you. You didn't like the idea that she was still overseeing all of your actions and controlling how you were supposed to be acting towards the public. Especially after the shit she's pulled. Once Yelena explained the situation, about the blackmail shock collar the team had on her if she ever took anything too far, you felt a little more at ease about it. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake off the paranoia about being in this situation with her.

"Fine," Bob responded. You placed the plate down in the sink and turned to face him finally. "That's all you're gonna give me? Fine?" He gave a deep, annoyed sigh. "Well what do you want me to say? That I don't like her? That I don't trust her? That she's the reason I'm like this now and when it didn't go the way she planned, she killed me? Hmm?" You froze a little bit. You hadn't seen this side of him before. The team said it came out a little bit when he would go "Sentry-Mode" (a name made on Alexei's part). You sighed and went back to washing your dish. Bob rubbed his face again. "Sorry, I just thought it was pointless to state the obvious." You smirked a little bit. "Well that's one thing right. Just trying to fill the air I guess." "I know....sorry, that was mean." There's the Bob you know. Always apologizing. "You're good."

The air was stuffy with a tension for the next few minutes while you cleaned the kitchen. Up until a wet glass plate slipped out of your hands and crashed onto the floor, shattering into a billion little pieces. Bob flinched at the sound, on the other side of the island wiping down the counter. You froze and chuckled to yourself a bit. "Woah, you okay?" he asked, concerned. "Yeah, yeah, just a bit of a ditz today," you said, wiping your hand across your face. "You're good, just stay where you are for a sec, I don't want you to get any in your feet," Bob warned, going into first responder mode as he assessed the situation. "I wanna try this out for a second," he insisted.

You watched closely and stilly, as Bob took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and put his hands out. Suddenly, the glass shards around your feet jittered and lifted into the air slowly, as Bob opened his eyes and guided them to the trash can. Once he was done, he released his breath and dropped his hands. "Well look at mister big shot powers over here!" you cheered. "Bucky let you start practicing again recently?" "Yeah, a little bit here and there just so I don't go overboard again," he blushed a light pink. "Keep it up," you smiled at him.

Before you took another step, you looked down at the ground and noticed a particularly large piece of glass. "Oops, looks like you missed one hot-rod." "Shit, sorry, let me try one more time," he said closing his eyes again. "No no, don't worry, it's fine, I'll just pick this one up," you insisted, reaching down to pick it up. "No, wait, you'll cut yourself!" Bob shouted, almost running over to reach you. "Bob, it's fine I pro-."

As Bob's hand grabbed onto your wrist, you felt a spike of shivers roll down your arm. The first time he had made contact with you, and his hands were so soft....

You couldn't focus on it for long though, looking up and seeing a face of pure horror on Bob's face. You looked at him confused. You were quick to join him though as streams of black slithered across the floor and over your eyes. The last thing you remember was Bob's hand ripping off your wrist, desperately called out your name as the shadows took his place.

~~~~~

Your eyes peeled open, as you tried to assess your surroundings after the chaos. It was eerily quiet, a leaky faucet dripping as the only sound. The room was dark, damp, and cold. Concrete floors and walls, a chamber pot in the corner, and a cot with a wrinkled, thin blanket shoved against the wall. After your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you saw her. The lone decoration of the room. A poster of 1961's Breakfast at Tiffany's, Audrey Hepburn's face faded and discolored with time. The more you stared, the more you recognized this room. You knew where you were. And worst of all, you knew exactly what day this was.

With almost perfect timing, the metal door slide open with angry force. Three armored men burst into the room, as you heard something shuffle itself across the floor. You didn't even notice her at first.

A girl, shoved up into the corner of the wall, head hanging over the chamber pot as she wiped the bile off her mouth. Your memory was fuzzy, but she couldn't have been older than 17 at the time. With short, flat, oily, botched up hair. Wires were bursting out of her neck and down her back, connecting her to a running machine in the wall for vitals.

You. An older one.

The most notable feature was her frame. You would expect someone in this situation to look malnourished, seconds away from death. On the contrary, uncanny muscles were bulging out of her arms and upper back, like they were clawing to be let out. A product of the treatment, like a sumo wrestler on steroids.

The men rushed over to that version of you, ripping the wires out of her neck and latching on a power damper collar in their place. That collar itself was an omen. Can't torture the girl who can absorb the pain and shoot it back out. You'd just be throwing fuel onto the fire.

They forced younger you up to your feet as their superior walked into your room. You could feel your heart stop in your chest as you searched in desperation for a way out. You called out for Bob, Yelena, anyone at all. Almost like your mind was in tune with your decisions, the metal door slammed shut just before you could run out. You leaned your head on the door, not bearing to look, barely standing to listen.

Your old superior examined younger you and the rest of the room, the poster in particular. He smiled sadistically at it. "A real stunner she was, eh?" You scoffed at his words while younger you darted her eyes away. In one swift movement, he ripped the poster down to reveal a makeshift hole halfway into the wall. Your escape route. Taking a deep breath, you finally turned around to face the incoming carnage.

"You think you're smart huh?" the man asked her. Younger you tilted her head up, looking him straight in the eyes, too worn down to care what would happen to her. He smirked. Her silence was enough of an answer. He snapped at his employees, one of them slamming the butt of his gun into her temple in response. You couldn't help but flinch.

The superior slide open the metal door again, as his pawns dragged her unconscious body out the door, while you closely followed. The harsh hospital lights left a sting to your eyes as you traveled through your mind's endless hallways. Finally, you reached the chamber. The door slide open to reveal a dentist chair and an array of instruments littered throughout the room.

The men placed her down into the chair, one of them injecting a serum into her arm to wake her up. Younger you shot awake, pulled down by different leather restraints. Bile filled your mouth as you were reduced to being so helpless to just watch. A doctor followed into the room soon after the six of you, his face burned into your mind.

He took two long prongs, pinching them onto the skin of her elbow, and turned on a machine to send out electrical shocks. After a signal from the commander, he sent out the first wave. You couldn't help but turn your head away, holding back your own tears as phantom pains of remembrance ripped through your skin.

The worst part of all of this was how younger you barely struggled at all, only letting out blood curdling screams of pain. She had accepted her fate hours ago, knowing this was inevitable. Why fight it. It would only make it worse. It made you sick to your stomach. How much she had given up at this point.

A pause in the shocks. You turned your head back to see the commander walking up to the girl, sticking his face down to her's. "You knew this was going to happen?" The girl nodded her head slowly, with the energy she had left. He scoffed. "Then you're dumber than I thought." He stepped back again and signaled for the second wave.

Not baring to take it again, you went against your own judgement and rushed between the men, ripping the prongs off of the girl's body. You met her eyes for a split second.

Behind the numbness, you could see her fear. Roaring underneath the surface.

Before you could sense the rest, you felt a slam into your own temple, knocking you down to the floor. You looked up to see all the men looking at you now, the first time they had done so. The commander pushed past them, staring you down. He crouched down to your level, pushing a stray hair back behind your ear as you shuddered. "Still the same dumb girl I see," he smirked.

In a split second, he grabbed your arm, attaching one of the prongs to it, as the still working machine sent hundreds of volts into your arm in a split second, slicing through your nerves.

