#And not lie here and think myself deeper and deeper into a pit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

neoneun-au · 11 months

Text

CAN'T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER II: FEED THE FIRE

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 8.5K ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: angst, mild language, heavily implicit sex scene, light voyeurism, 18+ only ―STATUS: ongoing

―AUTHOR'S NOTE: i cant link them here, but please find the series masterlist and other chapters on my blog. i would love to know your thoughts on the story so far !

ii: feed the fire

The cold light of day breaks through your window and for a moment you forget where you are. You blink away the final clouds of sleep from your eyes and the various blobs that comprise your room begin to solidify—reforming your short-term memory as they do.

Noise filters in through your door–your roommates up and about, readying themselves for the day ahead. You roll over and grab your phone from the nightstand. 8:23am.

Part of you (re: the anxious and heartbroken part) wants to bury yourself deeper into your blankets and stay there for the next 24 hours. The other part of you knows that you need to force yourself out into the world of the living–no matter how much you would rather continue to wallow in the pit of self pity you created.

With a groaning yawn you force yourself out from underneath your tangle of blankets and let your feet fall onto the chilly vinyl floor. Better now than 1:00am again, you think. Your hand is an inch away from the doorknob before you stop to consider your current state of dress.

An old t-shirt (swiped from Wonwoo a few months into your relationship) floral print sleep shorts, and a single polka dot sock with a hole at the heel. Not to mention the tired, puffy-from-crying-all-night skin around your eyes. All in all, not exactly the ideal “meeting the roommates” outfit.

Your brief encounter with Mingyu flashes up in your memory as you ponder your appearance. The thought of his hair–coiffed perfectly even while half-dressed in the middle of the night–makes you shiver as you try to recall the last time you washed your hair (days ago). You block out the thoughts as they try to linger on him–running from his perfect hair to his perfect face down to his perfect naked chest–and pivot back into your room to make at least some small effort with your appearance.

After digging through a few different suitcases piled haphazardly in the corner of your room, you unearth your permanently stained make-up bag. Just the basics, you think as you dump the contents out on top of your duvet, reaching for the foundation that is probably still one shade too light for you.

Thirty minutes later you emerge from the room sporting a full face of makeup complete with red lipstick.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan greets you as you amble into the kitchen, eyes flicking between you and the time on his phone. “Going somewhere special?”

“No,” you shake your head, trying to present as casual and unaffected. “Just heading into the office today.” A lie. You had been freelance for the better part of three years. You didn’t even have the option of an office to work in let alone one you needed to “head into”.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol stare at you, clearly not buying it, but they don’t push it and you’re grateful for the tact if nothing else. “Where’s everyone else?” you ask, noticing they had all vanished before you made it out of your room.

“Work, presumably,” Jeonghan says, “so you’ll have to meet them later. Though I heard you might have already been introduced to Mingyu.”

A groan. A flash of nipples–your new sleep paralysis demon. Another groan. “Oh we met,” you mutter, tongue bitter with the memory, “in the middle of the night with pizza sauce all over my face.”

Jeonghan laughs, head tossed back with the joy of the misfortune of others. He composes himself after a moment, dismissing your embarrassment with a wave of his hand, “I wouldn’t worry about it. Mingyu has been seen doing worse things here, I’m sure he barely even remembers what you look like.”

“Comforting,” you roll your eyes, still feeling the warmth of your embarrassment pulsing through your veins.

“So what are your plans for the day? Besides the office?” Seungcheol asks, leaving the table to put his and Jeonghan’s coffee mugs into the dishwasher.

Nothing, you think. But you’re too embarrassed to so openly admit to your barren wasteland of a social life this early in your acquaintance with the man so you scrape your brain for any possible activity you could do.

“Well, I was thinking of starting a new hobby, maybe running–”

The word barely leaves your mouth before Seungcheol perks up, a hopeful glint in his wide brown eyes. “Do you want a partner?”

“Uh oh, you’ve done it now,” Jeonghan whispers to you, sidling out of the kitchen. His footsteps recede down the hallway towards his bedroom, leaving you standing frozen in the kitchen, bearing the full weight of Seungcheol’s intensifying stare.

You hear his door close and you wonder how you’re going to manage to get out of this on your own.

“I don’t–” you start but the expression on his face forces you to immediately redirect the direction of your thoughts. “I mean, I’ve never run before, really, and I’m pretty out of shape like I’ve just been eating noodles and doing desk work for the past few years since I stopped going to the gym so I don’t know–”

He holds up a hand–eyes closed–stopping your excuses dead in their tracks. You wait, your health and peace of mind hanging in the balance as he holds you captive with his open palm. “Say no more,” he starts. His eyes open, flames of determination burning in their depths, and his mouth stretches into a grin. You think this is what it must be like to have a near death experience. “I’m going to help you.”

“Help me with what?” you whisper, voice wavering with a hint of fear. A drop of sweat begins to collect at your brow.

“____, I am a personal trainer. What do I help people with?”

You assume the question is rhetorical but he seems to be waiting for you to answer anyway, so you do. “Personal…training?”

“Exactly,” he affirms, eyes closed in reverence. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to help you with. Imagine it–you go through a traumatic break-up, you’re in the worst shape of your life–”

“Hey!” you grumble, offended at the insinuation, but he continues unphased. His own Ted talk in the middle of your shared kitchen. You watch his eyes widen—filled to the brim with fire and determination—his strong brow moving in accordance with his monologue.

“–then, little by little, you get your groove back. Jogging–helps build stamina and is great for cardiovascular health, but an easier start than running considering your current activity level. Also, it’s good to combat your high salt intake. Next, weightlifting. We want to build and retain muscle. Not too much, but enough that you start to feel more confident and alive than you ever have in your life. Finally, a full body workout routine. A revenge body, but it’s about so much more than revenge. It’s about your own health and happiness. My gym has all the equipment we will need and don’t worry, I’m not going to charge you my usual fee since I know you’re in a tough spot. We can come to an agreement as you see fit in time. For now, we start casually. Just friends. Jogging. What do you think?”

“I umm…” you waver. Despite the fear tingling at the base of your spine you can’t help but feel a little moved by the passion evident in his voice. He wants to help you. You’re not used to it–accepting help–but you’ve had to do more of it in the past two weeks than you ever have before in your life.

Seulgi helped you vent and offered you a haven from your self-made catastrophe of a life, Jeonghan helped you find a place when you needed to be anywhere but where you were, and Seungcheol helped you move all of your stuff. And now here he is, offering even more help. Regardless of the fact that it wasn’t really the sort of help you were seeking out, you couldn’t be too ungrateful for the offer. Maybe you needed it. Maybe you needed that intensity in your life.

“We could start with weightlifting if you prefer but it takes–”

“No, no,” you panic, a new fear raging in to eclipse the old. “Jogging is fine, we can jog.”

He nods–one decisive nod–and a wide smile stretches out over his features, “great. What time will you be back from work?”

“Oh um…five…” New panic, bubbling and swelling. What time did people usually finish work? “Five…thirty?”

“Great. Be ready by 6:00pm and we are going to hit the pavement!” He claps you on the shoulder, firm hand grounding you into the reality of the moment before it falls away and he moves past you towards the door–humming under his breath. You watch him leave, eyes wide and mouth agape in a pantomime of terror. The door clicks shut behind him and it takes you a few minutes to force your legs to start working again.

The cafe was busier than usual. It’s early afternoon on a Friday–a time when all worlds collide and you're there to bear witness to it. Students with fewer classes than the rest of the week mill about, clutching their textbooks and laptops, drinking cup after cup of lukewarm lattes and–if your own university experience was anything to judge by–not getting much work done at all. People in suits standing around aimlessly, between meetings or just trying to fill time before clocking out and stripping off their work-selves for their weekend-selves. Moms with buggies carrying tots, toddlers, and their Friday shopping travel in packs, chatting away in the cafe while their little ones cry or squeal or both.

You sit at the counter for a few hours in silence, alternately people watching and scrolling Instagram, while you wait for Seulgi to have a moment to breathe.

“Well, how was the first night in the new place?” Seulgi asks, sliding your usual iced coffee (light on the ice, heavy on the coffee) towards you. Her typically well-kempt hair (dyed back to black now after her brief stint with orange) has escaped her ponytail in places, the only real indicator of the hours she had just spent running back and forth between customers as her face had settled back to its usual cool composure.

“I haven’t met all of them yet,” you start, “but so far it’s…interesting.” She furrows her brow at the hesitation so you rush to elaborate, “I mean, it’s just going to take a bit to get used to a new place but they’ve all been very…welcoming so far.”

“Well that’s good, I guess,” she starts, suspicion around your careful wording still evident in her tone. “Why haven’t you met them all yet?”

You pause, not sure whether you want to fess up to your night of sobbing. “Just bad timing, I guess,” you shrug, sipping your drink to mask the white lie, “it’s only the one guy. Vernon, I think? He seems to work a lot but I don’t actually know what he does…”

“Well, if he works in tech let me know cause I’m about 5 more lattes away from burning this cafe down,” she sighs, reaching for a cloth to wipe down the counter.

“Still no luck finding a dev role?” you ask, eyes wide. Months of looking after the last company she worked for went laid everyone off without so much as a thank you had landed her back in an apron slinging coffee like you were in university again. The bitterness was evident but a small, incredibly selfish part of you was happy that it gave her more time to hang out. Plus, the free coffee was a huge bonus.

“A few interviews that went nowhere, ghosted in stage 3 for this one company that I’m sure was a ponzi scheme anyway but I was desperate.”

“I’ll ask around, I’m sure one of them has some connections at least.” Truthfully you weren’t sure of that at all, yet, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask on behalf of your friend.

“Thanks, I would appreciate that. At this point I would even settle for a support role.” She removes her cap, smoothing down the flyaways that had managed to escape her neon green elastic. “So, what’s everyone else like?”

“Jeonghan is the same as always,” you start and she nods, the shared history of many a night spent in drunken hysterics on someone’s living room floor ever present in your memories. “Seungcheol…he’s interesting. Very helpful! He moved literally all of my stuff from Won–from the old apartment to the new place almost single handedly.”

“Did you pay him for it?” she asks, incredulous at the generosity.

“No, he said ‘I got you’ and that was basically that,” you laugh. “So he’s nice. Personal trainer. I think he owns his own gym but I’m honestly not sure.”

“Hot?”

“Definitely handsome,” you agree. Her eyebrows rise slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes and you rush to clarify, “there’s no interest there at all. Not my type, really, a bit too…classic man with a capital M. And kind of intense sometimes…” The fire burning in the coal dark of his eyes earlier this morning was enough to attest to that. “But overall he seems like a good guy.”

“Alright, if you say so,” she dismisses your rambling, clearly bored by the lack of intrigue in it. “There’s another one too, hey? Mingi…Mingoo…”

“Mingyu,” you correct her, feeling your heart rate begin to quicken.

“And?” She stares at you but your mind has been shaken clean like an Etch-A-Sketch.

“And what?” you ask.

“What is Mingyu like?” She emphasizes each word like a bullet point on a page.

“Oh, he’s uh–” naked. Very naked. Lots of nipples. Pepperoni pizza with extra beef. Two heaving breasts like beacons in the night, calling you to shore. Your heart leaps into your throat, choking out your voice. “Nice,” you manage to stammer, “he’s nice.”

“Okay,” she sighs, leaning over the counter and jutting an accusatory finger in your face, “spill.”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

“No man is just nice,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Even this Seungcheol guy got more than just ‘nice’ so what is it? What happened?”

“I only met him once so far,” you bristle, hating the defensiveness that creeps into your tone. “But it was after I had had like…a full sobbing meltdown and it was the middle of the night and he didn’t have a shirt on at all–”

“Whew,” she whistles, “who knew you’d find a guy to have the hots for already.”

“I don’t have the hots for him, I’m not 16,” you grumble, “plus I barely know anything about him. Except that he apparently cries during The Notebook and he’s not completely unfortunate looking.”

Amusement is clear on Seulgi’s face as she nods in acknowledgement, “ah, a sensitive half-naked man. Sounds like you know everything you need to,” she sings. You open your mouth to protest but she’s pulled away by a customer before you can manage to make a sound.

You watch as Seulgi weaves herself behind the counter, back and forth from customer to coffee to pastry case. The cafe is filling up again; mid-afternoon lull abating as more and more people start to filter in through the door. Off early for their Fridays. The heat of embarrassment in your body ebbs away as you watch the line grow, thoughts of your more-than-a-little awkward encounter with Mingyu dissolving to the back of your mind as you drain the last of your iced coffee.

You glance down to check the time on your phone, 5:15pm, and start packing up your things. Seulgi spies your movements from the corner of her eye while she’s pulling an espresso shot. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I have to go get ready,” you reply, moving to stand in front of her, face half obscured by the bean grinder.

“Get ready for what? I thought we might go out for drinks once my shift is over.” She pauses to call out the name written on the to-go cup, sliding it expertly across the worn marble countertop. A haggard looking businessman grabs it with a nod before scuttling out of the cafe. “You have plans?” she asks again, turning her full attention back to you before starting on the next drink order.

“Yeah, I sorta agreed to go jogging with Seungcheol,” you reply, the words accompanied with a sheepish laugh.

“Jogging?” she asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” you reply, readjusting the strap of your bag as it hangs off your shoulder.

You stare blank-faced at each other over the espresso machine for a moment as she considers whether or not it’s worth it to even ask. “Okay, well,” she says, clearly deciding it is not. “Don’t die.”

“I’ll try not to,” you reply, waving goodbye as the grinder whirs to life again, drowning out your good-byes.

‘I’m going to die.’ The thought comes to you like a mantra. Persistent and repetitive, turning over and over in your mind while you try to keep up with Seungcheol as he leads you through a winding path away from the condo. The bitter fall wind bites at your face, cruel and punishing, but you keep your eyes trained on Seungcheol’s firm thighs as he jogs ahead of you. He gave up on actively coaching you about 5 minutes into your run when your eyes welled up with tears–adopting a “lead by example” approach instead.

Your legs carry you forward, one foot in front of the other, and you try to focus on the movement, your breathing, the feeling of wind on your face–all the tactile, grounding things Seungcheol had so adamantly coached you on before embarking on this jog together. It works at first, a blissful distraction, until inevitably your mind wanders back to all of the thoughts you had been scrambling to keep at bay for the past few weeks.

Wonwoo, your strange new roommates, the crushing weight of loneliness, occasional glimpses of your neglected work assignments. All keeping speed with you as you trail behind Seungcheol, through block after block–eyes trained on his back like a lighthouse guiding you to shore. The thoughts tug on the frayed edges of your mind, an anchor for your sanity, pulling you down into the depths and you try to release them. Try to let the rope fall into the dark abyss and be rid of it, but they resurface time and again.

The longer you run, the harder it becomes to pull yourself back from them. To focus on your laboured breathing or the ache in your feet. You briefly consider ducking into a side street and just calling an Uber to take you home, but you don’t want to disappoint Seungcheol this soon into your acquaintance. He was taking time out of his day to try and help you in his own way and the inkling of guilt that accompanies the mere thought of ditching him and dismissing that gesture was already more than you wanted to bear.

So you follow him, finally giving into your relentless thoughts and allowing them to consume you as your eyes remain unfocused on your informal coach’s back.

What have you done?

At the time, knee deep in feelings of bitterness and melancholy with Wonwoo, it had seemed like the best decision. End it all and get a fresh start. Surely he was the source of those feelings? You had given him so many opportunities to change, to step up and really take care of you in the way that you needed him to, after all. But the status quo remained and you were left with nothing but the soup of your own misery to satiate yourself.

Now on the other side of it all, you aren’t so sure things had ever been that simple. Feelings of doubt were beginning to creep in. The crushing weight of loneliness that followed you from your apartment with your ex to Jeonghan’s absurdly large condo held itself over you. A dark grey cloud, threatening a downpour at any moment.

And what were you thinking anyway? Packing up and moving in with an old college buddy and a bunch of strange men? There had to have been some sort of alternative. You hadn’t even met them all yet. What if this Vernon guy was a murderer? Or worse, a real estate agent? There were too many variables to it all. Things you hadn’t stopped long enough to consider with your desperation to get away from the tension of a situation that you had created.

