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cherryrogers · 4 years

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➸ call me baby {2/3}

SUMMER NIGHTS

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | biker au

warnings: swearing, violence, implied smut, mainly fluff.

word count: 7.8k

synopsis: Returning to Brooklyn for the summer after a year of travelling from city to city, you hadn’t expected to find your best friend, Peggy Carter, hopelessly in love with a biker. And when she decided to introduce you to the rest of his club, you hadn’t expected to fall for one either. That was until you met one with pretty eyes and a habit of calling you baby.

series masterlist

a/n: ok so this has turned into a three part series!! the next part will likely be a bit shorter, but i wanted to wrap up the story properly and i felt that needed it’s own separate part. i’m gonna post a masterlist for this series tomorrow, and i might write some drabbles for this fic to add to it once it’s finished if anyone has any hc/drabble ideas they’d like to send in?? i need to stop rambling so much lmao,,, please enjoy!!

Sunsets; consisting of an array of warm tones, reds and oranges bleeding into each other, casting a dim, natural light over cities before the artificial yellow beaming of street lamps lit up the world instead. A comforting reminder that every bad day eventually ends, but a sad reminder that every perfect day ends too.

In your case, they’d been unsettling ends to a continuous string of perfect days. And following those, a bright sunrise poured light through your windows every morning, indicating that you were one day closer to the end of the summer.

Currently, the deep, warm sky was the background of a blissful ride through the city. Perched on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, your arms enveloping his waist, fingertips grazing lightly over his stomach through his shirt. No destination in particular; just an excuse to be close to one another.

Since the night at Wanda’s bar, the night where you simply let yourself begin to feel for Bucky, things had been different. Better.

Rides around the city were a frequent occurrence, usually happening when Bucky offered to take you home on his bike, but taking the long way back to enjoy the view and the feeling of you next to him for a short while longer.

It was therapeutic, tranquil. Well, until your road rage got the best of you.

“Dude, it’s a green light,” You shouted at the car in front you. “Green means go, didn’t you learn that in kindergarten?”

“Christ, you realise you’re yellin’ straight in my ear, right?”

“Sorry, Buck,” You patted his chest apologetically, before proceeding to yell once again. “Not my fault some people don’t know how traffic lights work!”

It was entertaining to Bucky, anyway. Even if it did earn you some middle fingers, which you gladly returned.

As the sky began to lose its vibrant hue, the two of you headed back in the direction of your place, definitely your least favourite part of the ride, but you savoured it nevertheless.

You were friends. Teasing each other incessantly because you just bounced off one another like that, but you often found yourself gravitating towards him. During meals at the clubhouse, you sat in the same spot as you did when you entered the place for the first time; right next to Bucky. While that likely meant for Steve and Peggy that they were in for a painful time, consisting of them slowly losing their patience with you both, they didn’t mind. Well, they did a little.

It’d been almost two hours since you started your game of Monoply. You weren’t sure if you were anywhere near the end of the game, but everyone was still pretty into it. Clint and Sam were paired up as a team, Steve and Peggy shared the little top-hat token, you and Bucky had the wheelbarrow, and Natasha had the car. She claimed she worked better when was on her own team, which was proved to be true by the fact she was winning.

It was Steve and Peggy’s turn to roll, and their top hat was moved to land on the ‘Boardwalk’ space.

“Oh, that’s our space!” You chirped. “Pay up, my dudes.”

“_____, you don’t have a house on that space.”

“Well, could you pass me one? I want this space.”

“You have to buy one.”

“Then I’ll buy one.”

Peggy sighed. “It’s not your turn, you can’t buy a house. Your token isn’t even on that space.”

You furrowed your brows, turning to Bucky. Maybe you should’ve read the rules before playing; you’d never actually played Monoply before. “Oh. That kinda sucks then.”

After a moment, Bucky reached over to the little bag of houses, picking one out and placing it on the Boardwalk space.

“Buck, that’s cheating.” Steve glared at his friend, who only shrugged innocently.

“She’s never played before, let her just have the damn house.”

“You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause she’s on your team, jerk.”