~~~~

Before you had time to react to the pain, your body in the real world roared back to life, as you screamed and coughed to catch your breath. You found yourself sitting down in the middle of the kitchen as your hands scrambled all over the ground as you hyperventilated, trying to ground yourself. "Woah, woah, woah, easy, I got you, you're safe now!" You looked up and finally noticed Yelena sitting on the ground in front of you. She had both hands placed on your shoulders, looking deep into your eyes to help you center yourself. You frantically looked around the room, finding the other team members close by, staring at you. Eventually, you found Bob, walking out of the room with Bucky close on his tail. You wanted to talk to him, knowing he was probably upset too, but you had bigger things on your mind.

"I.....I..." You couldn't get the words out. Before you could try again, Yelena softly pulled you into a hug, that you returned very quickly. "You're good now, okay?" she asked. You nodded gently into her shoulder. With more deep breaths and a few tears, you eventually were brought back down. You pulled out of the hug, and began to stand on your feet.

"Yelena, I told you I needed the team up to the helicopter deck in five minutes, do you guys take pleasure in disobeying me or wha-." Valentina bursted out of the elevator, rambling on about what they were probably discussing in the meeting. She only paused after noticing the obvious tension in the room. She looked at you, hunched over and mascara running down your face. "Well what happened to you this time?"

~~~~~~~

The ambient blue glow of the tv washed over your face, as your eyes glazed over the screen. In the few hours since the incident, the team decided it was best for you to sit out on this mission. So you had cooped yourself up in your room, trying anything to distract your mind from going back to that place. Every now and again, you'd hear light pacing footsteps in the hallway outside your door.

You hadn't spoken to Bob since you went under. He hadn't made any attempts to apologize yet. Yelena said it would probably take some time and she would talk to him as soon as she got back. You didn't want to wait until then to make things right, but knowing how fragile both of you were at the moment, you didn't want to accidentally make anything worse.

When the footsteps finally stopped, you sat up a little bit in your bed. Three soft knocks followed. You paused. "Come in." It wasn't him.

Ava gave you a soft "Hi" before stepping inside and closing the door behind her. "How was the mission?" you asked her. She shrugged her shoulders. "More of the same really, you didn't miss much." She gave a little hop onto your bed, laying down on her stomach next to you. "How you feeling?" You gave a little sigh to her. "A little better. I just think I need time." She nodded at your response, and gently held your hand. "You need me, you know where to find me, okay?" You smiled and nodded at her kind gesture. Ava put up a front with the rest of the time, teasing many of the others and acting nonchalant. But something else came out in her around you. That little girl, normally shoved under years of pain and killing.

"Can I ask you something?" you asked her. "Of course." You took a deep breath in and looked her in the eye. "Back when....he took over New York, what did you see?" Ava took a minute to think to herself. "Well, I went through three different rooms to find Bob and Yelena at the center." You adjusted yourself to a more comfortable, open position, trying to create a more welcoming energy in the room as Ava got vulnerable with you. "First room was with my parents and how I got....this way." She took off one of her gloves from her suit, showing her hand phasing between multiple quantum planes at once. A painful experience, she described it as. "Second room was one of my first missions with S.H.I.E.L.D., I had to take out an unarmed doctor."

She twiddled with her fingers, looking down as she picked at the nails. "Last one was a fight I had with an old friend.....he was trying to protect me from....myself I guess....said a lot of things I regret." You frowned down at her, placing a hand on her back to rub it in condolences. "That Bill guy you were talking about earlier, right?" She nodded. "But anyways, I've learned not to dwell on it anymore. My life is different now." She looked up at you. "All of ours are now." You nodded in acknowledgment.

"We're never gonna let those bastards get you again. Can you trust me on that?" She held your face between her hands. You nodded. She looked at you deeper. "I can. All of you," you verbalized. She sat up and pulled you in tightly for a hug. Ava was your best friend. You could trust her more than anyone else here on that.

As she pulled away, she cleared her throat. "Can I ask you a question now?" You nodded. "Do you blame Bob for what happened?"

You took a second.

"No." Ava raised an eyebrow at you. "I really don't." "Okay good, just making sure." You smiled at her. "Is Yelena talking to him?" "She's gonna try to at least," Ava sighed. "He's gonna be like this for a while. Scampery, avoidant. We've learned it's best to let him work through it." You nodded. "But he's gonna be okay, right?" Ava looked up at you, slight confusion in her eyebrows. "Yeah....." You nodded. "Okay....good."

Ava sat in silence for a little bit. "You care more about him being okay than you being okay?" You looked at her, clogs turning in your mind. "When you put it like that, I guess." She looked even more confused now. "Why?"

.....

"I don't know."

~~~~~~~

The next few days were spent with you trying to answer that question for yourself. You and Bob's relationship before this was never a super close one. You always naturally kept a distance from each other. It didn't make much of a difference if things went back to normal from this or not. So why did it matter? Why did it matter if he started talking to you again? Because man did you want him to again. And badly too.

It was like he was playing a prank on you at this point. Every time you would enter a room he was in too, he would find some excuse to leave, leaving you with a sour taste in your mouth. You knew the other team members noticed it too, because you would see one of them usually follow out of the room with him to confront him. You didn't want him to take the blame for this. You knew he was just taking this healing stage at his own pace. But man did you just wish his pace would go a little faster.

At least he wouldn't go on missions with you guys, then you'd really be screwed.

You tended to forget a very important fact because of that.

"Val needs you all downstairs in an hour, there's that press conference about the rebranding today." You could hear Mel talking to the group from your cracked bedroom door. You had been snooping in there, since Bob was in the control room outside with everyone else. "Bob, she wants you there too this time, says the more members there in support, the better."

Shit.

You could hear his whiny groan from your room. "Do I have to?" "Unless you wanna tell Val yourself." That must've been a huge wake up call for him, cause you could hear him rush your way to his room to get ready. He made split second eye contact with you before closing the door. Your heart almost broke with the swiftness his eyes darted away.