Sure Wonwoo wasn’t perfect, but who was? What man was going to be as emotionally available as you seemed to expect they should be? Maybe settling into that comfort and ease of someone who already knew you was the best option. Surrendering to the mediocrity of a life you thought you had wanted at one point. Maybe your standards were too high.

And who the hell was this Mingyu guy? Coming in there and dazzling you with his stupidly beautiful face and suspiciously muscular torso? Some trap sent from the devil himself to lure you into feelings with another man before you were even sure you were over the last one? You didn’t even know the guy! For all you knew he was as bad as this Vernon. You can’t be that hot and not at least be a little bit mean. Or stupid. Or both.

And how was Wonwoo feeling now? Did he have any regrets? Was he mourning your relationship? Was he angry? Or did he feel relieved? Maybe he already set up a profile on some dating app–he was the perfect combination of handsome and contemplatively sad to lure in most women. Smart. Clean. Decent job. Well mannered. A real catch.

The crease in your brow deepens as your thoughts hurl you further and further into darkness, spinning endlessly as your legs mindlessly carry you forward. You barely notice Seungcheol stopping in front of you, almost slamming full on into his sweat-drenched back before you manage to halt your momentum and stop yourself an inch away from him.

“Hey, whoa,” Seungcheol exclaims, holding his hands up like a blonde girl in a horse movie calming the wild stallion. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you pant, “why? Are we done?”

He pauses for a second, watching you with a look of mild concern while you try to catch your breath. “We’re about halfway through so I figured we should do a check in, you know…see how you’re feeling,” he starts and you take a deep shuddering breath, trying in vain to hide it with a cough. Clearly your stamina was not what it used to be.

“Ah, okay,” you huff, trying not to shake too much with each inhale. “I’m good, I’m just…I don’t know. How long have we been going for?”

He glances down at his watch before fixing you with another look of worry, “about 20 minutes. It’s generally an hour but we’ve been keeping a pretty quick pace. You look…” he hesitates, biting the corner of his lip slightly. “You look a bit dazed. Are you sure you’re okay? If you want to just walk from here…”

“No, no,” you shake your head at the suggestion, some foreign sense of determination surging forward to drown out your screaming desire to take him up on his offer. “I can keep going, I’m fine. But maybe we can just…slow the pace down a bit?”

Seungcheol’s expression retains the same level of concern for a second and you begin to worry (or hope? It was hard to tell the difference) that he’s just going to force you to catch the next bus back home, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. Replaced by that familiar fire you’ve started becoming accustomed to in him. A small smile, one teeming with pride and warmth, pulls at the corners of his lips and you can’t help but respond with a hesitant smile of your own before he nods and turns back around to continue the jog. Thankfully at a moderate pace compared to before, for which you send him a silent thanks as you fall in step behind him.

As it turns out, the halfway check-in was exactly what you needed. Your burgeoning respect for Seungcheol grows incrementally as you’re able to continue behind him, still tired and sore, but more clear-minded than you had been for the first 20 minutes of the run. Seungcheol keeps the pace steady and you’re able to weave behind him through block after block easily–all sense of hesitation you had felt before melting away with each step.

You continue until you’re a mile away from home, dripping with sweat, and you glance over to the other side of the street to the cold shock of Wonwoo.

He looks good. He always does. Your step hitches, pace slowing, as you watch him walk down the sidewalk adjacent to you but completely oblivious to your presence. His face is slightly reddened from the chill in the air, he’s wearing the jacket he bought during your last vacation together–a nice suede expedition jacket from a boutique in Italy–and he’s with a girl you don’t recognize.

She’s talking and you can tell he’s listening from the slight incline of his head, the way he always would when he was engaged in a conversation or topic. It was one of the first things you noticed about him when you started dating and seeing it now from a distance made that knowledge twist itself poisonously inside you. He leans forward, pulling open the door of the cafe they were heading towards and she brushes past him so casually it makes your chest burn.

You stand like a deer in the headlights–mind buzzing with static and heart aching in your chest–with your eyes fixed unblinking on the door they just entered. It swings shut behind them, obstructing your view of this moment stolen from his life.

You knew this was a possibility when you ended things. It was only reasonable that you might both start dating other people, you just didn’t expect to have to see it. Right in front of your eyes, plain as day, taunting you with the blatant familiarity of it all. Was he seeing her? Was this their first date? Second? Had they slept together? Had he put his hands on her? His touch, always so soft and gentle until it wasn’t. Until it was firm and guiding and supportive and seductive. That touch reserved only for you and your skin for the past three years, in the dark of your bedroom or kitchen or that one time in the bathroom at his office staff party…

You knew you were spiraling but you couldn’t help it. Your brain grabbed hold of the thought and ran full steam ahead with it, trailing you behind it like a dummy–bouncing against the pavement with no control. It took a solid thirty seconds for you to even realise Seungcheol was trying to get your attention.

“Hey!” he all but shouts, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “Are you alright? Are you dizzy?”

“Huh?” you blink back to life, tearing your attention away from the empty spot across the street. “Sorry, yeah. Or no…I mean no. I’m not dizzy, I just…” you trail off, unsure of how to articulate any of your thoughts. Unable to decide if you even wanted to confide in Seungcheol in the middle of the sidewalk around the corner from your condo.

“Okay,” he nods, eyes trailing across the street to the spot that had held you captive for the past few minutes–gaze narrowed in confusion. His narrowed brown eyes flicker between you and the empty space by the door while he processes the shift in atmosphere. “Well,” he starts after a breath, “I don’t know about you but I’m pretty tired. Why don’t we just walk the rest of the way?”

God bless you, Choi Seungcheol, you think as you walk alongside him the final block back to the condo. He seemed to have some intuitive understanding that something had shifted, something you really didn’t want to talk about, and he didn’t press or pry or ask any questions. Instead he let you walk in numb silence while he talked about whatever came to mind. It was easy, casual, and helped enough to distract you from the whirlpool you had just been swept into. You listen as he talks about his gym and your roommates and before long you’re stepping back into the welcome warmth of home.

“You’re back!” a voice calls out from the kitchen–the cheeriness of the greeting knocking uncomfortably against the melancholy you felt. Mingyu’s face, alight with a bright smile, pops around the corner, “we were just about to send out a search party.”

“We went out for a jog,” Seungcheol supplies a response for you. “We weren’t even out that long.”

“Long enough,” Mingyu shrugs, gaze lingering on you for a beat before he turns back into the kitchen, leaving you to remove your shoes and windbreaker. Seungcheol follows him out, you hear their voices fade on the other side of the wall and you let your shoulders fall.

The bathroom is blissfully empty when you get to the end of the hallway. You lean into the shower and turn the tap on as hot as your skin could possibly handle. Just a step below scalding. You peel off your clothes and step under the water, relishing the relief that cascades over you in the heat. Exhaustion had begun to settle in and it wasn’t until now that you were alone, with nothing but the sound of the shower and the warmth of the steam to accompany you, that you could really feel just how deep it went. Your aching muscles relax, tension melting down the drain and disappearing inch by inch as you stand in the shower and just let the water flow over you. But the exhaustion remains.

It’s in your heart–your soul–entirely unrelated to the physical strain of the evening. The scene with Wonwoo replays over and over in your mind as you lather your body in soap and scrub the day's stain away. It needles at you–poking and prodding like a thorn in your side. An unwelcome guest in the garden of your thoughts. The need to know overwhelms you while at the same time you wish that you could just scrub it from your memory and let it wash away with the suds. A fierce desperation pulls you in five different directions–guilt, shame, jealousy, sadness, fear. They all vie for your attention, greedy fingers tearing at the frayed edges of your sanity.

They follow you as you leave the bathroom–wrapped tightly in a towel–and tip toe back to your room. Their needy hands grab you as you slip into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. More than ready to go to bed despite it only being 8:00pm on a Friday night.

You’re a step away from the side of your bed when a knock sounds out at your door, scaring off the hands and pulling your attention back to the present moment.

“Hey,” Mingyu calls through the wood, “we’re just sitting down for dinner if you’re interested. No pressure, though, if you’re not hungry or just don’t want to.”

You stand still for a moment, torn between two worlds. So much of you just wants to crawl into the dark cave of your blankets and hide but you had been relying on that so often lately as a reprieve and it wasn’t really doing you any favours in the long term. Here you were, presented with a true crossroads. Embrace this new life in the way it seemed Wonwoo already had and move on, or retreat. Retreat, resist, remain–stagnant and mired in your own pitiful emotions.

You hear Mingyu clear his throat and decide to just leap. “I’ll be there in a second,” you call out, moving to grab a cardigan from your closet. The smile in his voice is evident as he acknowledges your response before walking back down the hallway and you know immediately you made the right choice–despite the thrum of anxiety still humming through your veins.

You feel like a debutante making her debut as you walk down the long hallway towards the kitchen where the noise of your roommates can already be heard at the table. The sounds of conversation and the clattering of dishes grow louder as you approach and you get the distinct impression that you’re walking into a panel interview in grease-stained sweatpants.

The scene that greets you as you enter the kitchen is one of such painful familiarity it almost makes you want to cry. All of your roommates, including the ever elusive Vernon, are gathered in the space–talking and laughing together in the way only people so used to each other’s presence do. Mingyu hauls a steaming pot from the stovetop to the kitchen table, placing it down on a trivet and one by one everyone starts to dish out bowlfuls of noodles.

“Hey, have a seat, I’ll get you a bowl,” Mingyu smiles when he sees you, eyes crinkling up at the corners and if you didn’t know better you would have thought you’d been friends for years. You slip into the empty chair between Vernon and Jeonghan and thank him when he returns with a clean bowl and a pair of chopsticks for you. “I hope you like jjajangmyeon. I know it's been a few days already since you moved in, but I thought it might be fun to have anyway.”

“You made it?” you ask, leaning forward to inspect the pot. Shiny black bean noodles stare back at you, unblinking.

Mingyu ducks his head with a small smile as Jeonghan speaks for him. “He’s our resident chef. Cooks all the time,” he says, leaning into you with a sly grin, “the only catch is if you don’t compliment him on it he pouts.”

“Very funny,” Mingyu pouts, taking the seat across from you and dishing out his own serving. You follow suit, filling your bowl with the shiny black noodles and an array of food from the smaller side dishes scattered over the table.

You sit back and start eating, observing as the natural conversation between the roommates swells back in to fill up the space. The food is delicious. Not too salty, just the right balance of sweet and sour, and a hint of spice to bring it all together. Definitely better than the take out you’re used to. This new knowledge sinks into place, shifting the gears on your ever-expanding opinion of Mingyu. You eye him thoughtfully as he speaks with Seungcheol–face animated, body open and casual.

Seeing him in the daylight, removed from the shadows of the darkened kitchen, he is less intimidating than you remember. Still imposing in stature–tall, broad, and clearly quite muscular—his face betrays some inner softness you didn’t fully expect. He just seems…kind. And clearly very comfortable with himself considering his willingness to cook for you so early on, extending that olive branch to a veritable stranger. Sure you were living together, but you would have expected some amount of initial reservation.

You lose yourself in your thoughts and food, feeling the anxiety you had felt upon walking in here dissolve with each bite, until your attention is diverted by the sound of your own name.

“That’s your name right?” Vernon asks and you nod in the affirmative, slurping up the noodles hanging out of your mouth. “I’m Vernon, nice to finally put a face to the name.”

You take his proffered hand, shaking it awkwardly while you set down your bowl and chopsticks with the other. You rush to swallow before replying, “likewise. Nice to meet you, Vernon.”

He nods–slowly, like he’s evaluating the moment–and you briefly wonder if that’s going to be the end of the conversation, but he speaks again, nodding towards the man on your right side. “You went to school with Jeonghan, right?” he asks and you hum a yes. “That’s cool.” He leans back in his chair, gazing out over the opposite side of the table like a mariner, “are you in architecture as well?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I was there for graphic design, actually. Since the arts department in general was so small though we crossed paths a lot. Plus, I was dating his roommate at the time.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool,” he nods. You’re beginning to wonder if it’s a nervous tick of his or if he just had loose neck muscles.

“How do you know him?” you ask, though you’re sure Jeonghan had told you at some point or another.

“Friends with the guy who used to live here, Dino. Well, Chan. Dino was an old nickname from our varsity basketball days,” he chuckles and you can’t help but smile in response to the ease of it.

“You played basketball?” you narrow your eyes slightly, evaluating his tie-dye sweatshirt and loose jeans. You would have taken him more as a burn-out than a jock.

“Yeah, we weren’t very good, though. Chan’s short as hell and I don’t love running, but it was a small school and my mom thought it would be a good idea to ‘get involved’.” He cushions the last two words in air quotes.

“What were you in school for?” you ask while piling another selection of side dishes into your bowl.

“Film and television production,” he says around a mouthful of food. “Wanted to get into the acting side of things but the spots were limited.”

“Are you working in media now?” you ask, curiosity growing—in all your idle pondering about your new roommates’ you hadn’t anticipated Vernon to be the acting type. But meeting him now, feeling the sense of ease and casual confidence he carries himself with, it felt like a natural fit.

“Kinda sorta,” he shrugs, “I’m doing grunt work and then going to auditions the rest of the time. Might start dipping back into theatre just to keep the resume fresh.”

“That’s cool,” you nod, unconsciously parroting him.

“How about you, how’s the graphic design world treating you?”

“It’s good,” you start, unsure about what to say about work that you’ve been mostly avoiding for the past few weeks. “I’ve been freelance for a few years. Taking on projects here and there for some clients I’ve had for a while.”

The clean-up had begun around you while you chatted with him. Dishes are being gathered and rinsed, Jeonghan is complaining about always getting stuck with washing while Mingyu holds a soapy sponge aloft, rolling his eyes over the sink. You stand to help but Seungcheol waves you off before you can even gather up your own bowl.

You watch them perform this domestic dance, weaving around each other with practised steps, and wonder when you might start to feel a part of it. They had been so welcoming about opening their home to you so far but that lingering feeling of intrusion–of being a guest in your own home–still pressed up against the folds of your mind.

As if sensing your train of thought, Vernon leans into you–voice low like he’s revealing a secret. “They’re like a little family unit of their own,” he laughs. “I just let them do their thing, I think they enjoy it.” He snatches a lingering radish chunk before Seungcheol can clear the dish away and pushes himself out of his chair. “I gotta go over some lines for this audition tomorrow, I’ll catch ya around.”

You watch as he leaves the kitchen, heading for the staircase to the second floor of the condo–a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

It’s 12:30am the following night and everything is quiet. The glow of your laptop screen illuminates your face in the darkness of the kitchen as you type and click away, trying to meet a deadline you had been ignoring for three weeks. A small graveyard of post it notes and snack wrappers litter the table around you.

The time on the clock in the bottom right side of your screen counts down the minutes as the night drags on. Every minute that ticks by it gets harder and harder to focus on the task at hand–colours and fonts blurring into each other until it gets to a point where you’re just clipping and deleting the same pixels over and over again.

Finally it hits 1:30am and you can’t take it anymore. You snap your laptop shut and lean back in your chair, rubbing the static out of your eyes. You gather up the garbage on the table by the light of the city filtering in through the kitchen window and grab your stuff to head back to your room for the night.

You manage five steps into the living room before the front door swings open and Mingyu pours in–body pressed against the lithe frame of some brunette.

Your entire body freezes in shock as they stumble into the condo. She giggles, light and soft, as he tears himself out of her embrace long enough to lock the door behind them. Your heart pound against your ribcage and you watch in petrified horror as he presses her against the entryway wall, knee between her thighs. His face moves from hers down to her neck and she lets her head fall back with a moan. Her eyes flutter open, gaze directed out into the living room where you’re standing. A jolt of fear flares up your spine and you drop to the ground behind the couch as quietly as possible.

She must not have seen you because the soft moans and smacking sound of lips on skin continue as you crouch as low as possible–clutching your laptop close to your chest and pressing a palm to your mouth to muffle the sound of your breathing.