Bucky just shrugged again, turning to shoot you a wink as you smirked in satisfaction and placing your little house on the space, missing Steve and Peggy sharing a look of annoyance as they passed a pile of yellow bills over to you.

It was safe to say the two of you weren’t allowed to play as a team during board games anymore. Natasha always won the games anyway, so it’s not like you and him cheating made much of a difference.

You thought things were moving smoothly with Bucky. You knew that you liked him, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew that — it was pretty fucking obvious at this point. But it would be a rather dumb move to escalate things even if you wanted to. The summer would be over in two months, one third of it was already gone, and you would be too by the beginning of September. Naively, you’d told yourself that you simply wouldn’t take things further. Easy enough, right?

Wrong; so very wrong. You’d proved to yourself that you seriously needed to stop acting impulsively on one fateful after a day spent at the clubhouse.

You’d been about to leave, but had decided to head off to the office where Bucky had been pretty much all evening while everyone else was out in the backyard, which was odd considering you would’ve assumed he’d be the last to not spend the night drinking beer and hanging out with friends over, well, anything else.

You knocked loudly on the door, hearing shuffling and the clicking of a computer keyboard before a quiet ‘come in’ followed. Furrowing your brows, you stepped into the room, eyes landing on the biker slumped in the chair at the desk, forcing a small smile. Did he really think your were that oblivious?

“You’ve been hiding in here all night,” You approaches the desk, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is there something you wanna share with the class?”

Bucky’s eyes flickered between the computer screen and your face, before he shook his head. “Just dealin’ with club stuff.”

“Hm, and what counts as club stuff?”

“It’s stuff you don’t need to worry about.”

You scoffed. “Huh, what happened to not doing stuff you shouldn’t be? Not getting into trouble?”

“Do you ever mind your own business?” Bucky questioned bluntly, though there was a smirk tugging at his lips.

Mirroring his expression, you leaned against the desk next to him. “Not when someone is clearly trying to hide something.

The biker bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating for a few moments. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. Sure, he’d only known you around a month now, but you were... his friend. A good friend. He just didn’t want you mixed up in anything dangerous. Steve wasn’t lying when he said that the club tried to stay out of trouble, because they definitely didn’t go out of their way to get into shitty situations. But if they needed to get their hands a little dirty to deal with clubs that thrived off trouble, then so be it.

Eventually, Bucky sighed, moving a hand back over his computer mouse and letting the screen light up again. Crinkling your brows, your eyes scanned the screen. He’d been looking at a map of Brooklyn, and the little red location pointer was pinned onto a warehouse downtown.

“Peter Parker, he’s just a kid. Parents died when he was barely five, lost his uncle a few years back. He lives at home with his aunt in Queens since he’s still in school, but we sorta took him in a while ago. The night after his uncle died, Tony found him on the sitting on the curb a few blocks away from here, completely distraught. He managed to talk him down though, and found out he was pretty good with engineering. We said if he wanted, he could help out with fixing bikes and cars at the clubhouse, and he comes by every so often since then.”

You didn’t know Tony that well; he was a little older than the rest of the club, and he lived outside of the clubhouse with his wife, Pepper. You hadn’t met Peter at all, but you trusted Bucky when he said that he was a good kid.

“Last week, he showed up to the here with a busted lip and broken nose. Said that Rumlow and his guys had jumped him, and that they wanted him to do a job for them — collect a weapon shipment from this warehouse.” Bucky nodded towards the screen.

At the mention of Brock Rumlow, you felt your jaw tighten. Thankfully, he’d kept his distance from Wanda’s bar since your last encounter with him, but you were still pissed off about the show he put on there, and there was nothing you regretted more than not jumping over the bar top and kicking him in the balls. Now he’d resorted to threatening a kid and making him do his dirty work?

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Peter’s meant to meet the guy delivering the weapons next week, so I’m gonna take Nat, Sam and Tony down to the warehouse and deal with any of Rumlow’s guys that are nearby.”

Upon seeing your face light up, Bucky chuckled, standing from his seat. “And no, you can’t come.”