You closed your door and started getting ready yourself before you had to take orders from anyone. Most press meetings required a more casual, business attire. Ones like this however, required full glam, full hair, and full costume. You were particularly fast at the getting ready process, especially since you didn't have a thousand gun holsters you had to fasted on, unlike your other team members.

Your costume was also fairly simple. With the nature of your powers, your previous suits had a knack for getting the sleeves torn off, so you decided to replace that design with a simple, black, mock neck bodysuit. Your pants were standard black cargo pants, multiple pockets in case you needed any physical weapons on you in an emergency. They were tied off with a pair of heavy duty combat boots.

For press conferences, Valentina usually requested you to go the most glam with hair and makeup out of the group, since the other two girls were slightly opposed to it. So once that was finally done, you walked out of your room into the control deck, ready to go.

You usually sat there for a good amount of time by yourself, until one of the guys would join you. But this time, Yelena was the first one out after you, albeit half dressed, in the middle of doing her eyeliner, and a makeup bag in her hand.

She looked at you, slightly distressed. "What's up?" you asked. She clenched her teeth. "You're gonna say no, I know it." "Can you just ask me?" She took in a deep sigh. "Can you help Bob with his hair and makeup?" It took every bone in your body not to burst out laughing at her request.

For Valentina and the press, everyone in the tower had to be dressed up. Including the guys. Not too much, but some to cover up most of their "tough guy" looks. Almost like a stage makeup of sorts. The stylists you guys had were always wrangled up with Alexei and Walker, always opposed to the idea and needing extra support, so Yelena would take care of Bob's and Bucky would handle his own.

"I'm already running behind and Val wants Barnes and I down early to practice responses." You looked at her, baffled. "And Ava can't do it?" Yelena raised her eyebrows at you. "It's a miracle Ava can do her own." True, unfortunately. "Yelena, you're kidding me right?" She walked closer to the couch you were sitting at. "He's a grown man, can't he do it himself?" "Yes, but unfortunately he's also a very slow learner too." You shook your head to yourself. "Have you even been in the tower for the past week, he won't even look at me right now," you whispered. She sighed to herself. "I know I know, and this would be a one time thing I promise, I just really need the help right now."

You leaned back into the couch and washed your hands over your face. "And not to be an instigator, but I think it would help you two also." You snorted at her sentence, taking your hands off your eyes to see how serious her face was. You took a deep breath and thought it over for a second or two. "Fine," you gave her, deadpanned. "But you owe me so much right now." Yelena let out a sigh of relief. "I really do, thank you." She dropped the makeup bag, presumably filled with the tools you'd need, in your lap, and bolted towards her room.

~~~~~

The door to the room loomed over your head, seemingly getting taller with every passing second you stood in front of it. Biting the bullet, you finally gave four slight knocks on his door, the same knock Yelena used for all of you. Yes, it was a bit of a trick, but you knew he wouldn't have let you in otherwise. You heard a soft, kind "Come in" from the other side of the door that made your heart warm up ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. Your heart froze up again when you saw the way his smile dropped when you walked in. He was dressed in his usual attire for conferences, a pressed, slightly too big for him, tuxedo with dress shoes. But of course, his hair was in its natural, shaggy mess and you could spot any upcoming pimples from a mile away. Your job for the afternoon.

"What ar-" "Before you kick me out can I explain!" you jumped in before he could interject. He waited a second before nodding. "Yelena had to go downstairs early and doesn't have the time to get you ready, and before you ask, yes everyone else is too busy, and yes, I am your last resort."

His eyes darted away from you and to the ground, the most of an invitation over as you were gonna get. You took a seat on his partially made bed, observing the rest of his room. It took you a second to remember that you've never been in here before. It was a lot cleaner than you expected it to be. Then again, he spent almost all of his time in the tower, so he had a lot more time to clean than the rest of you did.

There were scattered band posters on the dark blue walls of the room, and a few collected rocks lying on his T.V. stand. You opened up the bag and took out his hair gel first. Val liked his long, overgrown hair to be slicked back for press events. You squirted some of the gel on your hands and lathered it deep into them.

When you went for his hair though, he moved his head slightly back away from you. You immediately put your hands down in response. "Okay, let's get this straight now," you snapped. "I get you're mad at me for whatever reason, but I'm not gonna take this from you right now, especially when I'm trying to help you. So either grow the fuck up, or you can do it yourself, okay?" His eyes widened a little bit. You were never the mean type towards anyone on the team, but when your limits were tested like this, you had no choice but to respond.

Putting back any feelings he had, he straightened up and leaned closer into you. "Thank you," you responded. "I'll be quick, I promise. Out of your bubble in no time." Your hands tangled into his hair, pushing the light brown strands back in straight lines. Before it would get tangled in by the gel, you could feel how soft his hair was. Even if it was overgrown, you could tell he took pride in it.

As you pushed his hair back into a makeshift mullet, making sure the gel wasn't ruining his curls at the bottom, you noticed something. Just out of your peripherals, you could see his eyes, darting every which way. They couldn't stay still for more than a second. Sometimes they would be at your shoulders, at your legs, your hair. Most of the time though, they were trying to find where you weren't. But each time, they would land magnetically back to you.

You couldn't help but let out a little laugh to yourself, a little breath out of your nose. "What?" Bob reflexively asked. You smiled and shook your head. "I really don't get you, man." His brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" Finally finished with his hair, you untangled your hands and brought them back to you, his eyes following them. "Bob, you're scared shitless of me."

A glow of pink wiped over his cheeks. "N-no I'm not." You laughed right in his face, as you went into the makeup bag and pulled out primer, foundation, and concealer. You squeezed lines of primer from the bottle onto his face. Before you could use your hands to rub it in though, he quickly grabbed your wrist again. Same way as before. You froze for a second before you realized, nothing was happening. You weren't going back in. You realized why when you looked at Bob's face, focused now more than you had ever seen before.

Your face and demeanor softened. "Bob." His face turned to yours, fear glazing over his eyes, trying desperately to keep the void from taking you again. You took his calloused fingers in your hands, peeling them away from your wrist and holding it with your own. You looked into his deep blue eyes, almost lost in them.

"I'm not scared of you."

His breath shook at your words, and you could've sworn you saw his eyes slightly water up. "I never have been. And I don't plan on changing that." The tension in his body melted away at those magic words. His lips pursed inwards as he looked down at your hands intertwined. "Can you trust me on that?" He gave a slight nod to you. You took his chin to your hand and pulled it up to look at you. His eyes were fully watery now. "Can you?" It took him a second.

".....I can."

You smiled at him.

"Thank you," he whispered. You closed your eyes and nodded to him. "You're welcome." The two of you sat for a moment like this, hands tangled in each other and observing each other's faces. You noticed how large his hands were. You never really considered your hands as small either, so the fact they were still much bigger than yours surprised you. They were restless as well, constantly moving between your own fingers, like they were getting a feel for how yours were. This was the most you had ever seen him before, in more ways than one.

Eventually, you let his hand go and cleared your throat. "Let's get you ready now, I'd rather avoid an earful from Val after the conference." Bob nodded and sat up straight again, as you rubbed the primer into his face with your thumbs. His slightly stubbled chin tickled the pads of your fingers in an almost hypnotic notion. Before you even knew it, your hands were staying caressing his face. Bob didn't seem to mind it, his eyes slowly closing, and even leaning his face into your touch further.

The two of you immediately snapped out of it at the sound of Bob's door slamming open. Mel stood at the door, panting, hand leaning against the frame for support. "What the hell is taking so long?" she asked frantically. "Uhhhhhh." The lack of an answer you two could come up with only angered her more. She rolled her eyes and pointed to you. "Get downstairs, I'll finish up with him." You looked back to Bob, smiled, gave his cheek a quick pat as you stood up and walked out the door.

Before Mel closed the door behind you, you caught Bob's eyes, hypnotically following you. As if he was searching for you. For more.