You feel your skin burn hot with embarrassment as you’re held captive listening to them making out mere feet away from you. Time stretches on for what feels like hours–chest shuddering with suppressed breaths and eyes peeled wide with nerves. You hear them bump against the wall, soft giggling in the dark, and chance a quick peek over the top of the couch to see them in essentially the same place as they were the last time you looked, except her legs are now hooked high over Mingyu’s hips as he grinds his hips into her. A bolt of fresh panic spikes through you.

Are they really going to have sex here? Just out in the open like this? Scandalized at the possibility.

“Mmfmin-Mingyu,” she moans out his name and you feel your stomach knot with more than just fear. A deep longing twisting in your guts. He guides her back to her feet, firm hands on her exposed thighs, and you watch as they stumble down into the dark abyss of the hallway and slip into Mingyu’s room. You’re paralyzed in the same position for a minute, eyes wide and legs burning with the effort of keeping yourself squatting low behind the corduroy sectional. Slowly you rise to your feet, still clutching your laptop to your chest like a makeshift shield, and creep slowly towards your own room.

You close the door behind you, as softly as you can manage, and expel a sigh of relief. You can still hear them through the wall that you and Mingyu share, but the sound is muffled. With gentle padded steps you move to your bed and crawl into the covers–burying your embarrassment along with yourself under your plush comforter.

You close your eyes, praying for sleep to take you and rid you of this moment, but unfortunately it falls on deaf ears. The burning in the pit of your stomach–a confusing cocktail of shame and desire–churns your guts like butter. You bite your lip to try and stave it off but the cacophony in the adjacent room grows louder with each agonizing second.

Someone moans–voice deep and rhythmic (Mingyu, your brain supplies oh-so-helpfully). Someone else falls onto the bed with a thud and a laugh–light and high like an angel. You feel the thud through the wall and groan. Was his bed against the same wall as yours? A chorus of sound swells–talking, whimpering, grunting. The assertive slap of skin on skin, hands on flesh. You screw your eyes shut tight, trying to block out the images your brain is trying to conjure up in your mind’s eye but it's no use.

Your bed frame shudders with the first thrust and you feel your entire body tense.

You feel dirty. Puritanical. Laying in bed, listening to your roommate get laid. It’s wrong, so wrong. Almost voyeuristic the way your bed and body shake with each rhythmic thrust. Mingyu’s bed frame bumps up against your shared wall and your pulse races–heating your entire body with an inferno of emotions and lust. Toes curling in confusion and desire. You can’t help but picture him in there, skin bare and glistening with a thin sheen of effort. Her hands scraping across the expanse of his back, nails dragging as they move to his chest, his arms, the taut muscles of his naked thighs.

Your bed shakes, once, and you gasp at the disruption in the rhythm–hand flying to your mouth to stifle it. You let your hand drop from your face and grip onto the comforter for some sense of stability, thighs clamped together as you try and ignore the yawning pit in your lower abdomen. The noise through the wall falters, waning. You picture him–his bright, happy face–tensed in desire and relief as he reaches his climax. Falling forward onto this girl underneath him. You imagine that it’s you underneath him, supporting his weight as he breathes–hearts stuttering in time with each other–and you feel even worse.

More faint laughter, some light shuffling and movement, and then, finally, all is silent.

You’re frozen in bed. Body wracked with anxious tension as you lay still and try to regulate your breathing. The lights of the city pour in through your open blinds, illuminating your shame as you lay immobile for what feels like hours. Soft snoring filters in through the wall to your ears and you let yourself focus on it. Following the pattern of it and using it like a sound machine. The relief of knowing that the entire event was over floods in, uncoiling the tightness in your body. It slows the beating of your heart down to a normal rate and you’re lulled into sleep on the waves of your roommate’s deep inhalations.

You wake up a few hours later–dazed, confused, and desperately needing to pee.

The floor is cold under your feet as you slide out of bed, rubbing the lingering sleep from your eyes with a closed fist. You shuffle towards the door, hand outstretched, but before you are able to open it your ears pick up on a noise in the hallway.

Hushed voices–one man and one woman. Mingyu and his date. Your heart starts beating with the memory of what could only have been a few hours ago judging by the lack of daylight seeping in through your window. You pause, ears straining to listen to them through the barrier of the door—hand poised over the knob.

Their voices are muted, words indistinguishable no matter how hard you try to focus on them. You can only pick up on the pattern of sound as they pass in front of your door, their voices fading, slowly, as they make their way down the hall. Soon it’s just a distant murmur and the buzzing of your own ears but you don’t dare leave your room yet for fear they might be lurking just outside.

After a few tense seconds, the front door to the apartment swings shut with a dull thud and you exhale in relief; finally allowing yourself to creak open your own door and step into the hallway.

The relief lasts all of two seconds before you’re unceremoniously face-to-face with Mingyu’s (blessedly clothed) chest. “Oh, sorry,” he grins, running a hand through his hair, “I didn’t see you, figured everyone was still asleep.”

“Oh, uh–” you stammer, taking a quick step back and feeling 50 shades of embarrassment flooding through you. “It’s fine, I just got up.”

“Right,” he laughs and you wish he would top doing that. It’s far too casual. The low chuckle makes him sound approachable and friendly as opposed to how you would rather view him (unapproachable and intimidating, like a beefy rottweiler). “Did you sleep well?”

The question fills your body with an immediate adrenaline rush. The fight or flight response kicks in except, unfortunately, yours is hopelessly broken. Any chance you might have had at a successful escape wastes away in hesitation and any chance at a normal response in place of the ‘fight’ has been mangled into a chorus of pitiful ‘ums’. You stare at him for a second too long, the sounds of his thrusting and moaning from the night before rattling around in your empty skull. The deep, guttural noises pounding out through the wall—spearing your temporal lobe. His face swims before your eyes as your vision blurs and your pulse races far past the point of being healthy.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you choke out a laugh, shaking your head to calm your overworked nerves, “I think I’m just coming down with a bit of a cold.” The lie slips out easily but as his brows knit in concern you realise it’s the exact wrong thing to say.

“That’s not good,” he raises a hand to your forehead–checking the temperature of your skin–and you can’t tell if you’re imagining it but you think you might faint. “You do feel a little warm.”

“O-oh,” you chuckle, pulling away from his touch as quickly as you can without appearing either rude or insane. “Guess I should get some soup.”

“Do you want me to make you something?” He asks and you almost scream the word ‘no’ into his face.

“That’s okay,” you shake your head again, feigning the most normal smile you can muster, “I’ll be fine, I’m sure you have better things to do anyway.”

“Nothing that can’t be rescheduled,” he insists. You watch his fingers twitch at his side–as if they want to reach back out towards you–and he shifts to tuck his hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him, though at this point you weren’t sure if that was ever going to be a possibility for you again. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

His lower lips juts out in an almost-pout and you think you really might scream this time, but he just nods after a second with a small ‘ok’ before turning back into his room. You watch his door click shut behind him before you slide back into your own room–bladder all but forgotten.

#caratlibrary #svthub #mingyu x reader #wonwoo x reader #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #seventeen angst #mingyu fluff #wonwoo angst #svt x reader

259 notes · View notes

wickedsingularity · 2 years

Text

#I hate my irrational brain #I fucking hate it #Twisted idiotic piece of dramatic overthinking shit #How much for a lobotomy?#Just...shut the fuck up #Should probably delete later #Or maybe not post at all #But I feel like I'm about to explode and I just need to open the lid a little #Let out some steam hoping it'll help me sleep #And not lie here and think myself deeper and deeper into a pit #Merry fucking Christmas and happy Easter

0 notes

wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.

Three minutes past check-in.

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.

“Hi.”

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.

But that’s not the worst of it.

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.

“You let me know if you need a break.”

Still, there’s no response.

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands.

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction.

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.

For that, Bucky owes him everything.

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.

You’d killed them all.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow.

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you.

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly.

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye.

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you.

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax.

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze.

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you.

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again.

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n

3K notes · View notes

needleanddead · 3 years

Text

remember when i was like ‘i will probably use this blog to write some horrible reader-insert fanfiction too’? yeah.

knife-edge, strade x reader, 3.2k

trigger warnings: not sfw, non-con, blood, violence, gore, references to torture/snuff films, honestly i figure you probably know what you’re getting into if you’re seeing this. reader uses no pronouns/neutral pronouns but is vaguely implied to be afab.

cross-posted to ao3

You do not know how you still have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg.

Well.

That’s a lie, really; you have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg, because you know that the moment you stop – the moment you let yourself truly succumb to that pit of nothingness that lies heavy and waiting in your chest – he will lose interest in you completely, and you will meet the same fate as all of the rest of them do.

Despite the shock collar that lies heavy around your throat; the proof that he had seen some value in you beyond what you might feel like if he tore you into pieces and let you rot, you know that any peace you have here is temporary. He’ll get bored. He’ll lose control. He’ll--

Sometimes you wonder if those things might be better. The idea of death hovers at the edges of your vision like a spectre, waiting for you – and you are a coward and you run from it, whimpering and sensitive with tears rolling down your cheeks whenever he takes you back down the creaking basement stairs and wraps rope around already rubbed-raw wrists.

You don’t think you’d recognise the sight of your own wrists without the rope burn any more. It seems so long since you’ve been anything other than captive. You’re not sure you even know who you are unless you have a blade half-buried in your thigh or thick fingers digging and reopening wounds or pliers too close to vulnerable flesh.

You think he likes that, too – that you don’t seem to exist unless you’re hurting. Delights that he’s broken you without breaking the part of you that he really likes; the one with the trembling lip and the gasping and the tears beading in your eyes. You beg less now; you have learnt that he’s always able to turn a ‘please, please don’t, not that--’ into something that’s somehow worse. But when you’d first woken up all rope-burnt and disoriented with your arms wrapped around a pole in a basement that smelt like copper and oil, you had begged until your throat was sore.

What you had gotten for your troubles was your own hand wrapped around the knife handle as you sliced into too soft, too giving flesh and stared in horror at bubbling rivulets of blood with the dim thought in the back of your mind; I did this to myself.

It’s a dangerous knife-edge that you’re walking; don’t fight too much, but don’t give in too much. Don’t break, but don’t entirely yield. If he gets bored of you, or if you push him too far – then the collar around your neck will be carefully unlocked and you’ll regret everything. You’ll meet the fate that you so narrowly avoided, bleeding and broken and disoriented as your life slips away to the tune of Strade’s fingers wrapped too hard about your throat.

Or worse, you’ll meet the fate you’ve seen some of the ones who have broken too early become acquainted with; bandana wrapped around his mouth and camera painstakingly readjusted to perfectly centre a sobbing, terrified face. You have been far too close to the ones who end up that way; brought down to the basement and given a nail gun as you’re shoved onto your knees in front of a girl who might once have been pretty but is a little too matted with blood and bruises to be called the same any more.

“I thought they might like to see someone else hurt her this time, schatzi,” his smile had not dimmed a watt. When you had first met him, that smile had put you at ease; his eyes had reminded you of honey, and you’d been so flattered, so warmed, to have the attention of someone who oozed easy charm--

You know now his eyes are not the soft amber of honey but the sharp yellow-orange of a hawk; a predator. When he had smiled at you, he had not been thinking of the kindness of making someone feel comfortable – he had merely been imagining how prettily you would break. Which, as he had not failed to tell you after you’d sobbed out every plea you could and had jagged stitches and broken bones and blood crusted on your face to prove it, had been even more lovely than he had imagined.

The nail gun had been too heavy in your hand; the trigger sweaty, because Strade himself was over-excited and flushed dark pink under tanned skin and excitement beading at his brow. Your fingers had slipped all over it as he’d murmured;

“They want you to put a pretty pattern in her up her shins to her knees. Start at the . . . haa, start at the ankle--”

You’d felt something inside of you snap as if it was very far away as you stared at her legs; already cut up a little and stitched messily, as Strade is so wont to do to make sure his captives last longer. You hesitate too long, because suddenly thick, strong fingers are gripping your jaw and squeezing too hard as they turn your face towards the camera like a rabbit caught in headlights.

His fingers will bruise your face, you know – and he will see it tomorrow, and dig them harder, make the bruises deeper until you can barely open your jaw--

“Ah, they think you’re cute, mäuschen,” Strade says, an uncomfortable lilt in his voice that sets your teeth on edge. “They’d be happy to see you as the star instead – and I’m sure our other guest would much prefer it too.”

(The girl in the chair leans forward, babbling words that don’t make sense; bubbling drool slips from her lips, tinged pink, and you think that this one must have talked too much and Strade has done something to her tongue).

“Now,” his tone is endlessly patient. “You know I want to keep you, ja? You’re very sweet. I like you a lot - so be good and do what the audience want, and I won’t have to do something I don’t want to, will I?”

He is hard to read. Cheerful to angry in moments; snapping and bouncing from side to side with a laugh and a wild light in his eyes that you don’t understand. He does like you – insofar as you think Strade is capable of really feeling for other people – but you can’t wager your life on him bluffing. The girl looks at you with agonised eyes and you pull the trigger, the nose of the gun pressed against her ankle.

You hear her scream – wet, through a throat clogged with blood, the sound mixing with the disgusting crunch-squelch of the nail being driven into her skin too close to the bone – and it echoes far longer in your head than it actually lasts. You feel far away as you trail the gun further up her leg, pulling the trigger, your marks on her surprisingly straight considering how much the both of you are trembling – but you know you’re crying because you can hear Strade breathing a little heavy, see the bulge in his pants (level with your face) from the corner of your eye as you finish the first leg and move to the second.

It’s not the last time he makes you hurt someone on stream. Sometimes, he checks the stream whilst you’re there and whichever poor soul he’s got taped to a chair whimpers and squirms, whistling cheerily through his teeth as if the situation is perfectly normal. You see the comments as they scroll by; asking you to do horrible things, the ping of donations, the occasional plea to dig a screwdriver into your eye socket and make you scream or pull out your teeth with pliers or slash a heavy knife through your ribcage and fuck the wound he leaves there--

You think he lets you see them on purpose, as a reminder of what he could do to you. He always makes sure the stream sees your face perfectly clearly, too – and you never fail to think; ‘he is making me an accessory to his murders’.

(It is not just you; you find out that Ren is subjected to this same treatment, this same reminder that Strade’s moods are volatile and he loses self-control too quickly and there’s every chance that one day, he will go too far. You do not share your thoughts with Ren that even if, by some miracle, the two of you found yourself outside of Strade’s control, your face is probably plastered all over the darkest shadows of the deep web. You never talk about what might happen. You do not quite trust each other beyond sharing in patching up each other’s wounds, occasionally seeking one another out for company, trembling in the night. There is a kind of tension between you; fear that the other is the favourite. That Strade perhaps isn’t capable of keeping both of you long-term.

It makes Strade himself laugh when he sees that you’re on edge around each other and he leans forward to rest elbows on knees and tells you with a wicked glint in his eye that he just wants the both of you to get along. Perhaps you two need to share something very special, like what he shares with the both of you.

When he tells you to hurt one another, Ren has the advantage of animal nature. It’s clear to you where you stand in the pecking order of predators. You think, too, that Strade prefers you there. Master, fox, mouse.)

You never hear anything from the room designated as yours; it doesn’t escape notice that there is no other bedroom, aside from Ren’s domain and the one that Strade himself barely uses. Nowhere for someone else, if Strade were to take it into his head that another captive would be an interesting pet to keep--

It has been long enough that there are some things you have asked for, tremulous and whimpering, decorating surfaces and scattered about the room. There are also reminders of Strade, too; a hammer and nails on a chest of drawers, a knife in the bedside cabinet, too many things that could be used as weapons at the same time as being summarily excused as simply the detritus of a man doing home improvements.

You’d woken up that morning (you know it is morning because early fingers of dawn have penetrated even through the curtains you keep closed) to see Strade silhouetted in the doorway, smile on his face, shirt spattered with dark red and brown. You know that expression. You sit up, letting the covers fall, and he keeps smiling as he closes the door behind him and approaches you like a wolf approaches a frightened rabbit.