“Bucky, I’m not a woman of many talents, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s handing people’s asses to them.” You lifted your chin confidently.

“Baby—”

You held a finger up to shush him. “Okay, I know I said that I liked when you call me that, but not now. Brock is the guy that grabbed me, Buck. And the guy that punched you in the face!”

“I know, and we’ll deal with him,” A smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, I thought you weren’t part of any club. Can’t do club stuff if you’re not a member.”

“Well, not that I want to... but how would one go about becoming part of your little gang?” You weren’t lying; you definitely did not want to be a damn biker, but you did want the chance to boot Brock Rumlow and his group of dipshits in the face.

“You could become an old lady.” The biker cocked a brow, and you chuckled heartily.

Not that you were up to date with the biker lingo, but you could take a good guess at what being an old lady meant. “Hm, if only there was someone that wanted me to be their old lady.”

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky glanced over your features, waiting for you to laugh and brush the comment off as a joke since the majority of your vocabulary was sarcasm, but you didn’t. The corners of your lips curled up slightly, not teasingly, but softly...

...Until you became painfully aware of the silence that’d fell upon the two of you, and let out a sigh to break it. It was already late when you were supposed to leave, anyway. Now, the dim moonlight was casting shadows outside of the office window, the only source of bright light being the yellow streams from lampposts dotted up and down the quiet street.

“Well, I should get going.” You reluctantly stepped back from him.

“You don’t have to go, you know. Peggy stays overnight when it’s late.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, cause Peggy has a boyfriend that she can share a bed with.”

“Hey, I’ve got a double bed.” Bucky teased, and you’d be lying if you said sleeping next to him in his bed didn’t make you feel a certain type of way.

Though, you definitely wouldn’t let him know that. “You’re stupid, Bucky.”

He shrugged, following you as you continued for the door of the office. “I mean, even if I had a single—”

“I would still not be getting in your bed,” You deadpanned, finishing his sentence for him and promoting the stupidly hot little smirk of his to appear again. “Okay, now I’m leaving. Goodbye, Bucky.”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

“No you will not,” You breathed out a laugh. “There are two bottles of beer on that desk and death isn’t on the cards for me tonight — can’t get rid of me that easily.”

A look of realisation washed over his face, a pink colour tinting his cheeks. Was Bucky Barnes blushing? That was certainly a sight, and what a sight it was.

“S’alright — I don’t wanna get rid of you,” The biker stepped in front of you, dangerously close as your back hit the door. “Not yet, anyway.”

You couldn’t lie; Bucky was hot, he was beautiful. Even when he was being a sarcastic ass, but he was just as much one of them as you were. God dammit, as much as you wanted to slap yourself for letting your insides melt for a guy you didn’t know all that well, you knew that if you didn’t fucking kiss him right this second that you’d regret the hell out of it later.

And so, you did.

You grabbed the collar of the leather jacket he never failed to make an appearance without— or perhaps he just had a lot of leather jackets, though leather jackets didn’t necessarily need washed so it was probably the same jacket— not the time, _____. Carrying on, you swiftly captured his lips with yours, relief washing through you as you felt him react almost immediately. Almost, he definitely wasn’t expecting you to do that.

The kiss was gentle; gentle enough so that you could simply savour the feeling of his lips on yours, the taste a mixture of smoke and minty chewing gum. It was slow, but quick. Bucky didn’t even have the chance to move his hands to your waist before you pulled back, raising your hand to trace his bottom lip with your thumb.

“You still planning on getting rid of me?” You grinned, amused by the biker’s dumbfounded expression.

He laughed breathily after a couple of seconds, nose nudging yours playfully. “Not if you keep kissin’ me like that, baby.”

“Hm, maybe you’ll just get lucky again.” You pushed at his chest softly, letting you step forward and open the door to leave the office.

Bucky let out a scoff. “You’re really just gonna leave? After that?”

You shrugged, cocking a brow. “I mean, I could stay if you let me come with you next week...”

“No chance,” He smiled smugly. “Shut the door on your way out, will you?”

“You know what? I’m never kissing you again.”