~~~~~~

Something shifted between the two of you after that day. No more avoidance. You found Bob coming to you for anything now. Whether he was having one of his bad days, needed help cleaning something up, or even if he just wanted to watch a movie with someone. Equally, you found yourself going to him for almost anything. Almost.

The main difference between the two of you was Bob had told you everything about him. You knew him like a book. Every page studied and memorized. But when he would ask you something about your past, you always managed to slither out of the question. You didn't mean to be so secretive around him. It was more of a reflex at this point. You'd done it with everyone. He was included in that group.

You could tell it hurt him though. Knowing there was some part of you that either didn't trust him enough to know, or maybe just didn't want him to know at all. Hopefully with time you'd be able to open up, not just to him, to everyone. But that's all the two of you could do for now. Hope.

A sign of that coming close had finally appeared, a new impulse crossing your mind. Dating.

For obvious reasons, relationships had never been a top priority for you. But as things were slowing down in your life, you began to feel left out of the "dating in NYC" craze. Without much experience under your belt, you decided to go through the dating app route. That proved to be more challenging than you thought. "I don't think men on here have ever had a conversation with a woman before," you'd complain to Bob or Ava constantly, usually followed by a large eye roll from them.

Lightning seemed to have struck though. On your way home from grocery shopping, you managed to bump into a guy at your bus stop. It was something straight out of a movie, the way the wind knocked of your cap and he had managed to catch it for you. The two of you spent the entire bus ride talking, and he eventually asked you for your number once you reached your stop. Tonight was date night. He had planned a special dinner in the city, and the two of you would go dancing after.

"Are you sure this guy's not like some stalker or something? You are a superhero after all, there's weird fans all over the city," Ava protested. Her and Bob were sitting in your room as you got ready. She sat on your light yellow beanbag on the floor, tossing a crumpled up paper with the address to the restaurant on it into the air. Bob was laying down on your bed, extra quiet today for some reason, staring up at the ceiling.

"He's not, I promise, Bob saw him too, he can vouch for me," you waved her off, looking in your mirror trying to do your makeup. You could see Ava look to Bob behind you through the mirror. She raised her eyebrow at him, which he just shrugged off. "I'd just prefer you not get kidnapped tonight, so try to avoid that if you can," she turned back to you. "Ava, if he's a normal citizen, I'll have zero problems defending myself, if anything happens," you defended. You sprayed some setting spray onto your face, and got up to change into your outfit.

Your bedroom had an attached bathroom, so you went in there to change. Once you closed the door, you took off your current sweats and baggy turtleneck sweater and slipped on your outfit. Your date asked you to go a little more formal than normal first date, so you specially picked out your outfit from your closet: a black boat-neckline midi dress, with a little thigh slit for less formal environments. It was gifted to you a few years back, but you hadn't worn it since. There was one glaring issue you noticed.

Throughout your time in the lab, you had obviously developed some scars. You didn't mind most of them, being electrocution scars, which made for some pretty cool war stories. Photoshoot photographers were particular fans of those. Some scars, however, weren't exactly your favorites. The specific one being a thick, prominent scar, starting at your right collarbone and trailing up to the back of your neck. It was fairly recent, compared to the rest of your scars, so the fading process was far from beginning. It was part of the reason you stuck to turtleneck fashion so much. But with this dress here, it was finally out in the open, something you weren't so sure you were comfortable with.

After convincing yourself though, you were willing to bite the bullet if it meant looking all dolled up for once. After a final examination in the bathroom mirror, you took a step out the door to show off to your friends. Both of them seemed to jump back to the positions they were in before you walked into the bathroom, almost like they were gossiping girls before. But once they noticed you, the air in the room stopped.

Ava was the first one to give out a little supportive holler when you stepped out, getting a little giggle from you. "What are you waiting for, give us a twirl!" she shouted. Obliging, you gave a little curtsey and spin. Turning to Bob, you could see a little smile curling up from this mouth. "So, what do you think?" you asked him, hoping for some words out of him today. "You look beautiful. Really really beautiful." There was a slight tint of melancholy in his words. You believed what he said, that was sincere. But his smile was actively lying to you.

His eyes spoke the truth though. You watched him as his eyes traced the way your dress hugged your body, highlighting all the beautiful parts of you, leaving little to the imagination. You saw his eyes stop at your collarbone, and his smile faded away. Just before you could see his mouth open to ask about it, you jumped right in. "Well, I better get going, I don't wanna miss my train," you frantically said, grabbing your kitten heels and strapping them on.