“Last night was disappointing,” he says, his tone light. You’d heard a thump in the middle of the night; assumed it to be Strade dragging a body down to the basement, and had resolutely buried your face into your pillow and pretended you heard nothing.

It’s easier to think of Strade’s other victims – the ones not so lucky as you or Ren – as faceless, foolish creatures. Food. Sustenance. Not people.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, cracking. Strade reaches across and chucks your chin, too fondly, bright smile and bright eyes.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. He’s pleased with the apology. He likes it when you’re polite. “It just means that I’m feeling a little . . . ahh. Restless. You’ll help me with that, won’t you?”

“Of c-course I will.” The stutter; he likes that, you know. He shifts as he sits on the bed.

A chuckle.

“You’re always so well-behaved,” he tells you. “sehr süß.”

The knife-edge you walk; the tight-rope. Well-behaved, but not broken. Responsive, but not troublesome. You’ve gotten it down to a fine art.

He’s on top of you before you can respond, knees shoved between your legs, your hand shoved hard against the bedside table so it knocks uncomfortably against hard wood and you flinch at the shock of pain.

The brief pain, though, is nothing to the anxiety that crawls up your throat as you realise he grabbed the hammer and nails as he walked in.

He chuckles as he sees your eyes widen in fear, cooing softly to you;

“That expression. So hübsch. Stay still for me.”

Your wrist is shaking as Strade carefully places a nail right in the centre of your hand; testing the angle, the positioning. His breath is uneven and panting in excitement at what he’s going to do – and excitement, too, that he knows you won’t pull away. Because you know if you do, it will not merely be a nail through one hand, but perhaps through your other and your knees and your feet, perhaps a knife slicing through you like butter, perhaps the feel of chisels and needles and sharper and more painful objects (knife, pliers, screwdriver, chisel, bradawl, drill--).

He lifts the hammer. He watches intently. His eyes are lit with bright excitement, chest heaving, sweat-soaked and greasy. You taste copper and realise you’ve bitten through your lip.

You’ve grown used to the smell of copper and motor oil and meat. If it weren’t for the flood of blood across your tongue you doubt you’d have noticed.

Crack. The first blow. The pain is blinding.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Every single hit of the hammer sends a new shock of pain through you that echoes through the inside of your arm through to the bone marrow, shaking you. It’s not the most painful thing you’ve felt at Strade’s hands; but you are still partly asleep, still not quite aware, and you are simply looking at your hand with the crunch of fractured bones (twenty seven bones in the human hand; is that your capitate, that’s been splintered through?) and the sick wet noise of blood and muscle and you can’t think.

You stare, unblinking, at where your hand is nailed to the bedside table - the gore and blood that oozes from the wound as he uses the clawed end of the hammer to drag it out again. Strade’s smile is beatific, eyes wide and bright, sweat dampening his collar and his cheeks flushed and ruddy.

You’re unable to process anything for another long, agonising second; relief flooding you when finally, you respond. The whimper a delayed reaction, the tears that roll fat and hot down your own face taking a beat longer than usual.

You fear that you’ve broken for the moment you’re staring in horror; that he has finally, well and truly snapped you in half. Because if you’re broken, that means he’ll lose interest, and that means the basement and the fear of death finally catching up with you.

Occasionally the thought flits across your mind that death perhaps would be preferable; but you are a coward, and you have hurt people (even if it was on Strade’s command), and you do not want to know what awaits you on the other side of a non-beating heart and the light in a tunnel.

Strade chuckles, affectionately rubbing his nose against the line of your jaw, teeth digging just a little too hard into the flesh of your neck.

“You had me worried for a second, mäuschen,” he practically purrs. “I thought I’d heard the last of your squeaking.” Big fingers, tugging at your thighs, guiding you to wrap them around his hips. Despite the softness of his body, the proof that he enjoys lazing around and cheap beer and meat a little too much, there’s raw muscle beneath the chub. Even his hands on you are a reminder of how strong he is.

(Strong enough to drag dead bodies across floors, to lift them into kilns, to hold down unwilling, screaming captives and make them regret they ever laid eyes on him.)

“Unzip,” he tells you. One of your hands is free; unpierced, though scarred from being pressed against stove burned and soldering irons and heat guns, from grabbing the blade of a knife when he’s told you to fuck yourself with the handle, from sanders applied to formerly soft skin. You do not use that hand.

You force yourself to move the one dripping in your own blood, the ruined hand pierced straight through. The movement of your fingers burns, sending shock waves of pain all through you; but you tug at the zip of his pants nonetheless. You get blood all over his clothes but he just chuckles low and dangerous, as you reach into his underwear too and squeeze your eyes shut when you feel how hot and hard and heavy his cock is in your grip.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you, soft, and you force yourself to open them. He drinks in the expression on your face like he’s a starved man and it’s his first meal.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shaft when your fingers and wrist finally give out and your hand falls onto the sheets and pillows beneath you, staining them too, and you think that Strade is going to drive more nails through your hand just to prove a point about not doing as he says.

But his cock presses hot and needy against your inner thigh, smearing blood and pre-come on your scarred skin, and he’s panting and practically drooling as he murmurs;

“You know you’re not going to break, schatz. You want to live too much.” He leans his face further down. He does not kiss you so much as take control of you; worry teeth into your bottom lip, transfer his own saliva into your mouth, conquer the cavern behind your lips and teeth (one of them is loose; from being hit and squeezed. He pushes his tongue just a little too hard against that one and your body contracts, a whimper transferred from your throat to his mouth, and he swallows it up like your protests are a fine steak). “Ah. That’s what I like about you.”

Are you going to break? The push of him pressing inside of you makes your toes curl, a soft noise that might be a moan escape; Strade laughs, again, the sound too hearty and friendly to come out of the monster that you know he is.

“You like it,” he presses, as his thumbs come to your hips and dig into wounds that have been stitched together; you hear the stitches pop, feel him re-open barely healed gashes. “You like being special to me. You like this.”

You don’t think you do.

You don’t think you like any of this; his body on top of yours, the pain, the mistrust, the fear that prickles hot and sharp and sour in your throat whenever you hear the door (the one you can’t go near) open. But you also know that saying that is the wrong answer. Hitting and screaming like a wildcat is the wrong answer. Saying nothing at all is the wrong answer.

So instead, you open your mouth, you shiver and shudder as his thumb presses deeper into the re-opened wound, and you manage to choke out a mouse-squeak of;

“Pl-please—”

It’s the right answer. His face does not soften; but his smile widens, his hips tilting until you’re so full you can barely move and you ache everywhere, and Strade simply smiles down at you as whatever passes for affection for him leaks into his tone and he coos;

“Don’t worry, mäuschen. I’ll give you exactly what you want. For as long as you need.”

[german translation dictionary; schatzi - sweetheart/dear/darling/treasure mäuschen - little mouse sehr süß - very sweet/very cute so hübsch - so pretty idk how accurate these are i am just using google translate always]

#strade x reader #strade x you #btd strade #reader-insert #not sfw #non con tw #gore tw #torture tw #i think this is the nastiest thing i've written but it's probably just gonna get worse #🦇 pip writes #i had to delete a lot of old fics from an old ao3 for this so it wasnt in the same place as my other reader-inserts dfvnnjbgf

106 notes · View notes

occultfolk · 4 years

Text

Lets talk: chakras!

in this post, we'll talk about chakras! what they are, why its important to keep them balanced and how they can aid/hinder our spiritual journey.

FAQs |

I. what even are chakras? Chakras points of energy throughout the body where the physical and higher selves meet.

II. what do they do? each chakra corresponds to massive nerve centers and major organs in the body. each of the 7 chakras also contains our spiritual states of being.

INTRODUCTION |

so what ARE the 7 chakras? glad you asked! let's break them down, one by one, because in order to begin to unblock or even open our chakras, we need to understand them throughly.

before we begin, let's do a little meditation lesson. lie down on a comfortable, flat surface. now, using your pendulum, hover over each of your chakra points — if the pendulum moves with the flow of the position of your body, the chakra is open. but if it does not move, it is blocked.

now, this comes with a grain of salt because while it can be a useful simple way to check the chakras, it cannot be the only way you check them.

SEVEN CHAKRAS |

1. Root Chakra (Muladhara)

The root chakra represents our foundation. On the human body, it sits at the base of the spine and gives us the feeling of being grounded. When the root chakra is open, we feel confident in our ability to withstand challenges and stand on our own two feet. When it's blocked, we feel threatened, as if we're standing on unstable ground.

Location: Base of spine, in tailbone area

What it controls: Survival issues such as financial independence, money, and food

Mantra: "I can't grow from an unsteady foundation."

Color: Red

Element: Earth

Stone: Hematite

2. Sacral Chakra (Swadhisthana)

The sacral chakra helps inform how we relate to our emotions and the emotions of others. It also governs creativity and sexual energy. Those with a blocked sacral chakra could feel a lack of control in their lives.

Location: Lower abdomen, about 2 inches below the navel

What it controls: Your sense of abundance, well-being, pleasure, and sexuality

Mantra: "I always honor others but not before myself."

Color: Orange

Element: Water

Stone: Tiger's Eye

3. Solar Plexus Chakra (Manipura)

The third chakra, the solar plexus chakra, speaks to your ability to be confident and in control of your life. Think back to the last time you had butterflies or felt a pit in the stomach: That's the Manipura chakra at work. If your solar plexus chakra is blocked, you might feel overwhelming amounts of shame and self-doubt. Those with open sacral chakras are free to express their true selves.

Location: Upper abdomen in the stomach area

What it controls: Self-worth, self-confidence, and self-esteem

Mantra: "Self-love starts when I accept all parts of myself."

Color: Yellow

Element: Fire

Stone: Amber

4. Heart Chakra (Anahata)

The heart chakra is the bridge between the lower chakras (associated with materiality) and the upper chakras (associated with spirituality). As the name suggests, this chakra can influence our ability to give and receive love—from others and ourselves. Someone with a blocked heart chakra will have difficulty fully opening up to the people in their life. If someone's heart is open, they can experience deep compassion and empathy.

Location: Center of chest, just above the heart

What it controls: Love, joy, and inner peace

Mantra: "When I love myself, loving others comes easily."

Color: Green

Element: Air

Stone: Rose Quartz

5. Throat Chakra (Vishuddha)

The throat chakra gives voice to the heart chakra and controls our ability to communicate our personal power. When it's functioning at full capacity, it allows us to express ourselves truly and clearly. Someone with a blocked throat chakra will feel like they have trouble finding the words to say how they truly feel.

Location: Throat

What it controls: Communication, self-expression, and truth

Mantra: "I speak my truth, always."

Color: Light Blue/Turquoise

Element: Sound/Music

Stone: Aquamarine

6. Third-Eye Chakra (Ajna)

As we move up the body, we're getting closer to communion with the divine. The third-eye chakra controls our ability to see the big picture and connect to intuition. Think of it as the eye of the soul: It registers information beyond the surface level. Visions and intuitive hits are not uncommon for someone with an open third-eye chakra.

Location: Forehead between the eyes (also called the Brow Chakra)

What it controls: Intuition, imagination, and wisdom

Mantra: "I am open to exploring what cannot be seen."

Color: Dark Blue/Purple

Element: Light

Stone: Amethyst

7. Crown Chakra (Sahasrara)

The crown chakra, the highest chakra, sits at the crown of the head and represents our ability to be fully connected spiritually. When you fully open your crown chakra—something very few people ever do!—you're able to access a higher consciousness.

Location: The very top of the head

What it controls: Inner and outer beauty, spiritual connection

Lesson: "I am a vessel for love and light."

Color: Violet/White

Element: Divine Consciousness

Stone: Clear quartz

BLOCKED/OPEN |

now that we have a better understanding of the chakras, what they do and more important where they are, we can talk about the reasons we might have blocks, and the things we can do to reopen those blocks and therefore progress in our spiritual journies.

i read a book about charkas a while ago, and then i feel it explains the reasons better than i could, here is an excerpt from that book.

"A blocked chakra means energy is stuck or hindered. You might think of it as a blocked artery. In order for energy and information to flow, the channels through which they flow must be open. You will have difficulty getting to work on time if the roads are blocked by traffic. In the same way, the chakras cannot work at optimal levels when the pathways have blockages. These blockages can be physical, emotional or psychological, spiritual, karmic, or energetic.

The blocks can be physical, in the literal sense, such as fatty deposits in the arteries, a tumor, a cyst, or excess waste. We can create blockages in the physical body through poor dietary choices, lack of exercise, overexertion, and lifestyle choices such as overwork, drug use, or lack of sleep.

Blocks in the chakras can also be emotional or psychological, such as stored emotions from the past or mental illness such as anxiety, depression, or addiction. We accumulate emotional toxins and residue from not properly processing and digesting emotions and experiences. These toxins result in blocking the energy flow of the chakras.

Blocks can be spiritual in nature. They can come from outside spiritual forces or from within. If we refuse to honor the spiritual side of who we are, we block the higher chakras. Being spiritually rigid and strict can also restrict the flow of energy. Remember, whether the forces are external or internal, without your conscious awareness they can create harm.

Blockages can also come from our karma. The word karma in Sanskrit literally means “action.” In life we perform actions that are good or nourishing, bad or harmful, or neutral. An example of a good action might be giving money to charity. A bad action might be intentionally lying or deceiving. A neutral action might be making the bed (which, if you dig deeper, can also be considered a good action, depending on the circumstances). In the East, certain religions and philosophies adhere to the principle that we accumulate karma throughout lifetimes, and we carry it forth into our current life. The definition of karma, in this sense, assumes a belief in reincarnation and asserts that karma is not simply the action performed but also the consequences of that action. Good karma carried forward can give us favor in our current lifetime. Bad karma is a debt we must repay in this or future lifetimes.

Finally, the blocks can be energetic. I explained a little about energetic blockages when I spoke about my astrological chart. We are a part of this earth, our solar system, and the universe. The influence of the earth’s energy and elements, as well as of the energy of the sun, moon, and planets in our solar system, is strong and undeniable. Ayurveda, the five-thousand-year-old medical system from India, recognizes these energetic forces and acknowledges them as a means of healing. You can learn more about Ayurveda by reading my book The Wheel of Healing with Ayurveda: An Easy Guide to a Healthy Lifestyle. Ayurveda works on the principles of the five elements — space, air, fire, water, and earth — which work together to create the three doshas, or mind-body types, of Vata (space and air), Pitta (fire and water), and Kapha (water and earth). These elements and mind-body types are relevant in recognizing energetic blocks within your body and the chakras. This awareness will give you more tools toward your healing of the chakras and provide a superspeed highway to creating energy flow." — CHAKRA HEALING FOR VIBRANT ENERGY by Michelle S. Fondin.

so how do we unblock them then? well, its more complicated than can be explained in a single tumblr post, but i will tell you how to get the energies moving whilst you work through the blocks and figure them out.

we need to understand, that we are all different, and our spiritual journies will all be different. the same goes for things like chakras.

1st Chakra (Root)

Element: The root chakra is associated with earth, so walking barefoot in the sand, grass, or dirt can be beneficial. Any time spent in nature is helpful for this chakra.

Nutrition: Eat healthy red foods like tomatoes, beets, berries, and apples.

Wear and Decorate: Use accents of red and wear red jewelry, clothing, or shoes.

Sound: lam

2nd Chakra (Sacral)

Element: The sacral chakra is associated with water, which means swimming or spending time by bodies of water like lakes and oceans is beneficial.

Nutrition: Eat orange foods like carrots, oranges, melons, or mangoes.

Wear and Decorate: Surround yourself with orange accessories or tones.

Sound: vam

3rd Chakra (Solar Plexus)

Element: The solar plexus chakra is associated with the element of fire, so enjoy sitting around a bonfire or soak up bright sunlight.

Nutrition: Eat yellow foods like bananas, ginger, turmeric, pineapple, and corn.

Wear and Decorate: Wearing yellow clothing, jewelry, and accessories would be beneficial.

Sound: ram

4th Chakra (Heart)

Elements: The heart chakra is associated with air, so breathing deeply will help to clear the energy at this level. Drive with the windows open, fly a kite, or take a boat ride.