“Whatever you say, _____.”

You rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, turning to make your way out of the room. “And I’m leaving the door open!”

“Hm, get home safe.” He called back.

Trying to bite back a smile as you looked over your shoulder back at him, you mouthed a final goodbye and left the office, a rush of feelings suddenly emerging as you stepped out of the clubhouse and onto the street.

You’d just kissed Bucky. You had kissed Bucky. And he had kissed you back. Well, shit.

Did you need to talk about it with him? What it meant for the two of you? Did he just kiss you for the fun of it or did he actually have feelings for you? Ugh. You’d always hated serious conversations, because apparently using sarcasm to cover up actually talking about your feelings was inappropriate and unhealthy. That’s what Peggy always told you, anyway. Perhaps there was no conversation to be had. Bucky could be your summer fling; a couple of months of fun before you were off on your travels again. The only reason he kissed you back might’ve been because he knew you were leaving eventually, which meant he didn’t have to commit to you.

Whatever — you were simply going to go with the flow. If you and Bucky ended up becoming... something more, that would be great. If not, you’d be slightly disappointed, but you’d be out of Brooklyn soon enough to forget about it.

And now, as you tightened your arms around the biker’s waist, you just enjoyed the moment. As someone that rarely stayed in a city for longer than a couple of weeks, enjoying the moment was all that you could do.

* * *

“Pegs, I am working. You can’t just call and ask me this kinda stuff during a shift.”

“I certainly can, especially when I had to hear it first from Steve.”

A strained sign fell from your lips as you leaned against bar, checking that no customers were approaching the counter before you turned your back. “I was gonna tell you, I promise. I didn’t think Bucky was gonna kiss and tell as soon as it happened.”

“I don’t think it was exactly a kiss and tell situation,” Peggy chuckled over the phone. “Steve said it was written all over his face after you’d left the clubhouse.”

Feeling heat rushing to your own face, you lowered your head, hoping no one was observing the bartender getting all embarrassed. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell Peggy about your kiss with Bucky. She was your best friend, of course you wanted to tell her. But considering that you weren’t really sure what direction you and him were going in, you thought perhaps that it’d be better to just keep it between you and him, like a Danny and Sandy situation — if everyone had known about their summer affair, it wouldn’t have been the same.

“Can you... tell him to not question Bucky about it?” You asked. “You told me he’d never been in a proper relationship before and neither have I. I think we need to work out... whatever we are ourselves, you know?”

Since the kiss, you hadn’t had the chance to even see Bucky that much. Wanda had been asking you to work more shifts at the bar because one of your co-workers was going on vacation for two weeks, which you didn’t mind doing. Other than hanging out with Peggy and seeing everyone at the clubhouse, it’s not like you had much better to do. Plus, it meant more money to put towards your travels at the end of the summer. At the rate you were earning and including what you already had saved up, you’d be getting your dream London trip a lot sooner than you’d thought.

“Of course, I understand,” She replied. “_____, I— I don’t want to play devil’s advocate, but have you thought about what’ll happen when summer ends? When you leave Brooklyn?”

The thought had crossed your mind, yes, though it was also pushed to the back of your mind whenever it popped up. In all honesty, you had zero clue what’d happen when you left Brooklyn again.

“Nope,” You said defeatedly. “Do I need to think about that now? What if we don’t even last until the end of summer?”

From the pause in conversation, you could just tell that Peggy knew you were bullshitting. “Okay, I’m going to pretend you did not just say that. You don’t just kiss guys, _____. And Bucky doesn’t get all flushed from kissing any old woman. It’s obvious you two click easily, and I honestly don’t think it’s something that can just end once you leave.”

The girl was right, she was completely right, but you weren’t sure what the hell you were supposed to do. It’s not like you could stay in Brooklyn forever and abandon your travels. That wasn’t who you were; staying wouldn’t be you being true to yourself. You couldn’t throw that away for a man you barely knew, a guy that possibly may not want you anymore after the summer ends, though there was a large part of you that didn’t believe that.