Ava and Bob followed you out of your room and towards the elevator out of the tower. Ava gave you a tight hug, whispering a little "Text me if you think he's a killer," before letting go. Bob's body seemed to stutter a little bit before giving you a hug. He had been more in control of the void spreading through his touch, but he was still cautious over it. His hugs always felt like home. The way he would squeeze you just the right amount and how well your chin fit into the crook of his neck. His hand sat comfortably just above your hips, with always his pinky finger straying a bit lower and tracing your upper thigh. When he let go he stayed close to you for a second, his eyes just slightly lower than where yours were. "Be safe, okay?' he asked with full sincerity. You nodded and let go just before getting into the elevator. "I will."

~~~~~~~

You rested your back against the elevator, back at the tower and up to your room after the long night. You checked your phone for a time. 2:24 am. Hopefully everyone else would be asleep when you got back.

The date wasn't bad. Not at all. In fact, it was one of the better ones you could remember going on. Dinner was nice and you went down to this jazz bar for some dancing. He walked you back to the tower and the two of you even shared a quick kiss.

So why did you feel so....weird? The circumstances were perfect for a second date. You like the guy, you really did. But something about him kept you from getting truly comfortable with him that night. The little things. The way he insisted to the waiter on splitting the bill, the way you had to stop every taxi for the two of you, the way he'd cut off your sentences. The way he couldn't stop looking at the scar poisoning your neck. That one really got you.

Maybe it was just your anxiety highlighting it, but it seemed every time his eyes would trail away from yours, they would land right on that scar. Like he was trying to subconsciously let you know it was there. As if you didn't have to take the work to try and cover it up every day of your life. That irked you most of all. You felt awful about it, it wasn't his fault it was there. But no matter how hard you tried, whenever you thought about going on a second date with him, you couldn't erase the look in his eyes out of your mind.

As you examined it in the mirror in the elevator, the doors slid open to an empty living room and kitchen floor. You wiped the tiredness off of your face and turned on a dim overhead lamp, setting your purse on the kitchen island to grab a quick water bottle. Your ears perked up when you heard some stirring from the couch area. Following the noise arose a head of shaggy brown hair. Your face softened and smile lifted when you saw his head turn around to find you. "Hi," you whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Bob replied with a sleepy "Hey," eyes still lowered.

"Whatcha doing out here, shouldn't you be in bed?" you asked, walking over to the couch. "Couldn't sleep...came out here to city watch and try to get sleepy." Your head turned to the massive windows overlooking the night city, still so alive. Bob let out a small yawn and reached his arm over to where you were standing. You took his hand, allowing him to guide you over to sit next to him on the couch. His position was slouched and comfortable, still half asleep. He rested his head into your shoulder, sending a little nervous shiver into you. "How was it?" he asked, eyes closing. You sighed. "Good." He chuckled under his breath. "What's that for?" you asked, pointing your eyes down to him. "Someone who went on a good date wouldn't just say it was 'good'," he slyly slurred out. Maybe this is why you never see Bob right after he wakes up. This Bob was kind of an asshole.

"What, can I not go on a date that's just 'good'?" you asked, getting slightly mad with him. "Someone as special as you shouldn't have to lower herself to going on dates that are just 'good'." The words trailed off in volume on the way out, almost like he didn't even know they came out in the first place. But you managed to catch them. And they sent butterflies down into your stomach, a pink glow to your cheeks, and a stupid grin to your mouth.

You looked down at him, resting on your shoulder. His body leaned perfectly into yours, filling all the empty space with his own. His delicate hands rested in his lap while his eyelashes tickled the upper parts of his cheek. And his hair, his beautiful hair, curled perfectly at the ends, grazing against the back of your neck with the air of The Watchtower. You could fall asleep with him here for days, in perfect, complete serenity.

"So why was it just 'good'?" he finally asked after what seemed like minutes of silence. You thought to yourself. "Cause I'm not gonna go on a second date." He lifted his head off of your shoulder and looked at him, with a slight concern on his droopy face. "Did something happen?" "No no no, I promise," you quickly shut down the idea. "It's just....." He sat more at attention, rubbing his eyes to try and wake up more. You both turned to look at each other, the sides of your faces resting on the couch cushions. "He was fine, great even....I just...." You tried to find the words to describe what you were feeling. "C'mon honey, talk to me," Bob slipped out, in a deep, sleepy voice that sent waves through you.

"I can't see him being able to deal with me," you finally spoke. "What makes you think that?" You sighed. You sat up a little bit and pulled your hair back behind your neck and lifted up your chin. "You saw this earlier right?" Bob gave a soft hum and a nod in response. "I got this a while back, back when I was still in the labs you saw in my nightmare." His eyes focused in on the scar, trying to make it out with the little light in the room. "I wanted to ask earlier, but I didn't wanna upset you," he spoke. "I know you don't like talking about it." You smiled a little at his ability to know you so well.

"Well, on one of the missions I was sent on back there, I got injured real bad. Broke my clavicle and they could only fix it through surgery. But I wouldn't necessarily call their doctors 'top of the line', so the cleanup was messy." You brushed your hair back onto the scar to cover it up. "One of the many souvenirs they gave me," you attempted to joke. Bob smiled a little bit at it, but was still focused on your skin. "Anyways, I don't like looking at it much, it's one of my uglier scars, and when other people catch it, I can't help but worry about what they're thinking."

"What d'you think he was thinking about?" Bob asked, slouching his head back into the couch to secretly admire you. You slouched back too. "About how much of a piece of work I'm gonna be," you chuckled out, even if the thought made you wanna cry. You could see that same sadness in Bob's eyes as they trailed up to your eyes. You sighed and looked away from him to the window outside. "This is why I don't date," you joked, wiping your face.

"Hey." You looked back at him. "Can I do something I'm gonna regret once I'm more awake?" You raised an eyebrow at the suspicious statement. "Okay." He sat a little closer to you, bringing up a hand to your hair, looking to you for approval. You gave him a soft hum as he pulled the hair behind your neck again, and softly traced his thumb over the scar, leaving goosebumps in its trail.

As gently as he could, he brought his face closer and pressed his lips softly onto your clavicle. Your breath hitched, causing him to bring his face back again. His eyes bore into yours, ready to give an apology if you requested. But your hand encouraged his actions, tangling into the back of his hair and pushing his lips back in.

Bob's lips danced over your scar, as your breath got heavier and hands tugged on his roots in approval. His hands found their way to your hips, caressing you in all the right spots. You fought to keep in any sounds your mouth wanted to let out from his touch. But right as you could feel yourself getting to the good part, Bob placed his final kiss, releasing you as well. You rested your head back as Bob stood up from the couch, lending a hand out to you. "It's late, we can talk more tomorrow, but you need your rest for now." Bob almost seemed to snap out of whatever lustful spell was just over him. Or maybe you took what just happened the wrong way. You tried to process it in your head as you took his hand and stood up with him.

Hand in hand, he led you to your room. As he opened the door and let you inside, he leaned over you on the door frame with one more message: "If a man looks at you and his first thought is of is how much work you'll be, he's no man at all."