Nutrition: Eat green foods including broccoli, avocado, and leafy greens like kale or spinach.

Wear and Decorate: Accent your life with all shades of green.

Sound: yum

5th Chakra (Throat)

Element: The throat chakra is associated with ether (similar to spirit), so sitting in an open space under a clear sky is a fabulous way to get this energy flowing appropriately.

Nutrition: Eat blue foods like blueberries, currants, dragon fruit, and kelp.

Wear and Decorate: Use all blue tones.

Sound: ham

6th Chakra (Third Eye)

Element: The third eye chakra is associated with light. To balance and open this chakra, sit in stillness in the sunlight or relax in a window as the sun pours in.

Nutrition: Eat indigo foods including purple kale, grapes, and blackberries.

Wear and Decorate: Wearing indigo clothing or jewelry and decorating with accents of this color will be useful.

Sound: sham

7th Chakra (Crown)

Element: The crown chakra is affiliated with all the elements, so connecting with your wholeness rather than a single element is the recommended practice. Spend time in meditation, chanting, or prayer.

Nutrition: At this level, the nutrition is no longer for the physical body. This chakra is not nourished with food, but with spiritual practices. Practice self-reflection and curiosity.

Wear and Decorate: Wearing violet clothing or jewelry and decorating with accents of this color will be useful.

Sound: om

CONCLUSION |

hopefully you all understand chakras a bit better now! but, if any questions are to come up that you can't seem to find an answer to, my ask box is always open! (like my chakras).

#chakras #witchcraft #pagan #magick #witchblr #bruja #spiritualgrowth #spiritualhealing

2K notes · View notes

justagirlsearchingforamuse · 4 years

Note

Hi, I see that you are taking NSFW requests. Would I be able to request a Johnny/fem!V size kink smut? (i.e. V suddenly realizes that Johnny was *not* exaggerating about his 'impressive cock.' :p )

Sorry that I took so damn long to answer but here is your request, I hope you enjoy it and yeah you guys can send in asks, I just take a while sometimes or have to have the inspiration to do some of your asks so ask away!

"Are you picky or just broke? Fucking pick a joytoy V, it's annoying as fuck watching you get all jittery and nervous about a fucking joytoy of all things." Johnny moaned, letting his head repeatedly hit against the dark red brick wall, pure black glasses resting upon his nose and a sour expression that never failed to somewhat put V in a shitty mood. "Just don't want the night to be shittier than ever or just plain boring but even then don't wanna be fucking crazy with whips and shit. So yeah I'm picky." V responds, shoving her hands into her pockets as her feet move forwards, the heavy smell of musk, greasy food, and motor oil the familiar and disgusting smell that could only roam in Night City. V's lustful desires had of course gotten the best of her and here she was lurking on Jig-Jig street, bright contrasting lights, the smell of cheap latex, and the odor of sex just lingers at the end of every scent. Fake smiles. Fake happiness. And fake desire. But a true and even more real need for money. That was Jig-Jig street described for V in one sentence, licking her lips her eyes move to see joytoy of all sorts on the street, all eyeing her and grinning. "Too fucking picky ... you either want vanilla sex or you want kinky ass sex, can't have both V. Not like you'll find someone able to leave you sore in the mornin' ... wake up thinkin' of nothing but him and his cock. Hm ..." Johnny groans, his voice rumbling deeply at the end as V can feel his gaze upon her and the implications that she thought he was making, ugh. "I know you're not talking about yourself ... from what I saw that was some piss poor sex you gave Alt, no wonder she was pissed as all hell, Johnny." V teases, smirking devilishly at Johnny, his grin had disappeared into a bitter expression that almost matched her at the beginning of the night. "My partners aren't ex-cops and corpo-cunts, besides none of your partners will ever compare to me or mine, hell out of all of your partners I know I have the biggest cock out of all em'." Johnny chuckled, his laugh comes out confident and prideful, V lets a scoff part her lips and she crosses her arms and it's like her body does a full eye-roll at his words. "Oh yeah, the impressive cock that takes up so little space in those stupid leather pants of yours." V chuckles, grinning from ear to ear as she watches his grin fade away and almost like his ego was beginning to shatter. "Then why the fuck you staring at my dick so much, V? Perverted much or just horny for me?" Johnny questions, crossing his arms and glitching right beside her with a devilish smirk that she wanted to wipe off his lips, the asshole actually made her question if he had this "impressive cock". "Just simply curious if you're full of shit or if you're not lying to me," V responds, a hum at the end of her words as her eyes turn to him and she stops herself at the side of an empty closed store near an alleyway.

"Did you not see enough of my memories to know or do I have to prove you wrong, darlin' ...?" Johnny chuckles, his words are smooth and sound like a purr to V's ears as he leans right beside her, a heavy and wide grin on his lips as his glasses remain sitting on the bridge of his nose. " ... I'll do it myself ... know that you think of me more than you should, darlin' ..." V purrs and when she says his affectionate nickname she forces her voice to become deeper and winks at him with a smirk curled up onto her lips, Johnny chuckles, running the tip of his tongue around the ring of his lips. "Then why don't you do something about it, merc ...? Impress me ... show me what you feel for me, darlin' ... " Johnny purrs, his eyes burning into her own as he turns to meet her eyes, he can see the slight blush that clouds V's cheeks as she crosses her arms before standing up straight as Johnny glitches out of her view. V's eyes meet a nearby club with many people dancing, drinking, and just enjoying themselves but what V really wanted to do was get on that dance floor, wanted to give him a show. The club is decently sized, it's cozy and full of warm colors such as reds, blacks, and oranges and the overall vibe just felt warm and sensual. V grins to herself, making her way into the club as she pushes through the amount of the people drinking, making out, and getting high out of their minds. She manages to finally make it onto the dance floor and waits for a good song to blast throughout the club in which V proceeds to smirk to herself, hoping and praying that Johnny was watching her because she was gonna put on a show for him. Johnny glitches into the world and is found leaning against one of the crowed walls with arms crossed but his eyes remained glued to the sight of V, to the filthily sensual show V was putting on for him. His eyes explored her figure, where her hands moved all over her body, and not to mention she was wearing a short red silk dress that fit her like a glove, her legs were just amazing and the urge to have his head in between her thighs came almost immediately. He felt his mouth salivate and his breath stopped right in his throat, hazel brown eyes remained locked onto her and the way she swayed her hips to the music. How a warm smile remained on her warm and luscious looking lips, the way her hands explored her figure, her hands move up to her breasts as she feels and clutches at the silk that covered her body. Oh, fuck ...

Spinning her heels, she begins to sway and grind her hips in a slow motion and her hands go back to exploring her figure, her hands run up to her neck as she can imagine the metal arm against her throat, she can imagine his metal fingers against her lips. "Hot damn ... I didn't know that my sweet little merc could be a little succubus ..." Johnny purrs, a chuckle rumbles at the end of his sentence as a devilish grin curls onto his lips and he takes his glasses off, V could feel his lustful gaze upon her body. V can feel his eyes on her body and V can already feel pride bubbling up in their body, even going as far as to raise her silk dress showing more of her smooth thighs before her eyes fluttered closed. V let the music take control of her body, swaying her hips to the music and she let the beat inspire her body to move to its beat, she can feel the eyes of other men on her, ugh she groans in her mind. All V wanted was his eyes on her, other men usually just see her as another fleshlight, as something to use for their own ecstasy. Johnny knew how to share it with the women he was interested in, sex with him was always something between equals no matter who you were, that's what he saw sex as. Something to enjoy, to relish in. It's not long before V can feel a pair of familiar hands resting upon her hips, his fingers are there yet they're not almost like the feeling of cool air against your skin. The aroma and the strong scent of nicotine wafted around the air, liquor clung heavily to his form, his lips bury themselves against the skin of V's neck, he inhales in her warm, human scent. She smelt sweet enough not to cloud his senses with whatever scent clung to her smooth skin, grinning warmly into her skin he lets his hands move up to her waist as he leads her body to his waist, to his hips. "A- ..." V nearly yelps, eyes slightly jump at the surreal sensation of his hips pressed against hers, she can feel his arousal pressing against her behind. "Slowly. ... Take your time, V. Hmm ... you feel that? Don't lie." Johnny purrs right in her ear, she can feel his heavy breaths against her cool skin, licking her lips a familiar warmth plagues the pit of her stomach, and butterflies crowd her stomach with hormones and sweetness.

"I can ... woah ... that's all you? Shit ..." V gasps in a short breath but bites her tongue before those stupid words can fall from her quick tongue, she can feel him all against her body, he's thick and lengthy. She can imagine he's nearly bursting in those leather pants of his, she finds herself imagining the mere sight of him in front of her, throbbing, eager, and selfishly hers. She's never been one to be selfish over someone but she'll be damned if she doesn't allow herself to indulge herself in him, indulge herself in whatever comes next for them. She grinds her hips against his, slowly swaying them against his eager hips that follow the movements of her own, both of them are eager to see where this goes. Both of them are eager to see each other's bodies, to admire their bodies, and to indulge in physical ecstasy. "Teasing me, are you ...? Come on, V ... be selfish and be greedy. Let's be greedy and selfish for one pitiful night, V. I know you want to." Johnny purrs, rugged slurred words entice her and her greedy need for him inside of her, her greedy need to have him and him alone. Turning around and snapping her gaze onto him, her eyes are hazed with lust and greed and become dark with need, her cheeks are flushed and she's moving her arms around his waist, she needs him. He needs her. She finds herself leaning swiftly into his lips, devouring and indulging in her need for him as her entire body is on overdrive, her entire body is bursting with adrenaline and it's getting hard to control it. Groaning into her lips, the warm feeling of her lips against his is a sensation he's missed, a sensation he's craved for a long time. His hand slips behind her neck as she devours his lips, her tongue parts his lips and they dance together sloppily and erratically. Moaning against his lips, V's hand rests and lingers against his bearded cheeks as they indulge in the ecstasy of the human body. Moments later, V pulls away with brightly flushed cheeks and slow yet heavy breaths leaving her heavy lungs. Everything is pulsating in her body with need, her heart, she hates how he can turn her into a puddle of mush with his words, with such ease. And he knew it too. "Ain't gonna make it home. The bathroom is the best place right now, V ... not the best or ideal ... but I'm gonna take real good care of you. Just watch." Johnny purrs, a devilish smirk resting upon his lips and a hand resting upon his hip before he glitches out of your view with a short chuckle leaving his lips. V's teeth grind against her bottom lip as she acknowledges how soaked her panties are, how he's made her feel and it's so humiliating but so embarrassingly arousing. V rubs her lips and quickly makes her way to the nearby bathroom across the club, she licks her lips and shuts the door behind her. The bathroom is fine for a public one but still has your fair share of beer bottles, bright blinding lights, and drunk passed out people in one of the stalls. "The stall ... not willing to it in front of some drunk girl," Johnny states in V's head and teleports into the slightly ajar stall, a smirk waltzing at his lips and wide legs with a heavy bulge in between his thighs, she could clearly the outline of it.

"Perv ... not that I don't mind you staring though ... just wanna hear you admit that you were wrong about my cock, V. Or are you still too stubborn to admit that ...?" Johnny taunts her, his words smooth with an edge that clings off every one of his words, he was such an ass but there was that part of her that valued that about him. "Keep the snark to a minimum or I swear to god Johnny-" V goes on, crossing her arms before Johnny chuckles and breaks her line of words. "Or what ...? Come on, darlin' ... come see my impressive cock. Admire it." Johnny purrs, words slurred and husky yet so ... commanding as he sits there, eager for her to give him some affection, and in return, he'd prove her wrong. V lets a heavy breath leave her parted lips before she enters the somewhat crowded stall with Johnny, she licks her lips before engaging in another heated kiss with the construct. "Mmh ..." Johnny groans, relishing in the sensations of her lips against his, he rests his metal hand upon her chin and he stares up at her, devilish dark eyes eager and prideful like always. "Don't you wanna see it?" Johnny purrs, hinting that she could always refuse if things were getting weird but V wanted him and he wanted her, it's very simple and yet so complicated. "I do." V strongly states before positioning herself on her knees, her mouth salivating at the mere thought of him in her mouth, she begins to undo his belt and she swiftly unzips his pants and her eyes slightly widen. Woah. Goddamn. He goes commando of course but it's there. It's pale with a flushed rosy head, veins all pumping through his lengthy leaking cock eager for any kind of warmth, he's grinning devilishly as he watches her expression of shock and slight amazement. Licking her lips once more, she wraps her entire hand around his cock, her hands look so small compared to his thick meaty cock and she moves her hand up and down and is still in amazement at how he hid it. She strokes his thick leaking cock, her eyes remain fixated on the mere sight of his cock that she can barely wrap her fingers around. His heavy lashes flutter close as he can feel sparks flood through him, he can feel her hand travel from the base of his cock down to his untamed bush of black curly hair. A short hum exited his throat as V continues to stroke his thick and lengthy cock, she continues to do so for a few moments before running her to along the sides. A shiver travels up his spine and the mere sensation of her warm moist tongue gently pressed against the sides of his throbbing cock, her curled thick eyelashes rested upon her eyelids, he watches as they flutter with the movements of her eyes. V's eyes remain fixated on the sight before her, she slowly runs her tongue along the sides before her eyes drift upwards to meet his, her eyes are gazing into his, the pure lust that clouds them is just plain arousing and tantalizing. "Fuck ...~" Johnny gasps, the heavenly curse falling from his sinful lips as he can feel V's lips wrapped around the head of his throbbing erect cock. Oh, Christ ...

"Hah ... V ... that's it ... oh, fuck just ..." Johnny groans, a short series of deep groans rumble from his throat at the warmth that consumes him, the warmth that sparks ecstasy that shoots through him like fireworks. V can feel Johnny's hands entangle themselves in her hair, running his thick ringed fingers through her locks of hair as she continues to softly suck on the throbbing flesh in between her lips. Earning groans and grunts of approval that only encouraged her to make him fucking moan her name, moaning she wraps her hand around his length, stroking and massaging the area. "Fuck ..." Johnny curses in a shallow breath, jolts and nerves of pure ecstasy course through him, it's been so fucking long since he's had someone, it's been so long since he's had the affection of anyone. He's a bastard. Selfish one at that. He's greedy and drunk off the touches V gives him, the mere sensation of her warm moist lips wrapped around him, the familiar sight of lust-filled eyes, eyes that darkened with an urge. Clutching at her locks for a few moments, his hands move down to her face, wrapping and placing themselves on her warm cheeks, caressing and gently stroking at her skin. "Take more of it. Take it all." Johnny growls in a ragged breath, greedy for more, and V is willing to indulge in his urges if he returns the favor. "Mmh ... patience, Johnny-boy ..." V purrs, his cock out of her lips before she wraps her lips back around the head of his cock before lowering her mouth even lower on his already generously sized cock. She can fill his cock, fill her throat almost entirely but she devotes herself to making him release so she does so, slowly bobbing her head up and down as she can feel tears swell in her eyes. Gripping his thighs firmly, she firmly shuts her eyes before firmly sucking on the throbbing pulsating flesh penetrating her mouth the reactions from Johnny are worth it though. The way his expression twists in pleasure, how he gnaws at his lips at the ecstasy that overwhelms him almost entirely and leaves him vulnerable to V, the way he runs his fingers through his hair before planting his fists in her hair. He's now clutching firmly at her hair, a smirk plastered on his lips as heavy breaths leave his lips along with ragged moans that fell uncontrollably from his lips. "Oh, shit ... hah ... oh, christ ..."