“I can’t talk about this right now, Peggy, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the kiss earlier, everything is just... it’s just confusing,” You rambled, wanting to steer the conversation away from your love life for the night. It was nearing nine o’clock, and with an hour still left of your shift, you didn’t want to waste your energy on a conversation that could be had another time. “Anyway, how is everyone? Has Steve heard from Bucky?”

This night was also the night that poor Peter Parker was meant to be carrying out Rumlow’s dirty work, and Bucky was going to get his club to back off. Well, hopefully. He’d already been punched in the face by that bastard once, you hoped that he’d be able to avoid having that happen again. You’d texted him earlier, telling him to let you know when he was home and safe because you would, in fact, worry about him. He teased you for your concern, but you frankly didn’t care. The fact they were having Peter pick up a weapon shipment implied that they wanted to use them to hurt people, and opposing biker clubs seemed like the type of people they’d target.

“They’ve been out an hour, so they should hopefully be back soon,” Peggy assured you. “We haven’t heard from them yet, though.”

“Right,” You exhaled, a little upset that there was no update from them. The sound of the door opening a few metered behind you reminded you that you were still at work, and that you should probably say goodbye to Peggy for the time being. “I’ve gotta go, Pegs — duty calls. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright, darling. Be careful going home.”

With a quiet ‘will do’, you quickly ended the phone call and shoved the device into your jean pocket, turning around to identify the source of the footsteps getting closer to the bar. Well, fuck.

An ugly smirk, scruffy jaw, messy hair — Brock fucking Rumlow was standing right in front of you.

You could’ve laughed, in fact, you did laugh. He was back, even after the embarrassing show he put on last time he was at the bar, and this time, he was alone.

Putting back the glass you’d pulled out from under the bar on instinct, because there was no way you were serving him, you cocked a brow, waiting for him to make the first move.

He slid onto the stool in front of you, the same place he’d sat during his last visit. There was a short silence as his dark eyes roamed your face, before he exhaled heavily. “You not gonna ask for my order?”

“No.” You answered instantly. It looked like he was expecting the cold shoulder from the way he chuckled at your answer.

You wanted to ask what he was doing here, why he wasn’t down at that random warehouse making sure the teenager he manipulated was doing the job correctly, but you didn’t imagine it was a good idea to let on that Bucky was telling you about that sort of stuff. He’d probably try to hurt him as opposed to you, and you didn’t want to put Bucky in any unnecessary shit.

“You know, it’s against the law to refuse service to an innocent customer.”

Clearly, he didn’t know the law at all, but you found it awfully ironic that he was claiming that you were in the wrong side of the law. You cocked your brow higher. “And you’re always abiding by the law, Brock?”

“What makes you think I’m not?” The man narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” You shrugged nonchalantly. “Last time you were here, you were the one assaulting an innocent customer, and me.”

Brock scoffed. “You’re calling Barnes innocent?”

You only stared at him, waiting for an elaboration.

“Do you know where he is right now?”

Yes — dealing with your bullshit and the rest of your gang.

“Enlighten me.”

“A dirty warehouse across town, meeting a dude that’s sellin’ him weapons. Rifles, pistols, you name it.” He leaned forward on his elbows, pursing his lips.

Chewing on your bottom lip, you met his eyes, dark and full of hope that he’d somehow miraculously turned you against Bucky -- he was going to have to try a little harder than that if he wanted to sell his lies.

“Where are the rest of you pals, Brock?”

He furrowed his brows. “Down at the warehouse, shutting down the deal.”

“And why aren’t you with them, hm? I don’t think it’s ‘cause you decided you wanted a drink over the chance to screw Bucky and his club over.”

The guy clearly thought you were oblivious, that you’d be naive enough to believe that Bucky was the one having Peter collect the weapons instead of him. Maybe he thought it’d turn you against him, and then you’d carelessly join Rumlow’s club without a second thought. Even if Bucky hadn’t told you anything, there wasn’t a thing that could come out of Rumlow’s mouth that could convince you Bucky’s club was doing anything of the sort.

Unfortunately, the comment seemed to tip the conversation in the exact way you hadn’t wanted it to.