~~~~~~~~

His words stuck in your heart for the next few days as the two of you tried to pretend that nothing happened. Drowsy Bob was right, Awake Bob apologized to you profusely the next morning, claiming he had no idea what came over him that night. "....I didn't mind it," you confessed after his apology. Made him blush faster than you thought was humanly possible. After a long, embarrassingly awkward conversation, the two of you decided on an agreement.

Whenever you were feeling bad about yourself, physically specifically, you could go to his room and he'd help you....feel better. You weren't fuck buddies, that was for sure. You just happened to be friends who'd kiss each other's bodies multiple times a week. And it made you absolutely insane.

You couldn't even go to Ava about this, since you and Bob agreed it was best if this was a secretive thing. Truth is, this whole ordeal was making you obsessed with the guy. You couldn't get him out of your head. Him being your roommate only made things worse. You couldn't escape from him. You'd never wanted someone this much before, it was driving you mad.

All the problems in relationships you felt before seemed to disappear with him. Since that night, you found yourself opening up more and more to him. You knew each chapter of each other's lives. And that made you really fucking happy. Having someone you could trust with yourself utterly, wholly, and completely.

The late nights where he'd do nothing but kiss and hold you, like he knew the magic of his touch. But you were greedy. You needed more of him, but all the uncertainty just got in the way.

You knew this wasn't just a thing "friends" did. But not knowing the exact details of how he felt for you kept you from asking for more. What if this was something friends did in his mind? What if the only thing he felt for you was based in lust? You'd rather not have that potentially friendship ruining conversation, so you decided to take the "suffer in silence" route instead.

That wasn't your biggest worry at the moment though. No, that spot in your mind was currently being overshadowed by the bullet wound in your side. You weren't gonna die, your powers would take care of that step for you, but it still hurt like a bullet wound. You'd spent a couple hours on the medbay floor of The Watchtower getting patched up, now on your way up to join the rest of the team.

The minute the elevator doors opened, you were greeted by a giant hug from Alexei, shouting Russian expressions of joy. As endearing as it was, you had to have the rest of the team peel him off of you, as he was two seconds away from opening up your stitches. Once you caught your breath, you greeted the rest of the team, all glad for your recovery. Your smile dropped a little, after scanning the members in the room. "Where's Bob?" you asked. "His therapist wanted to extend his session a little bit today," Bucky answered. You nodded a little to yourself. "You know when he'll be back?" you asked, trying not to sound too needy. "Soon enough," Yelena giggled.

....

"Does he know about..." you gestured to your bandages, slightly pink from any leftover blood. In almost miracle timing, Bob stepped out of the elevator and into your conversation. "Hey, what's-," he started, before looking at you clutching your side. His eyes widened with fear. "Oh my god what happened?!" he shouted, rushing over to you. "It's fine, I'm fine, I just didn't dodge very well today and someone caught me off guard." In combat, you usually tried to avoid the gunslingers and sword masters for hand-to-hand instead. You got more energy from absorbing bullet wounds and cuts, but on a pain scale, you'd rather deal with working up multiple punches to the nose.

As Bob questioned your pain scale, it almost seemed as if the other teammates were slowly leaving the room one by one, until only you two were left in it. The two of you naturally made your way to the couch and talked about your days for what seemed like hours. You went over battle strategies, he debriefed about his appointment. Eventually, noticing the sun going down, you started to become aware of all the dirt and blood still sticking to your body. "Um, can I use your tub? I need to get the day off me before I start peeling my skin off," you joked, standing up off of the couch. "Sure, whatever you need," he insisted, getting up with you. The only teammates with bathtubs instead of showers in their rooms were Bob and Bucky, and in all honesty, you just wanted to be near Bob's presence right now.

The mixture of dried blood, sweat, and dirt stuck your suit straight onto your skin as you made a painful attempt to peel it off. You dropped the clothes to the floor, and examined the damage in your mirror, unraveling all your littered bandages. Your stitches seemed to be doing okay, but the rest of the little cuts and bruises on you made themselves apparent. Your powers were useful in the moment, but damn did the aftercare suck.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you walked over to Bob's room, leaving a soft knock on the door. A freshly bathed Bob opened up the door, now in his own baggy pajamas, his curls still wet and dripping. "I just wanted a to take a quick soak before you got in, I got a new round of hot water running for you." You gave him a little smile and stepped inside; he closed the door behind you. "Thanks." You walked into the steaming bathroom, tub filled to the brim with hot water like he said. Bob's bathroom was a cozy, dimly lit room that smelled just like him; eucalyptus and peppermint oil, incense cones, and a touch of his cologne. It calmed you down almost immediately, and enough for you to ask your question.

"Can you...uh...help me while I'm in there?" you nervously asked. He raised his eyebrow a little bit at the question. "I-It just hurts to turn a little and I need to reach some spots on my back." He looked you over while he deliberated. "I don't wanna sound rude or anything but...you sure you're okay with me....seeing you?" he whispered that last little part. "I'm wearing a bathing suit under here, I don't mind you seeing that at least," you replied, anticipating his concern. "Oh....okay, yeah sure," he replied, scratching the back of his head.

You dropped your towel and placed it hanging over the sink. The black bikini you were wearing covered enough of you, but still allowed all your injuries to be visible. That first step into the tub was heavenly, the heat rolling down off your spine with a slight, but welcome tinge of pain. You closed your eyes and melted down into the water, Bob smiling at your relaxation. "God, I needed this," you breathed out. Bob walked up closer to you, sitting on the edge of the tub.

You sat there for a minute, body absorbing the heat and releasing the built up tension in your muscles from the day. Once you finally opened your eyes, you found Bob's eyes grazing over your body. "What is it?" you asked. A stupid grin found its way to his face, as he readjusted himself to begin helping you. "Nothing, don't worry."

Bob took a nearby loofa and his body wash, about to squeeze some onto it before you put your hand out. "This is gonna sound weird....can you use your hands?" You didn't bother giving an explanation, it wouldn't change the implications of that request. Bob gave a little nod. "Wait just, give me a sec." He quickly got up out of the room, closing the door behind him. You sat there within your own thoughts. Fuck, was that too much? you thought to yourself, praying you didn't scare him off.

After a few anxious minutes, Bob opened up the door, leaving you with a sight that made your heart stop.

He had traded in his pajamas for a pair of swim shorts. You had to fight to keep your jaw from going slack at the sight of him without a shirt on. He wasn't kidding, that serum really did do a lot of work.

First of all, you had seen his arm muscles before, frequently on display whenever he would wear a short sleeve shirt. But paired with his perfectly plumped chest, carved abs, and toned thighs, it was enough to kill a horse. Worst of all however, was his swim boxers, with a very flawed detail: they were about two sizes too small, and you couldn't tell if Bob was aware or not, but you could see it. It was bigger than you thought. You would need a tranquilizer to hide the blush on your face right now.