Suddenly he pushes her head off of his cock, pulling her swiftly into a heated kiss for a few moments, sharing a few moments of bliss before he's pulling away from her lips, eyes unable to look anywhere but her wondrous eyes. "On top, V." Johnny says, ushering her to his lap and V listens straddling his lap with her hands resting upon his shoulders and his hands slither their way down to her hips. It's not even a minute before you can feel his thick calloused fingers caress and circle around her throbbing clit, his fingers caress the sensitive nerve earning a whimper from her. He's talented with his fingers alright, he knows how to move his fingers around her clit, rubbing his fingers in continuous circles had her shuddering on his lap, gnawing at her lips, and falling prey to the heavenly sensations that shot through her. "Ugh, Johnny ..." V shudders, she can feel him bury his face into her neck, peppering multiple kisses all over her skin and it's not a minute before he sinks his fingers into her sopping, soaking heat. Moving his fingers lightly in and out of her, he's trying to prepare her for what's to come, she can feel his fingers glide without ease in and out of her before he curls his fingers into her sweet spot. "That's it ...! Hah ... fuck, oh fuck ..." V repeatedly curses, ragged breaths soon falling from lips she grinds her hips against his fingers, aching and racing to finish. "Patience, princess," Johnny mumbles into her skin before sucking firmly on her neck, leaving V breathless and gasping as she clutches firmly onto Johnny her thighs tremble and everything is throbbing with a need. "Hypocrite ... just ... mmh ... keep going." V pants, her words are slurred and she's nearly humping Johnny's hand as his fingers move almost perfectly in her, gliding at the perfect pace and he's hitting her sweet spot just right. Why hadn't she fucked him earlier? Ugh. "Fuck ...!", his fingers repeatedly hit and curl against her sweet spot, his fingers are now sliding swiftly into her and without much care. Her body is shuddering in bliss, her thighs tremble against him, her heart's pounding like a drum in her chest, and everything at this moment is perfect for her. "Really thought I was gonna let you cum, princess?" Johnny teases, his fingers slip out of her as he turns his attention towards her and a devilish grin rests upon his lips before his fingers enter his lips and he licks her juices clean off his fingers. "Wanted to keep you ... pleased enough to wait for the real fuckin' show ... to show you what it's all about fucking Johnny Silverhand." Johnny grins devilishly, firmly smacking V's ass earning a yelp from her before he's ripping V's panties off of her body, greedy to feel her on top of his cock, eager to feel that warmth you can't get anywhere but from a human. He missed being ... alive. Being human.

"Could've said that first asshole ..." V pouts, her eyes roll away from his as she wraps her arms around his neck, she can feel him rub himself in between her soaked slit, sucking in a breath he pushes V's hips down onto his large throbbing cock. "Oh, fuck ..." The words fall from your lips sinfully well, fullness and almost a complete sensation washes over her, her cheeks are flushed and almost as warm as the sun. She's so lovely. Johnny thinks to himself, his hands caress her waist and his dark brown eyes fixate on hers, and a weight is lifted off of V's shoulders. Peace. She inhales, taking in a breath before she begins to grind and roll her hips back and forth against his lap, heaviness fills her lungs as a whine slowly rolls off her tongue. Groaning, he rests his cool silver hand against her cheek, cupping and shaping his hand to outline her jaw before his fingers gently caress her flushed warm cheeks, her eyes flutter close as she bites her tongue. "Fuck ... you're .... so fucking ... big." V whines, sucking in a breath as he stretches her warm silky walls and fills all the space inside of her to the point she feels more than full, but the way another whine slips from her lips tells him she's enjoying it. "Told you so ... didn't I, doll?" Johnny huffs, a chuckle coughing out at the end of his words before he wraps his fingers around her throat earning a gasp from the woman above him, her eyes widen for a moment before she wraps her hands around his arm. "Don't make love to me. .... I'm begging you to fuck me." V grins devilishly at the man underneath her, she begins to move her hips up and down, taking in all of him inside of her with ease and bliss boiling up inside of her. His hand slips away from her throat for a moment before he decides "fuck it" and wraps his hand around her throat once more, lightly squeezing against her throat, a gasp falls from her lips once more before his name falls from her lips. "Johnny ..." It sounds so sinful, so sweet, so arousing, the way she says his name, his body perks up at the sound and it's not long before he's chuckling devilishly and gazing intensely into her eyes. The pure lust, the bliss, everything that he was feeling she could see clouded in his dark brown eyes, the way he gazed into her eyes set her body ablaze with bliss. Fuck it, she wastes no time in slamming her hips down onto his lap, his throbbing cock curls into her sweet spot, repeatedly hitting it and sending waves of bliss shooting and bursting through her. Groaning at the ecstasy that pulsates and throbs through him, he pulls her in by the throat and firmly entangles her into a sloppy kiss that has saliva on the sides of V's mouth. "Johnny ..." V moans once more, slamming and throwing her hips down onto his throbbing cock, she's so full and his cock is all that taints her mind. "Hah ..." Heavy breaths and low murmurs of his name are the only things that roll off her tongue, his hand trails down from her neck to her breasts that move along with the motions of her body. He squeezes her breast and can see the way she shys away from him, turning her head away from his gaze as she continues to ride him, chasing and aching for sweet release. It's not far ...

"Goddamn V ..." Johnny growls, biting at his tongue as burning bliss boils up into him, it's bubbling and boiling inside of him, it's hot, passionate, and fucking intense. Grabbing at V's hair, he yanks her in his direction, almost demanding she keeps eye contact with him, moans of ecstasy fall from her parted lips as her lips rush at his, groaning and moaning against his lips she is in pure heaven. Only pulling away when she can feel him thrust his hips upwards into her, bliss and ecstasy become one and it leaves V nearly screaming his name at the top of lungs. The sensations that move and course through her being are hot, intense, and everything in between, her insides are hot, warm, and mushy. He's all that is on her mind, his bliss, her bliss, it's all she can fucking think about and she doesn't care how fucking insane she may seem. "Johnny ...! Oh!" V gasps breathlessly, clinging to him and wrapping her arms around him, he's moving ruthlessly in and out of her, repeatedly hitting her sweet spot that sends her nerves into a blissful frenzy that leaves her aching for more and more. She's getting wetter and hotter with each moment of ecstasy, her hips continue to slam onto his lap with the sounds of her body slamming onto his echoing through the stall. "Gonna ... gonna fucking ... cum soon! Oh, shit ...!" She whines, moan after moan leaves her red and almost swollen lips as she wraps her arms around him firmly, her hands clutch a fistful of his black hair as many curses fall from her lips, she can feel her body burn up like a fresh fire is inside of her. Johnny can feel it too, he's panting like a dog in heat as heavy breaths leave his lips, he can feel her hot silky walls cling to his throbbing cock, she grips him firmly and takes the breath out of him. "Shit ... shit, shit shit ... come all over my ... thick cock, doll ... don't stop until you can feel me ... in your guts ..." Johnny purrs in a heavy breath, his hands move from her back and trail down to her ass, squeezing firmly at the round flesh. It happens. V boils over, her thighs tremble and jerk against him, as a continuous and brutal wave of ecstasy washes over her, it's exactly what she fucking needed. She nearly tears out his hair and he can feel her grasp soften on his hair as he clutches onto her, growling into her neck and into her smooth skin. It shoots through him, in a powerful heated wave that comes at once, he presses himself deeper into her, stretching and driving as deep as he can into her. His warm semen coats her insides or whatever kind of semen a construct can give you but it's hot and warm and leaves her shuddering at the heat that fills her. She gets off of his lap, her thighs still trembling and her cheeks still flushed, she gets up and finds herself against the door before she positions herself onto the floor, legs all wide and dress ruffled.

"Damn ... not even fucking alive ... yet you can still give it like it's nobody's business ..." V chuckles, grinning warmly at him, strands of hair are in front of her eyes as she can see him pull a cigarette out of pocket before he lights it up, inhaling the toxic stick of nicotine that he was undeniably addicted to. "Course' I can, V ... whether I'm dead or alive, I can fuck the shit out of anyone ... is that proof enough for you that Johnny Silverhand has had an impressive cock, or do I need to prove it to you once again ...?" Johnny challenges her with a taunting smile that curls onto his lips, a heavy wave of smoke leaves his lips before he presses the cigarette into his lips once more. " ... Yeah, you were right, dickhead ... now home I guess? I am more than exhausted ..." V huffs, getting up from off the floor and fixing out her crimson red dress, a cigarette is wedged in between his fingers as he fades away out of her view, glitching back into 1's and 0's. A deep sigh leaves her lips as she exits the bathroom stall, she can feel eyes glaring at her and staring at her only to add to her shame as she quickly scurries out of the bathroom. Immediately gets back home and smiles when she finally makes it to her bed, clutching at her pillow as her eyes flutter for a few moments before closing. Goodnight, doll ...

#cyberpunk 2077 #johnny/v #cyberpunk johnny #johnny silverhand #johnny x v #cp2077 #johnny x reader #cyberpunk 2077 smut #johnny x reader smut

184 notes · View notes

foodieforthoughts · 4 years

Text

Poker Night

Summary: It's Syverson's last night with her before he is deployed back to duty in the desert. She challenges him for a game of strip poker and ends up on the table.

Pairing: Syverson x OFC

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (male receiving), deep throating, penetration, anal penetration, unprotected sex

A/N: I just love writing about Syverson! And I truly believe he is an ass man. No one can change my mind. Also, thirst away!

@wanderlustkitkat @michelehansel @stephartrave @yuhsophie @hennerslionhat @henrythickcavill @eldarwen333 @henryobsessed @peakygroupie @klaine-92 @thelastsock @indigosaurus @oddsnendsfanfics @viking-raider @cavillliketravel @geralt-of-baevia @achaoticaugust @dancingwendigo @littlefreya @luclittlepond @mansaaay @agniavateira @inlovewithhisblueeyes @henryobsessed @henryfanfics101 @poucinette1333 @ohmygoodie @oolicity @the-soot-sprite @asyverson @b-j-d @cavills-cavalry @hell1129-blog

**Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from my tags**

Title: Poker Night

"Ha!" I jumped up in my seat as I threw another flush on the table. "You suck at this, Sy."

The captain grunted from his chair, throwing his cards on the table unceremoniously. He grabbed a hold of his beer bottle and took a huge swig off it.

Sy was to be deployed tomorrow, which meant at least another six months without us being together. We could have just cuddled up in bed, but since that is what we did the entire time he was here, I tried to switch it up.

And besides, this kept my mind distracted of the thoughts of him being away in the desert and the possibility of him never making it back.

I shook my head, grinning at the captain. I had suggested we play some poker instead. We had our dinner, I helped him pack his bag, his uniform sitting nicely pressed on our bed and pulled out the cards.

Sy had brought out a beer and sat himself with a grunt. The man did not show his emotions, but I could feel his eyes lingering on me like he was trying to memorize every part of my body.

"This is Texas Holdem' Poker, how can you be so bad at it?" I shuffled the card again for another round.

"Careful, doll. You don't wanna be gettin' spanked all night."

I bit my lip at the thought. I wouldn't mind getting spanked by him. I could already feel wetness in between my thighs as he smirked at me while gulping down his beer.

I started distributing our cards, when an idea struck me."Maybe you don't have an incentive to win. How about me make it strip poker?"

That definitely pulled Sy's attention. He sat up straighter in his chair, placing the bottle aside and took his cards in his hand.

"Are you ready to strip, Captain?"

***

A round of games later, Sy sat in only his underwear and his cap. He had lost all his deals and I wasn't complaining. He was a sight to behold. The vast expanse of his chest, covered in dark hair, muscles taught and flexing everytime he moved. I was tripping on my new found power to strip the captain of his clothes while I sat there fully clothed.

"You really, really suck." I laughed, arranging my cards to make a hand.

Sy looked at me from under his cap, his gaze intense. He scratched his beard, looking at his cards and arranging them. "How about we make it more interesting?"

"I'm listening," I sat back against my chair, intrigued as to what the man had to offer.

"Sudden death. Whoever looses, strips completely."

I smirked at him, loving the idea. If I could make the Captain strip naked, he would never hear the end of it. I bounced in my seat, not nearly able to contain my excitement.

We began our game. I smiled looking at the straight hand that I was making. Sy was either pulling on a poker face or he was loosing. I liked to think it was the latter, my eyes widening with only two cards left for the hand to complete.

"Here you go."

Sy laid out his cards on the table, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips behind the beard.

"What? No.." I looked at his card incredulously. "A royal flush?! What the-!"

"Don't you know me at all, woman? It's Texas Holdem'. I grew up playing that." I threw my cards at the table, annoyed.

"Now, now. Don't be a sore loser. You know what you have to do." A mischievous grin formed on his face, him sitting back with his hands behind his head.

Oh, how he liked to be in power. He knew he could give me the upper hand and then pull the carpet from underneath me. But I was a military wife alright. He had married his match.

Sliding the chair back, I stood up. I could still win at this, not poker, but I could make him tremble if I wanted to.

Slowly, I let my hand graze over my sides as I made my way to the hem of my tshirt. His tshirt which I had long claimed as my own. With tentative moves, I pulled the fabric over my body, letting it slide up little by little.

I could see Sy shift in his seat, loving the view in front of him. The cold air inside the room, made my nipples harden, straining against the fabric of my bra. I let a hand slide down my breast, teasing and tugged at my shorts.

I kept my gaze on him, not letting my eyes wander. Whereas he followed my shorts fall down my thighs, pooling near my feet. The sheer lust in the man's eyes made me weak. I felt the warmth pooling in between my thighs again.

I was Sy's only weakness. He loved to see me strip.

Biting my lip in between my teeth, I let the straps of my bra fall from my shoulders. The cups fell down, revealing my taut nipples to the cold air. Goosebumps began forming over my skin, as I unhooked the bra and let it join my clothes on the floor.

Sy's hand had disappeared underneath the table, massaging himself through his underwear. Slowly, I made my way to him. Taking his cap off and putting it over mine, I knellled in front of him.

"Need a hand, Captain."

He groaned as I knead him from over his hand. He let his hand go and placed them on my breast, squeezing it tightly.

I moaned with the feeling, as he pinched a nipple between his fingers. Hooking my fingers in his underwear' waistband and pulling them down, I released him from his constraints. His thick cock twitched as I grabbed it in my hand.

"Suck," He said, pulling my head to his groin.

My panties were soaking as I licked his glistening top, precum beading on the tip. Sy let out a huff, watching me as I took him inside my warm cavern, moaning around him.

His pulsating dick filled my mouth and I took him in as much as I could. I pulled him out before swallowing him again. Sy kept his hand over my head, grabbing a hold of my hair.

When I couldn't take him any more, I began pulling out. But Sy kept pushing me on him. Tears sprung in my eyes as I swallowed him, him hitting the back of my throat.

The groan that left his lips, satisfying to my ears and totally worth the discomfort. So I throated him, taking him in deep, each and everytime.

Sy watched me the entire time. His breaths were beginning to come in short and sharp. I grabbed a hold of the base of his cock and stroked simultaneously as I sucked him off.

"Fuck," he breathed our shakily. I could feel his balls tightening, him ready to release. I was going to swallow every drop of this man. I wanted to remember the taste of him on my lips until he gets home again.

But Sy pulled me back by my hair, jerking his cock free from my mouth. It came out with a pop, confusion shadowing my face.

Hooking his hands under my pits, he pulled me up as he stood and turned me around, pushing me on the table facedown. I heard the ripping of my panties impatience evident in his movements. He spread my legs with his, plunging two thick fingers in my dripping folds.

"Ummm, Sy," I moaned as he scissored his fingers inside my tight pussy.

"Always so tight, doll. Always so tight for the Captain." He breathed out, moving his fingers in and out. His thumb teased my other puckering hole, the sensation foreign. We had never threaded that territory because I had been scared. Sy had voiced how he had to conquer ever hole in my body, to claim me as his in entirety. But the man was not an animal and had never forced himself on me.

I wanted to make Sy happy in every way that was possible.

"Sy," I moaned as he inserted his thumb inside my ass.

"Want me to fuck you in the ass, doll?"

The excitement of being Sy's, no inch or corner of my body untouched by him, made me drip from my cunt. I braced myself on my hands, thrusting my hip back against his fingers in an affirmative.

Sy pulled his fingers out of me, leaving me feel empty. I turned at my hip to look at him, as he grabbed a hold of his thick, veiny cock and ran it along my slit. He coated his dick with my juices, inserting only his tip in my aching pussy.