Brock’s jaw clenched, eyes hardening as he sat up properly on the stool. “What’s he been tellin’ you, huh?”

“I think it’s time for you to go, Brock.” You glared at the man. There was no way you were letting him sit and annoy the shit out of you when you weren’t going to serve him.

“You see,” He laughed emptily. “If Barnes has been spillin’ things that he shouldn’t be, I need to know. Can’t have any false information spreading.”

“False information, right,” You muttered. In your defense, all you knew about his club was about them manipulating Peter. Though you could assume that wasn’t the only stupid shit they were doing, you didn’t know anything else for sure. “Well, you’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything, so get out of here.”

Brock tutted, rising from his seat and cracking his knuckles. “You’re a good liar, but I ain’t buyin’ it.”

“That’s not my problem,” You glowered, loving quickly around the bar to pace towards the door, opening it in an attempt to lure him out. “You need to go, or I’ll call Wanda over.”

Stalking towards you, the man shook his head. “If Barnes thinks he can tell his little girlfriend all of our business, he’s a fucking idiot,” He took a grasp on your wrist, his other hand curling into a fist. “Someone’s gotta show him what the consequences of that are.”

Anger flashed in your eyes as you struggled against his grip. “Get off me, dude. I don’t know anything.”

“Liar.” He murmured, before taking his fist and colliding it with your cheek abruptly.

A groan of pain left your lips as you stumbled back, the clutch on your wrist gone as Brock eyed you cautiously. Carefully, you brought your hand to where you’d been hit, blood quickly staining your fingertips as they grazed over the cuts on your skin from Brock’s rings. He’d hit you. That stupid, fucking son of a bitch had punched you. If there was any justifiable reason for you to kick him in the balls, this was it, and you were going to take advantage of the opportunity.

He definitely thought you were done with him for the night; you could tell by the way his chapped lips curled into a sick smile. He thought he’d won — how cute.

When your parents made you take self-defense classes ‘just as a precaution’ when you were a teenager, you thought it was unreasonable. Now, you’d never been more thankful.

Brushing your hair out of your face, your eyes flickered up to Brock, who was still staring down at you. Slowly, you moved so that your back was pressed against the closed bar door, clasping your hands around the long metal handle. The man assumed you were just catching your breath, and wasn’t ready for when you forcefully pushed your body forward, raising a booted foot and slamming it into his crotch.

A string of swear words fell from his lips as his upper body fell forward, Fuck it, you thought, striding over to his hunched over form and smashing your own fist against his cheek. He staggered back, just catching himself on the bar. Eyes wide, he raised his head to scowl at you, spitting blood from his freshly split lip onto the floor beside him.

From the other side of the bar, Wanda jogged over to the scene, an unimpressed scowl on her face. “What the hell is going on?”

The woman knew it wasn’t you causing the trouble, and there was even a smug smirk threatening to peak through her annoyed demeanor at the sight of Brock Rumlow with a split lip. She strode over to him, pulling him up harshly by the collar of his jacket.

“You’re banned from this bar. If I see you in here again, you’re getting a bullet straight through your gut, yes?” Wanda practically spat at the man, who nodded reluctantly and pulled away from her grasp. She turned to you, a small smile on her lips. “_____, you’re free to go early. Do you need...?”

Wanda eyed your cut cheek and bruised jaw, but you only shook your head. “Thanks, Wan, but I’ll just head home.”

The strawberry-blond nodded, sending a final glare towards Brock before heading back behind the bar.

Of course, your stubborn self wouldn’t let yourself leave without having the last word, causing you to approach him as he haphazardly stood from where he’d fallen. “If I ever have the displeasure of seeing you again, and you try to hurt me or anyone else, I’ll cut off your fingers and force them down your throat, you got that?”

Before you could wait for an answer, you were spinning around and heading out the double doors of the bar, ignoring the throb on the left side of your face as a satisfied smirk crept onto your lips. You’d never considered yourself to be a violent person, but when it came to assholes like Brock Rumlow, you didn’t mind getting your hands a little dirty. When you told Peggy about what happened, she’d likely scold you for even just mouthing back at him. You had zero regrets, however. You’d always wanted to experience a bar fight, and now you’d experienced one first hand.