"I figured it'd be easier to just get in and help, and this is my only pair of trunks.....is it too much?" So he didn't know, huh. You swallowed back any urges you had and sat up a little bit more in the tub. "No, you're fine," you said, pushing your body back to make room for him in the small tub. He shuffled up and gently placed his legs in one by one, sinking in in front of you.

Bob took the body wash again, pouring some and lathering it between his hands. He motioned you to turn around so he could get your back area. Your back showed him about five scattered cuts and scratches and two large bruises by your lats. You could hear his breath shake a bit as he got closer to you. Naturally, you straightened out your back for him to work with a better canvas.

A sigh instinctively came out of your mouth when his hands came down on you, lathering the soap over your skin. His hands worked into you like putty, spreading the bubbles out evenly onto you. The callouses scratched onto your skin, and you felt a deep heat brewing into your chest. It only grew stronger when his fingers started digging into your muscles. Pain oozed out and away as his thumbs worked out the knots in your upper back. You had to bring a hand up to your mouth to keep a pleasurably moan from slipping out.

The deeper his fingers got into you, the more your body began to twitch, itching for more. The water sloshed around a little when you began to move back into him. And thats when you felt it. Your breath hitched when you caught it. He was achingly big, and you could tell by the throbbing you felt on your lower back. He must've noticed you felt it, since his fingers stopped moving. The two of you sat there for a minute in a hot tension.

Eventually, he picked up a cup sitting outside of the tub, filled it with the bathwater, and poured the soap off of your back. Putting it down, he inched slightly closer to you, his hands finding their way again back to your hips like so many times before. "Tell me where it hurts," he whispered into your ear. You tried to shake out your shivers and be honest with him, your mind needing him in one place but your body wanting him everywhere.

You took the safe route. You needed to keep control of yourself. As long as you could at least.

You pointed to a spot along your spine where one of the bruises lay. "Bend forward a little bit," he spoke, in that low, sultry voice again, almost commanding you. You listened. You moved. But unfortunately, you couldn't keep the moan inside you anymore when his lips grazed and kissed over the bruise. You could keep it quiet enough for him to, hopefully, not hear it however.

Your body adjusted and moved to fit him as his lips trailed up your spine, and eventually to the nape of your neck. He sucked on the tender skin, desperation in its trail. Before he could get too carried away though, he pulled himself off of you. His hot breath stuck to your back, as he took a moment to splash some of the steaming water onto his face. After clearing his throat, he asked you to turn back around and face him, which you did of course.

Finding his face, you could finally see the display of his emotions. The main one: a drunken look in his eyes to desperately hide a growing lust. You could tell. It was the same look in yours. Trying to continue with the bath, Bob took some more body was and drizzled it out onto your arms and upper chest. Sure, you could reach those parts of yourself fine, but what's wrong with letting a man take care of you every once in a while. And if this was how he was gonna do it, you'd be glad to give in.

He massaged the soap into your skin again, relaxing your tense arm muscles, a little gentler around your chest and collarbone area. He pressed a deep kiss into your clavicle scar, a tick for him at this point. His eyes stayed down on you, examining the way your skin fit onto your body. You brought your hand to meet his, currently pressing gentle circles onto your tricep. His eyes found a nice spot, staring at your lips, with you back at his. Trembles started to infect his hands and you could even see a slight quiver stain his lip.

"Does it hurt...anywhere here?" he gasped out. Taking the opportunity, you slowly brought your finger up to the tiniest cut you had on your chin. Smiling, he went in, almost taking your entire chin into his mouth. Your hands wrapped around his neck as his mouth moved to press sloppy kisses into your jawline. But that's all where he stayed. And you needed more than that.

Enough with the teasing, you let go of his neck and took his face in your hands, pulling his mouth away from you. He looked at you, beautiful, deep blue puppy eyes mixed with questioning and fear. "Do you remember what I told you Bob? When I was helping you get ready for the conference?" The fear left his eyes, as he realized what you were playing with here. "Remind me...." You smirked at his words. "When are you ever gonna stop being afraid of me?" you asked, eyes glued to his lips. He dropped his head and let out a defeated laugh. "It's never been you that I'm scared of....it's always been myself," he said, lifting his head back up and closer to yours. "And why's that?" The corner of his mouth lifted up as his hand went to cup your jaw, caressing it with his thumb. "Because I have to keep myself from tearing off my clothes and taking you in the living room each time you walk through that elevator."

Before you could respond to what he said, your body started moving on its own, slamming your lips into his, sloshing water everywhere. The kiss you shared was needy, hungry, and slow. Different from the ones he left littered over your body in the past. What surprised you the most about it was what fueled it. This was not a lustful kiss, which is what you had expected from him. This kiss was filled with a pure, tender, and firing love the two of you have silently shared for each other for the past few months.

His hands wrapped around your waist, hugging you closer into him and onto his laugh, where his raging erection made itself more apparent by the second. "You need me that bad, huh?" you teased, breaking away from the makeout and grinding your clothed cunt against it. Bob nodded profusely, leaning back into you to chase your lips, which you pulled back from. You bit your lip and smiled, wooed by his desperation for you. "Someone's excited, huh?" you joked. "Well, I'd rather not get waterlogged here, so how about we dry off, get these swimsuits off, and...." you leaned close to his ear. "...you can take me on your bed any way you want, how's that sound loverboy?" you bit down onto his earlobe

Bob let out a whispered moan and dropped his head into your shoulder, pressing soft kissed into it. "Yes, please," he replied. Before getting up though, he pulled you into a close hug, which you returned gladly. Bob may have a secret, shameful side you didn't know about, but at the end of the day, you couldn't take the lover out of him.

The two of you stepped out of the bathtub, drained the water, and took your towels to dry yourselves off. Once you were dried, you opened the bathroom door, releasing the steamy air into the rest of Bob room. The cold tinged both your skin, as you walked hand in hand to his bed. You were first to undress, slipping off your bikini bottoms and untying your top off. Bob could've sworn his life flashed before his eyes at that moment, as he admired your beautiful body. He quickly kicked off his trunks, allowing his cock to finally spring out to life. He playfully ran up and tackled you onto his bed, kissing into you neck as you let out playful giggles.

His mouth eventually found its way up to yours, as the two of you slipped each other's tongues into your mouths. His hands gently swept you underneath him on the bed, still careful with your injury. "I-fuck, I wanna taste you," he gasped out while you sucked marks onto his neck. "Do it," you whispered into his neck, giving it a little nibble.