The anticipation built in me as I watch him place himself up towards my ass. I tried to relax, I had read it help with the pain, but the eagerness of his dick inside my undefiled hole made me tense up. I cried out in pain, as he slathered my tight hole with my juices as he inserted his bulging tip inside. The searing pain of him splitting my virginal hole, made me lie splayed on the table, my thighs writhing.

Sy thrusted a few shallow ones, letting me adjust to his size. My labored breaths echoed around us everytime he entered me. When he saw fit, he slowly dug himself deeper, in my warm canal, filling me up where no man had gone before.

It was the momentary pain that made me want to stop, but Sy soothed my spine with his hand, sheathing himself deep inside me. He groaned as my warm insides enveloped him, tight against his cock.

"Oh, baby," he moaned, taking a moment to keep himself inside me.

The pain subsided with only pleasure taking its place. Sy moved his dick out, leaving the tip within, before thrusting inside me with a grunt.

Soon only our moans vibrated inside our empty house. He grabbed a hold of my hips, his nails digging on my skin. I reached down towards my clit, circling the nub with my fingers. The table beneath us creaked against the floor with each of his powerful thrusts. I was sure the neighbors would hear his low groans and hear me cry out with his cock filling my insides repeatedly.

Sy slapped my hand away from my clit, moving his on it instead. He rubbed my sensitivite nub vigorously making the deep seated tightening to appear in my belly.

"S-Sy!" I cried out as my insides clenched, his cock moving despite the pressure.

"Oh, fuck," He shouted out with a beastly grunt and spilled himself deep within me. His hips moving, riding his high, spilling every drop of his seed in my previously unplumbed hole.

In a sweaty mess, he rested against my thigh. My thighs shook as the aftershock of my orgasm left my body. We stayed still for a moment, gathering our breaths with the intensity of our lovemaking leaving us spent.

"You are amazing," Sy complimented me, pulling his softening length out. His seed spilled out from my ass and dribbled down the insides of my thighs.

He helped me sit up, my bum feeling sore and making me wince as a sharp pain travelled up my spine. "Something to remember you by?" I smiled weakly at him as he held me against his strong chest. "Was daddy satisfied by his little princess?" I asked, twirling my finger in his coarse chest hair.

"You're not my princess, doll," Sy kissed my forehead tenderly, "You're my queen."

#captain syverson #captain syverson smut #captain syverson fanfic #henry cavill

366 notes · View notes

mxr-tvhost · 3 years

Photo

Mychie Faemore-They/them-Mycena Chlorophos ➤ Day 4: Needle “It’s just a tiny sting. You won’t notice it at all.” | Draw a medicine-inspired theme or add wool-like elements to your drawing. --------------------------------------------- My dear, whoever taught you to be so trusting of fungi? I suppose I can't get too mad at you, you were knocking on death's door... Desperate for anything. Your mind all fogged up by the sickness that plagued almost everything in your body. You should be more glad, you know? Be glad that I love you so much, it's not everyday I feel bad for a meal. Much less a human. ...I think I need a cut back on my "surgeries", you're starting to look more and more worse than when I found you. I'm truly sorry, my love, but I can't help myself, humans are such a rare delicacy around here.

Well, perhaps it's better if you were a corpse, I would have to carry you around like a doll if I haven't eaten the rest of you already! Oh, such an adorable thought... I wonder who taught you to be trusting towards mushrooms, I would like to properly thank them for giving me such a delicious pet! ...Sometimes I feel... Regret, I suppose. A part of me feels regret, whenever I see you wake up from my 'surgeries', whenever you thank me for taking you in, whenever I promise that'll be cured any moment now. It feels like a pit grew into my stomach, and grows deeper and deeper with every lie I tell you. But... But none of this was ever my fault! No... No it was you who insisted on me being a doctor! You wouldn't leave me alone, clutching at my body, begging for me to do something, anything, to make the disease go away. You better be glad I love you so much, by now you would be nothing but a pair of bones on the forest floor. But no, I plan on savoring you, even if you're half braindead by now, you're still my love, my pet. And I plan on playing with my pet, for as long as I can.

#funguary #funguary challenge #horrortober #mycena chlorophos #myart #yandere #yandere fic #yandere x reader #monster x reader #yandere monster

14 notes · View notes

ravennm84 · 4 years

Text

Lyre Festival Fraud

This was another prompt that I found and just ran with it. The prompt itself was based on the Fyre Festival Disaster that happened in 2017 where 5,000 people were scammed out of thousands of dollars per ticket for what was supposed to be a luxury music festival. I didn’t take the story to quite that scale since most middle schoolers don’t have that kind of cash. There will be a sequel to this coming out soon. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

Over the past few weeks since Marinette had come back to class, she couldn’t help but notice that Lila seemed to be up to something new. For one, the Italian girl hadn’t been bothering her as much as before. There was still the occasional quip and barb thrown in her direction, but nothing compared to what she had been doing before. She wanted to write it off to the deal Adrien had made with the girl, the blonde had confessed the truth to her after the photoshoot and promised her that he would never let things get that out of hand ever again. But something just didn’t seem right.

Lila was sticking to a single story about a party that she was planning on an island south of Venice over the long weekend next month. She was going on and on about it being a private island, with beautiful scenery and a rich history. Her mother was setting it up for a bunch of politicians, and all of the celebrities Lila knew were coming. A five-star chef would be there to make everyone the most amazing food. Many of the musicians she knew were planning to do jam-sessions, so there would be live music. The way she described it, it was going to be the biggest private event that Lila had ever been involved with.

Marinette and Adrien kept keen ears pointed in her direction, more than they normally would. Something about this particular story seemed different from her usual lies. It didn’t sit well with either of them

They could admit, the Italian was smoother with this lie than she was with any other she had spouted since joining their class. She had started mentioning the party a little here and there, then the different celebrities, then the hotel and bringing in the chef. How expensive it all was and how her mother was planning everything. Then, the following week, Lila dropped a bomb that had almost the entire class squealing and scrambling.

“You won’t believe it! Mama said that I could invite all my friends to come to the party so I’ll have more people my age to talk to!” Lila gushed as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet.

“Seriously! That’s awesome, girl!” Alya cheered excitedly.

“But I have to be up front with all of you about something, and I want you to know that if I had my way I would never ask, but my mom insisted.” Lila’s expression quickly turned uncertain as she looked around at her ‘friends’ before taking a breath and continuing. “Whoever wants to come, has to take care of their own travel and pay €300 up front for the food and accommodations. I really wish I didn’t have to say that, but there was nothing I could do to change her mind.”

“That’s completely understandable, dudette.” Nino grinned as she slung his arm around Alya’s shoulders. “But still, for two nights in a swanky hotel and all our meals handled, that’s a total steal. When would you need the money?”

Lila’s face lit up again saying that she would need the money at least a week before the party so her mother could book enough rooms and make sure there would be enough food. Mylene asked if they needed their parents to escort them, and Lila promised to get them the needed forms to travel. She also asked Alya not to post anything about this on her blog, as this was supposed to be a private thing with a lot of big-name people and they couldn’t risk word getting out. The journalist readily agreed but made Lila promise that she would be allowed to post pictures after the weekend was over, which Lila readily agreed.

Marinette and Adrien looked on with worry as their classmates began making plans for the weekend in a few weeks. After class let out for the day, Adrien convinced his body guard that he needed to study with Marinette for an upcoming test. Since the man liked the girl, her parents, and had a soft spot for their bakery’s salted caramel scones; he allowed it. Up in her room, the two teens set their homework aside and jumped on Marinette’s computer to see what was going on with the Italian.

“What do you think she’s up to?” Adrien asked her.

“Not sure, but it’s strange that she kept saying how I shouldn’t ask for money when I do commissions, then turns around and asks for €300 per person.” She says, looking up private islands near Venice. “I mean, she has to know that she can’t just ask for money from everyone and then not follow through since she would have to give all of their money back.”

“Agreed, she could try and say that the money was non-refundable, but I don’t think they would accept that.”

She hummed in agreement before pulling up a map. “The only private island I can find close by is Isola Santa Christina, but that’s North-East of Venice, not South. And I checked the availability for that weekend, and it’s not reserved. The only island South of Venice that could be considered ‘private’ is Poveglia.”

The blonde’s brow shot up when he heard the name. “Isn’t that the haunted island that’s been closed off to tourists for a long time?”

“Since the 1960s, when the mental asylum closed.” She nodded, as she continued to read. “And before that, it was where they sent people dying of plague and other diseases to die and be buried. It says right here, there’s over 160,000 people buried there in ‘plague pits’ and it’s nearly impossible to walk five meters without walking over someone’s remains.”

Adrien’s lip curled in disgust as he read the information and history of the island over the French-Asian girl’s shoulder. “Well, she did say that the island was private, historic and had a view. And the island does have a lot of history and it’s private.”

“And there was a plan to turn the old asylum into a luxury hotel a few years back, but that fell through.”

They continued reading the different articles on different islands around Venice, but none of them seemed to fit. Adrien agreed that Lila wouldn’t be so sloppy with her lies to invite everyone to a weekend party and then have to give everyone their money back… but what if she never had to see anyone again?

“Do you mind if I look something up really quick?”

“Did you think of something?” She asked while standing from her desk chair so he could take a look.

“It’s just a hunch,” he muttered, his fingers quickly typing at the keys. “I think you’re right, Lila wouldn’t ask for money if she was just going to have to turn around and give it back, even if she used the ‘deposit’ excuse to keep part of it for herself. That can only mean that something else is going on.”

It took a few minutes, but he found what he was looking for on the Italian Embassy’s website and twitter page. Different people wishing Ambassador Rossi a fond goodbye before she transfers back to Italy before the holiday weekend. “She’s not coming back,” he said between gritted teeth while Marinette looked over his shoulder.

“I want to say that I can’t believe Lila would do something like this, but she purposely got me expelled, almost got me akumatized, and almost caused another Scarlet Moth incident. Stealing from people she won’t see again is well within the boundaries of what she can do.”

Adrien turned the chair to look Marinette in the eyes. “What should we do? We tried the high road, that was a mistake and I’m still kicking myself for saying that, but we can’t just sit back and let all of them get scammed for €300.”

“It will be more than that,” worry evident in her voice. “It will be the €300, whatever they have to spend on their tickets there and back, and whatever money they’ll spend on someplace to stay while they’re there, if they stay in Venice.”

“We have to try,” Adrien said, just as determined when he forced Lila to lie to get Marinette back into school. “Maybe if we talk to everyone, one person at a time and explain what we found, we might be able to convince them to look into things a little deeper and figure it out themselves.”

Marinette hesitated. “They didn’t believe me before, why would they believe me now?”

“Because I’ll be with you every step of the way to show them that it’s not just you, I promise.”

~oOo~

Adrien kept his promise, he stayed with Marinette as they pulled their classmates aside to show them what they found. Nathaniel, Juleka, Rose and Chloe seemed to really listen to them and agreed that it seemed a little too good to be true. The others were more hesitant to listen and turned their questions to Lila, who was quick to spin her lies about the comments on Twitter being taken out of context, that her mother’s coworkers were only saying goodbye for the weekend. Then she turned on the fake tears and accused them of spreading rumors and lies when she was just trying to do something nice for her friends. That resulted in the majority of the class shunning Marinette and Adrien for the weeks leading up to the holiday.

Nearly the entire class gave Lila €300 each before the deadline she had set. Adrien and Marinette had been ‘uninvited’ to the party; Chloe scoffed and said that she wasn’t about to waste her time with a bunch of people she didn’t even like; and Nathaniel, Juleka, and Rose all claimed that they couldn’t afford it. Lila was leaving school a couple days before the weekend to “help her mom prepare for the party” but gave everyone instructions on which dock to meet at for the boat to pick them up and ferry them to the island.

Friday morning, the two of them tried again, practically pleading with their friends not to go, that it had all been a scam. This was met with a lot of harsh words, insults, and Alya declaring that she could no longer be friends with someone as vindictive and jealous as Marinette. That left the girl in tears, but the four that stayed behind were quick to comfort her and took her back to her house after school for a movie night. After the others left, Marinette sent a quick email, hoping for a positive response.

The movie night was followed by a jam-session on Saturday at Juleka and Luka’s place. It was a blast to have Adrien on the keyboard with Kitty Section again, it was a little difficult without a drummer but it was still fun. When Marinette got home, she was relieved to see a response to her email waiting for her and read it before she went to bed.

They had a picnic in the park on Sunday, along with Marc, where Adrien was having a photoshoot so he could sit and eat with them during his breaks. The photographer liked the natural energy and look of the group so much that he took multiple pictures of the three couples, as Vincent put it. There was another email waiting for her when she got home, she read that one twice and rewrote her response three times before sending it.

On Monday, the six of them hung out at the bakery with Tom showing Marinette’s friends how to make the perfect croissant and the best way to pipe frosting onto cupcakes. They had a blast and ended up having a frosting fight at one point, which ended with a large round of giggles and Adrien striking a victory pose since he had gotten hit with the least amount of frosting. Everyone had a great time and went home with the goodies they’d made. The final response in Marinette’s email put a smile on her face, knowing that she had done the right thing.

~oOo~

Tuesday morning and the five of them weren’t sure what to expect. They had decided to go with a united front and met at the Dupain-Cheng bakery so they would go to school together. Sabine gladly handed all of them fresh pastries before they left and wished them luck. Marinette’s parents had been made aware of Lila’s deceit and how she had likely scammed their classmates out of a lot of money. Hearing this, the two bakers had been making multiple calls to the Board of Governors about their daughter’s expulsion and other incidents that Adrien had brought up that had to do with Lila. From what they had heard, it was likely that their school, M. Damocles, and Mme. Bustier would be under heavy scrutiny very soon.

Entering the classroom, none of them were prepared for the dead silence from the rest of the class. Everyone looked to be experiencing different levels of confusion, anger, and absolute exhaustion. Everyone except Chloe, who looked smug as she grinned at everyone in the room. When the five of them came in, her smile grew as she looked directly at Alya. “So, how was your weekend on that private island in Venice? Was it as fabulous as Lie~la said it would be?”

Mylene, Sabrina, and Kim all started crying; Nino ducked his head to hide behind his hat, Max's head dropped to the desk with a thunk, and Alya’s fists clenched so hard that her nails cut into her palms. But it was Alex that had the most colorful reaction as she slammed her hands on the table and practically screamed.

“Shut up, you blonde shrew! Grrr! I swear, if I ever see that liar again, I will hit her over her head with my skates until she apologizes.” Her eyes turned to Marinette and Adrien, still angry but with a bit of self-loathing. “You were right. We all waited on that dock all day until the police came and took us to the station. We had to spend the night in the police station and wait for our parents to come get us. Alya tried to argue that it was just a private party and even pointed out the island that bitch said it would be on. But no~, that island was closed to the public and has been for 50 years!”

“We tried to tell you,” Adrien said hesitantly when Alix stopped ranting to breathe.

“Dude, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my parents so mad,” Nino said, barely lifting his head to look at his friend. “They’re talking to a lawyer about what they can do, but the law dude said that the most they can do is file charges against Lila for the scam and that none of use are likely to get any of the money back.”

“My parents grounded me until the lawsuit is settled or I pay back all the money they spent on coming to get me,” Ivan told them, his large shoulders drooping almost half-way down his back.

“By my calculations, that is unlikely to happen,” Max said, not even bothering to lift his face from his desk. “When taking into account the amount of money that she took from each of us, that she had us go to Venice of our own accord, the fact that her mother is an ambassador and therefore bestowed Lila with diplomatic immunity for her actions; there is not much the law can do.”

Unable to help herself, Marinette turned to look at Adrien as a small smile graced her lips. Adrien gave her a bigger smile that confused everyone, even Nathaniel, Rose, and Juleka. “You should tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Alya asked, not sure if she could deal with any more surprises for the rest of the school year.

“Well, after Adrien and I figured out what Lila was up to, we recorded one of the times she bragged about the trip and how much money she was getting from you. I emailed the video, your names, the dock where she told you to go, and all the other information to Ambassador Rossi on Friday night to let her know what was going on.”