As if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Stretching out your aching knuckles, you swiped it from your jeans.

Back at the clubhouse safe and sound. You want me to pick you up from work in an hour?

You chuckled under your breath, typing out a response.

Can you come up now? Wanda let me off early.

Sure, I’ll be there soon. Did you do something special to get off at this time?

Pausing, you debated whether to let him know straight away about the incident. You decided against it; when he saw your face, he’d figure it out soon enough.

Something like that...

After twenty minutes of aimlessly standing outside of the bar, the familiar roar of a motorcycle engine caught your attention. As the bike came to a stop, the beaming headlights had you squinting to even make out the outline of Bucky in the dark. However, judging by the speed at which he was dismounting the bike, you were sure that the light had allowed him to see the state of you.

“Holy shit, _____,” Bucky paced over to you, hands coming to your shoulders. “What the hell happened?”

You let out a hesitant laugh. “Uh, rough shift?”

Scoffing, the biker narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, looks like it. What— are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You assured him, removing his hands from your shoulders and squeezing them comfortingly. “Trust me, you should see the other guy.”

“You were fighting?”

“Bucky,” You intervened, for now deciding against telling him that it was in fact Brock Rumlow you’d gotten on the wrong side of. It’d only result in him marching into the bar himself and starting another disturbance, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Wanda pulled out her pistol again. “C’mon, can we go? My house, the clubhouse, wherever — I’ll explain when half of my face isn’t aching like hell.”

The man paused, eyeing you cautiously before a soft chuckle left his lips. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” You patted his chest, plastering on a smile. “Now come on; I didn’t wait this long to clean you up when you got decked across the face.”

With an amused eye roll, Bucky tugged on your hand and led you to the bike. He’d never seen someone so calm after getting a punch to the face, but then again — as cliché as it was — he’d never met anyone like you before.

Half an hour later, the biker had you sat on the counter-top in one of the bathrooms at the clubhouse, standing between your legs and gently dabbing at your cut with a wet cloth. The bleeding had stopped by the time you got to the clubhouse, but it still needed cleaned up. You were holding a cool ice pack to your jaw, watching him intently as he took care of you. Might as well take the opportunity to stare at the guy, right?

“I’m gonna put some antiseptic cream on the cut, just to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” He muttered, reaching for the tub of it in the wooden cabinet above you.

“Are you getting a sense of déjà vu too?” You quirked a brow, eliciting a smirk from him.

“Hm, a little bit; I guess we both just can’t avoid trouble,” Bucky cupped your jaw as he applied the cream, chuckling when you mumbled a ‘motherfucker’ under your breath at the sting. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

“Well,” You sighed. “Long story short... Brock Rumlow happened.”

Pulling back, Bucky furrowed his brows and waited for you to elongate the story, but you only shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. You knew that Brock being involved would only fuel a rage that he couldn’t relieve.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a frustrated laugh falling from his lips. “Rumlow did this to you? Why didn’t you tell me at the bar? Was he still there? I would’ve went in there and—”

“I know exactly what you would’ve done; why do you think I waited until now to tell you?” Though you were smiling, Bucky was still understandably apprehensive. Pursing your lips, you grabbed one of his loosely clenched fists and held it in your lap. “I meant it when I said ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’ — Brock’s face looks the same as mine and he got a boot to the balls. Plus, I think his ego was bruised enough without someone else going in there and knockin’ his lights out.”

Sighing, Bucky shook his head, unable to suppress a small grin. He never underestimated your power; anyone would be a fool to do so. When you were angry, you showed it. When someone hit you, you hit them back harder, metaphorically and literally. It wasn’t even that you had a short temper, you just didn’t put up with people’s shit, and Bucky highly admired that. “Well, I’m jealous of anyone that was there to see it — I bet it was damn hot.”

You scoffed, though seconds later you were shrugging in agreement. “It definitely was, you would’ve loved it.”