He giggled to himself, as his mouth traced kissed down your neck, sternum, and stomach, all the way down to your hips. You lifted your head to look down at him. He smiled up at you as his hands grabbed into your thighs, bending your legs up. His thumb grazed along your leaking folds, already sending shivers into you. "You're so....beautiful," you could hear him whisper just before leaving his first of many soft kisses on your slit. His tongue slowly worked itself over your clit, as one of your hands found its way down into the roots of his hair.

For leverage, you pulled slight tugs onto his hair, which drove Bob bananas. Each pull only drove him further into your pussy, absorbing his own whines and moans. His tongue worked over each of your lips, memorizing the way it made his taste buds react. You tasted so good, he could sit here eating you for hours. Looking down at the sight underneath you only pushed you closer to the edge. His messy, slightly damp curls intertwined with your fingers, as he sloppily ate your pussy, juice dripping down the sides of his mouth. Game changer moment was when he brought in his digits, curling his pointer and middle finger into your swollen cunt.

An exaggerated moan of his name left your mouth, as your hips buckled into his hand, begging for more. "C'mon, you're doing so good for me baby, keep it up," he spoke into your inner thigh, leaving a little love bite in there that left you biting your tongue. As his fingers worked inside you, you wriggled over the sheets, trying to chase an oncoming high. "You're so perfect sweetheart, so perfect for me," he continuously praised.

The twitch in your lower stomach grew more powerful with the seconds, as fingers continued to hit your walls perfect, his teeth grazed your clit, and hot breath washed over you. "Bob, I-I," you started to moan out. "Do it for me baby, come for me here."

As the high washed over your body, a final moan rushed out, paired with another hip buckle and legs a twitching mess as Bob kissed into your pussy. Your juice coated all over his fingers, which added more growth to his member, if that was even possible right now. His fingers slid perfectly out of your aching pussy and into his own mouth, as he got a better taste for you. A smile curled its way onto his mouth as he sat back on his knees, watching you come down from your high.

Bob couldn't help but crawl back up to you. He had to watch this moment with his own eyes. Your heavy breaths hit his face as he leaned on his elbows to perfectly lay over him. Your cheeks glowed a heavy pink as you came down from your orgasm. "Was that good?" he asks. You couldn't help but let out at laugh at the question. Good? Did he see what happened just now? "You're adorable," you validated, love-drunk eyes gazing into his own.

He let a breath out of his nose, and dropped his whole body weight down onto you. You cried out in a fake pain and your body absorbed his heat into you. "Get off, you're killing me!" you joked. He shook his head vigorously. "No, you gotta do it yourself," he played back. You giggled and used whatever strength you had left over to try and push him off. To no avail of course. "Alright, you gotta help just a little, you're pure muscle sweetie." Bob sighed and lifted his body off of you just enough for you to roll him to the other side of the bed.

Before he could move again, you jumped on top of him, placing your own dead weight on top of him now. "You see, I'd play along now, but I'm scared I'd toss you off the bed," he said. True, best not to play games like this with someone who has super strength. "Ugh, no fair," you complained, dropping your head into his neck. You heard his awkwardly adorable laugh, making your heart soar, as he scratched the back of your head.

"C'mere, let me see you," he asked gently. You lifted your head up, a fake frown plastered on your face. The act didn't last long though when you saw his face.

The way he looked at you right now was the way girls had dreamed about since they were kids. His eyes softened with pure adoration for you, with his mouth curled into the dumbest grin. He spoke your name in a question. "Yeah?" He brought his hand up to cup your jaw, which you nuzzled your cheek into as his thumb traced over your lips. "I....I think..." he trailed off. "What is it?" His smile turned slightly more serious. "I think I love you." He paused. "I know I do."

If it weren't for his body heat grounding you into the moment, you would've sworn you were dreaming right now. Everything you've ever wanted was right here. It was all in him. It was him.

"I know I love you too."

The giddy look on his face could set you free, as both his hands grabbed your cheeks to pull you into his kiss stained lips. The two of you continued to kiss and roll all over the bed, as you prepared to continue the rest of your love filled night.

~~~~~~

Sun rays streamed through the breaks in the blinds of Bob's room. Your eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness as you awoke. Wrapped up in his sheets, blooming with his scent, you began to remember the dreamlike events of the night before. You turned to the other side of the bed, and there he was.

Like a painting, Bob laid next to you, still off in his hopefully pleasant dreams. Loose strand of hair fell in front of his sleeping face, his mouth slightly agape to breathe, still swollen lips. In fact, all of your souvenirs from the night before laid over him: scattered hickeys along his neck and shoulders, and nail scratches peeking over from his upper back. It was perfect. He was perfect.

His breath readjusted as he began to stir a bit, and finally, his lashes fluttered open to see you. A childlike smile painted your face as you saw his sleepy eyes adjust to you. "Good morning sleepyhead," you pressed into the tip of his nose as you kissed it. He smiled an eyes closed one to you. "Morning honey." You had found out last night how much of a pet-name user Bob was. You didn't mind at all. It only helped seal the "it feels like i'm in a movie" idea for you. "How'd you sleep," he asked with his eyes still closed. "Good, great even," you hummed. "And you?" His eyes opened and he leaned in closer to you to kiss you silly. "Best in years, honest truth."

After some morning talk, Bob got up to go to the kitchen, leaving you with some extra minutes for sleep. When he returned, it was with a plate of breakfast on a tray just for the two of you. It took a miracle for you not to jump over the bed and onto him then and there. The plate for you included all your favorites: blueberry Eggos, orange slices, and eggs. These weren't your usual eggs though. "I know you like them burnt, but by the time I remembered, I had taken them out of the pan and these were the last two," he apologized.

You inspected the eggs with your fork. It scared you a little, but you'd rather risk a stomach ache than hurt Bob's feelings right now. And plus, it was time to finally grow up. Taking them onto your fork, you took a deep breath, and put them in your mouth.

Chew, chew, chew. Swallow.

God, these were so much better than rubbery, burnt eggs. "These are so fucking good Bob, oh my god," you salivated. He smiled that dumb grin and climbed into bed next to you, as the two of you continued the rest of your morning together. It was nice to know you didn't have to burn your eggs anymore. The other side was better than you could've imagined.

a.n: AND THATS IT i hope you liked it lol. this is by FARRRRR the longest fic i've ever written and it took like a week and a half to write rip so i hope you all enjoyed it. please leave a note or interact if you did, i'd really appreciate it. alright thank you so much again, catch you on the next one BYEEEEEE