All of their jaws dropped as Marinette continued to speak. “I don’t think she believed me at first; but then she got a report about a bunch of unaccompanied minors from her daughter’s school being detained in Venice and that she had apparently allowed them into the country. She was shocked and confused that any of you got through customs without an adult, but then Ambassador Rossi noticed a stack of documents were missing and figured Lila must have taken them and forged her signature to make the scam more believable. I talked to her again last night; she’s forcing Lila to plead guilty to fraud and forgery, any charges that the Italian government was going to file against you are being dropped, and she's clearing out Lila’s savings to pay the money back to your parents.”

Now the entire class was crying tears of joy and relief. They knew that they’d messed up when it came to Marinette and Adrien, Alya especially towards her best friend. But they were more than willing to work their butts off to make it right, no matter how rough the road ahead of them might be.

#lila salt #class salt #alya salt #ml prompt #ml fic #lila gets exposed

789 notes · View notes

hansols-yoda-boxers · 3 years

Text

Camp North Star - July 2nd

AFAB!Reader x Ko Shinwon

Word count: 3330

Contents: sub!Shinwon, dom!Reader, fingering, some dry humping, oral (reader receiving), slight handjob, protected sex

“Well this is a lame attempt,” Shinwon laughed. You looked up from where you sat on his bed. His locked box of snacks sat in front of you and you hadn’t even turned the dials.

“Oh I’m not attempting to steal your snacks,” you said. That seemed to pique his interest. He made his way through the cabin towards you.

“Then why have the box out?”

“Because you’re going to give me a snack.”

Shinwon let out a howl of laughter. “Now that’s a good one. No one gets free snacks.”

“I never said it was free. This is an exchange.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Of what?”

You got off the bed. “I know how Bora got those chips.” You murmured.

Shinwon let out a snort. So far your seduction was failing. “So you think I will trade away my precious treats for some action?”

“Trust me,” you murmured, placing your hands on his chest. “It’ll be well worth your time.”

Shinwon burst out laughing and you dropped your hands away from him as he wrapped his arms around his stomach, cackling.

“Oh god, I cannot take you seriously,” he laughed. “Have you actually seduced people like this? Are you actually trying or are you messing with me?”

“Now I don’t want to answer that,” You muttered.

“Oh god,” he chuckled. “I figured you would be good at this.”

“Well I’m good at the sex part,” you mumbled.

“Mhm, sure,” he laughed. “Believable.”

You turned back to the bed, taking the lock into your hand. You had no clue what the code was. There was no chance you would break it on your own. Jihoon could do it, but you didn’t think you could convince him. Could you convince Wonwoo to convince him?

“Is that all you’ve got? Failed seduction?” He chuckled.

“What do you want for the chips?” You asked.

“Like sex specifically or like anything? I could go for some nachos if you can convince anywhere to deliver them here.”

You spun around and grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him closer by force. “Listen to me, you smart ass. I didn’t do this and embarrass myself for nothing. I’m getting my snacks one way or another.”

“I- uh-” Shinwon shook his hair out a little. “I-I mean I can’t just give it to you.”

You tried to process his reaction, thinking for a moment before speaking. “You’re gonna give me those chips, Shinwon.”

“I-I-”

A slight smirk tugged at your lips as you started to walk him backwards. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“N-Nothing.” He sounded utterly unconvincing.

“You sure about that? You lost that attitude really quick.”

“It’s I-I uh-” he let out a whine as his back hit the wall.

You leaned in a little closer. “Do you like it when I talk to you like this?”

“I-I,” his face was growing deeper and deeper shades of red.

“You like being told what to do, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” his voice was breathy, all traces of his usual cockiness gone. This was a side of Shinwon you could get used to.

“You’re going to give me those chips, babe,” You purred. “But I’m nice, I’ll give you something in return.”

Shinwon nodded quickly. You kept your grip on his shirt as you pulled him from the cabin and out into the warm night air. He stumbled after you across the grass as you made a beeline for the docks.

“Wh-Where are we going?” He asked.

“Somewhere with a little more privacy.” You threw a glance back at him. “I mean, unless you’re into that.”

Shinwon’s face went redder, no full sentences managing to sputter from his mouth. You quirked an eyebrow at him and smirked.

“Good to know.”

“I-I it’s n-not y-”

“Come on baby, use your words,” you teased.

“Y-You won’t tell anyone will you?” He managed, keeping a little closer to you as you got beyond the main cabins and closer to the water.

“No one who doesn’t already know,” you smirked. “Though this is good goss.”

He pressed close to you. “I’ll be good for you. You don’t need to tell anyone a-about…”

You threw him a glance. “So if you get bratty I can tell everyone? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I-I no I didn’t mean that! I just- it- you-”

“Relax baby,” you hummed. “I can keep a secret.”

You pulled Shinwon around to the front of the waterside cabin. He kept himself close to you, now seeming antsy and excited as you got your keys out. You hastily opened the door, just managing to get the door closed behind the two of you before he was all over.

He grabbed at you, pulling you close and kissing you. And his kisses were desperate. You smirked slightly against his lips as you wound your arms around his neck. Who knew it was this easy to get him so needy.

You knew the layout of the room well. It didn’t take you long to push him back against the wall. He let your tongue into his mouth easily, letting out a small moan against your lips. You pressed into him, enjoying his eager his kisses, but not letting him move too fast, keeping them just slow enough to be frustrating.

Your hands travelled down his arms until you met his hands, grabbing at your hips and ass. You laced your fingers with his before pushing his arms back against the wall. He let you pin them there, whining into your kisses. You felt his hips pressing into you, already growing hard in his jeans.

You pressed your thigh between his legs, pulling away and moving to kiss along his neck instead. Shinwon let his head fall back against the wall. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth to quiet his panting and whining as you rolled your hips against him slowly.

“Does it feel good, baby?” You teased.

“Y-Yes.”

You chuckled. “You’re such a mess already. I’ve barely done anything.”

All he could do was whimper, his hips moving on their own. You wedged your thigh firmly between his legs, pressing into him as you leaned your lips close to his ear.

“Go ahead, baby,” you murmured. “Try and get yourself off against my leg.”

Shinwon let out a beautiful, pitiful whine, doing just as you said. He hips ground against your thigh, getting harder by the second. You squeezed his hands, keeping them against the wall as you listened to the way he whined and moaned. Your lips trailed back down his neck, pushing his shirt down until you could suck on his skin to leave a pretty, purple bruise.

You wanted to remain as composed as possible, but it would be a lie to say his reactions weren’t getting to you. The way he whimpered and moaned was music to your ears, every sound sending arousal rushing down your spine. Very quickly you had heat pooling in the pit of your stomach and as much as you wanted to milk this moment, you were also feeling your impatient growing.

And the idea of him on his knees was starting to cloud your mind.

You pulled away from him, letting go of his hands and stepping back. He stumbled a bit against the wall and choked back his disappointed whine as you regarded him.

“Take off your shirt.” You said. He was quick to comply, looking at you with a sweet, curious doe-eyed expression for what to do next. “Go over near the table.” He moved to where you motioned with a tilt of your head. You moved around the table and turned on one of the lanterns, giving you a bit of light before you turned towards him again, slowly lifting the hem of your shirt.

“Get on your knees.”

He was so obedient, sinking to his knees quickly and watching you excitedly as you pulled your shirt over your head. A strip tease might not have been your norm, and you would have thought he’d find it cheesy, but he was so enchanted as he watched you, leaning closer as you slipped your shorts off before turning around to show him your ass.

Shinwon let out a whine at the sight as you slowly slipped off your panties before climbing onto the table, mildly worried that it might be unsteady but it didn’t move or creak. You shifted to the edge of the table, hanging our legs down over the side before letting them fall open. Shinwon let out a moan at the sight as you drew your fingertips over your thighs.

“Come over here and make yourself useful,” you said with a grin.

Shinwon responded quickly, he shuffled closer, hands grabbing at your thighs and only taking the time to situate himself close enough before he was drawing his tongue through your folds. He let his eyes fall closed with a moan and you bit back your own as you grabbed at his hair roughly. He let out a whine, opening his eyes again.

“I want you to look at me,” you purred.

You felt the shiver that ran through his body at your words as he nodded to you. He kept his eyes on you, only moving them from your face to look at your chest as his tongue started moving over your clit.

“Just like that,” you hummed.

Shinwon ate you out more and more feverishly each moment. You kept your gaze on him, biting your own lip at the feeling. The sensation just what you needed after the arousal his moans had given you. You rested back on one hand, sinking your body back a little as you relaxed more.

Shinwon’s ministrations had pleasure curling through your body. It was pooling deep in your core and slowly you started to move your hips, wanting a little more and eyes glancing quickly at his hands.

“Are your hands on vacation?” You questioned.

“No,” he mumbled quickly, shaking his head. He was quick to draw his hand in from your thigh, only slowing down in the motion to push his finger inside of you slowly. You sunk back into your arms, letting out a moan at the feeling. He brought his tongue back to your clit as he started to finger you, slowly searching with his movements.

His finger was clumsier than his tongue, not quite finding the right motion. You shifted and rolled you hips, trying to get him right where you wanted but to no avail, even if his tongue moving over you clit was still sending pleasure through your body.

“Not quite like that, baby,” you said, tugging on his hair lightly. Your own lip caught between your teeth at the sweet, desperate look in his eyes as he changed what he was doing, watching your reaction. Something about the sweet look in his eye, how he wanted to please you, was so intoxicating.

“No,” your voice was a little softer as you took his wrist in your hand. You moved it just a bit, trying to angle his hand better. “Now curl your finger.” He did as you said and you let out a breathy moan at the sensation. “Just like that, can you keep doing that for me?”

Shinwon nodded and gave you an “mhm” as he pressed a kiss to your clit.

“Good boy,” you breathed, voice giving away your own need more and more as he repeated the motion, slowly getting faster when you reacted well.

You let yourself revel in the pleasure. His tongue moved more quickly over you clit, sending sparks of pleasure with each movement. His finger moved in just the motion you liked. Slowly, the coil inside of you started to turn, twisting in on itself as you grew more and more aroused.

“You’re a quick learner, baby,” you hummed breathily. “I wonder what else I could teach you.”

Shinwon let out a moan against your clit at your words. He kept his eyes locked on yours as his finger slowed before he pushed in another.

“Perfect,” you moaned. “Who knew you could be such a good boy?”

Even in the low light you could see the blush spread across his cheeks. His eyes glazed down shyly for a moment but just tightening your grip in his hair had him looking up at you again.

“I wonder what you could learn to do to me,” you hummed. “I wonder what you would let me do to you.”

Shinwon shifted a little as you smirked. His free hand was still gripping your thigh, though more and more harshly. He was moving his hips, clearly looking for some kind of relief badly but too good and obedient to try and sneakily get himself off.

“Are you needy, baby?” You asked.

Shinwon let out a moan in response that rocked through your core. The coil inside you was twisting tighter and tighter. You were getting closer to your release as his fingers moved at a quicker, steady pace. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking it almost harshly.

“Fuck, yes,” you moaned, head falling back. As much as you knew he was ready to move on this felt so heavenly now. Each of his whimpers and moans rushed through you from your clit, his fingers curling into just the right spot. Your hips chased the sensations, grinding against his face and down on his fingers.

Your thighs started to press in towards his head and he let them. His hand fell away and you peeked at him, realizing it had gone out of your sight.

“Don’t touch yourself,” you warned, earning a whine from him.

“You can think about it all you want,” you said breathily, noticing his free hand come up to grip the edge of the table. “You can imagine my hand wrapped around it. Or my mouth. Or my pussy.”

Shinwon let out a pitiful whine, gaze more and more desperate by the second as he kept shifting.

“You can think about how good it will feel to finally get your release after being such a good boy for me,” you moaned.

Despite all his patience he was clearly beyond needy. His knuckles were nearly white as he gripped the table and the movement of his fingers were sloppy as he tried to keep his focus but was desperately wanting more.

He let out a gasp as you tugged his hair harshly, pulling his head back. He gazed up at you, catching his breath and trying to figure out why you had stopped, slight fear in his gaze that you might not go any further.

“I need you to take off your pants and get up on the table for me,” you murmured. “And no touching yourself.”

Shinwon scrambled to his feet as you moved aside. You admired his body as he took off his pants and boxers. His cock was hard and as he laid down it laid heavy on his stomach. You moved around to find your shorts. You searched in your pocket for the condom you had brought before climbing back on the table, smirking down at Shinwon. He lay there, gazing up at you with a soft blush on his face. His hands gripped the edge of the table above his head to keep from touching himself.

You leaned down to press a few kisses to his lower stomach, an act that made his breath hitch, before letting your fingers trail lightly over his cock.

Shinwon let out a gasp, hips bucking up towards your hand.

“Your cock is all red,” you hummed. “Are you sensitive?”

“Y-Yes,” he managed as you trailed another light touch along it. “Please.”

“You have been patient,” you murmured, still teasing him. “You’ve been a good boy.”

“Please,” he whined. “I’ll still be good. I-I can even cum m-more than once if-” He let out a cry as you wrapped your hand tightly around his cock and started pumping it quickly.

“Well this I need to see,” you smirked.

Shinwon was already so worked up and turned on that it took no time at all for his hips to be bucking up. He chased your hand with movements, letting moans pour from his lips as you pumped his cock quickly, your grip tight. His own grip on the edge of the table had his knuckles white as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He came with a cry, cum landing across his lower stomach and dripping down your hand. He was trembling slightly as you held the base of his cock and ripped open the condom packet with your teeth before rolling it on him with your other hand.

“Y-You’re- You mean right away?” He asked shakily.

“Unless you can’t handle it,” You said, straddling his hips. “You said you could cum again for me.”

“I-I can!” he said quickly.

“Good,” you grinned, taking his cock into your hand. He bit down on his lip but it was no use once you started to sink down on his cock. His mouth fell open in a broken moan while you let out a quiet one. You sunk all the way to the bottom, still very worked up yourself, before you started to grid down on him.

“F-Fuck,” he whined. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. They squeezed shut and his hands grabbed your hips as you started to ride him.

The way you felt as you stretched around him was sublime, feeling every inch of him moving inside you. You focused on the movement that felt the best to you, finding where his cock hit just the right spot and quickly grinding down in the same motion as the coil curled tightly in your core.

Shinwon tried to sputter out words but managed nothing coherent and you leaned down over him.

“Is it too much, baby?”

He bit his lip and shook his head, blushing harder even though he couldn’t see your smirk.

“That’s what I thought. You’re just a little sensitive.” You clenched around him and he let out a pitiful whine, just barely managing to look at you.

You held his gaze as you rode him quickly, entirely focused on your own pleasure. All coherence from his sounds was lost other than moans and whimpers. You dug your nails into his shoulders as you held onto him as pleasure shot through you from every movement. The coil was curled tightly in your core now, nearly ready to snap.

You moved your hips slightly differently, circling them, and watched as Shinwon’s eyes rolled back. He let out a gorgeous, broken cry as he bucked up into you, cumming hard and squeezing your hips harshly.

You fell over your edge after him. Your own thighs shook and you moaned out as you released. Pleasure washed through your body in a rush that knocked the breath out of you and had your arms shaking as you tried to hold yourself up. You cleached hard around Shinwon which had his whines nearly sounding like sobs from how sensitive he was.

As you started to come down you climbed off of him shakily. You were gentle taking off and throwing away the condom, reminding yourself to take out the trash before Monday. Shinwon was still panting on the table and you climbed back on with him, laying next to him. He rolled over and curled into you, hiding his head under your chin, his body shaking.

“Are you okay?” You asked, running your fingers through his hair soothingly.

He nodded into your chest. “W-Was it- D-Did I do o-okay?”

“That was really good,” you reassured him. “You’re a very good boy.”

He let out a whimper and pressed his face more into your neck. “You won’t tell anyone i-if I don’t want you to, right?”

“Of course not,” you hummed. “Your secrets are safe with me.” You paused as a grin tugged at your lips. “So long as I get my chips.”

#camp north star au #cns au #pentagon smut #pentagon imagines #shinwon imagines #shinwon smut #ko shinwon smut #go shinwon smut

35 notes · View notes