While he returned the first-aid stuff to their rightful places in the bathroom, you explained to Bucky what had gotten Brock so riled up. He wasn’t surprised that Brock tried to convince you that he was the bag guy in all of this; he’d tried to do it with Peggy too when she first started dating Steve. In his misogynistic mind, he thought that women were naive enough to be persuaded of anything that he wanted them to believe, and that by getting you on his side would mean he’d ‘won’ over Bucky. Perhaps he’d learned his lesson that night to not underestimate a woman’s power — dumbass.

Down at the warehouse, they’d managed to get Peter out of there before the person delivering the weapon shipment could arrive. There were one or two of Rumlow’s guys there keeping watch, but without him, they ran away like scared children. You teased Bucky about being a ‘big bad biker’ as he explained the night to you, but he insisted it was Natasha that had them crapping their pants; she never usually made an effort to hide the set of knives on her hip, and she apparently had a death-stare that could have anyone shaking in their boots. With him being banned from Wanda’s bar and unsuccessful with his plan of using Peter, they doubted Brock Rumlow would show his face around the area for a while. He’d only be embarrassing himself if he did.

Not long after your cut had been tended to and the pain in your jaw had subsided, you found yourself once again fighting the temptation to stay the night at the clubhouse — the temptation being a whiny biker named Bucky Barnes.

“But you’ve had a rough day,” He bargained, following after you as you made your way to the front door of the clubhouse. “It’ll save you the ride back if you stay.”

Chortling lightly, you turned around to face him. “A rough day? Buck, I gave an asshole a well-deserved kick in the balls, I’ve had a great day.”

“But what about your cheek? It might start bleeding again and—”

“Bucky,” You cut him off, biting back a smile. “Why do you really want me to stay?”

There was a short pause, heat pooling in the biker’s cheeks at the question as he raised a brow, silently asking you if he was supposed to actually answer the question. When you only quirked your own brow, he sighed, his lips curling into a fond smile. “...because I don’t like it when you leave? ‘Cause I like you a whole lot and I really wanna kiss you again?”

Slowly, you trailed a slightly bruised hand up his chest, stopping at the nape of his neck to tangle your fingers in the hair there. “You should’ve just lead with the kiss, biker.”

Before you could notice the doting grin on his lips, Bucky had looped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush to his chest, soft lips locking with yours tenderly. Your other arm was quick to wrap around his neck as you found yourself wanting to be impossibly closer to him. You tugged at his hair, eliciting a deep moan from his lips, and you pulled away with a satisfied smirk.

“So you’ll stay?” Bucky spoke against your lips, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“If you keep kissing me like that.” You imitated his words from your last kiss, to which he shook his head and clasped his hand around yours, leading you out of the hallway and up to his room.

You hoped the rest of the club were asleep, because from the thump of your body being pushed against Bucky’s bedroom door after he’d dragged you inside and shut it, you were sure that they could assume who was causing the racket at almost midnight.

Bucky’s mouth was on yours in a matter of seconds, hands cupping your jaw, carefully avoiding pressing against the side that was bruised. Meanwhile, your fingers gently traced across the hem of his t-shirt, riding it up so that the pads of your fingers came into contact with his lower stomach, ghosting over the waistband of his jeans. He stepped back momentarily, shoving his leather jacket down his arms and letting it fall to the floor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your jacket,” You breathed. “It’s like you’re naked already.”

“Who said anything about getting naked?” He teased, hands coming to trace over your own exposed stomach. “Someone’s eager.”

“You’re stupid,” You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a grin. “Coming from the guy who just said he liked me, sap.”

“Real mature,” He snickered, riding your shirt up to your chest and tugging it off when you raised your arms to aid him. His lips moved to the crook of your neck, trailing light kissed along the soft skin there. “I meant it, though. I really like you, baby.”

A whimper escaped your lips as his attached to a certain spot on your neck, your hand fisting his shirt in response. You didn’t even have to say it back; it was obvious that you felt the same way about him in pretty much every way. The way your body was reacting to his, the breathy way that his name was falling from your swollen lips, and the fact you’d kissed him the week prior was a good indicator too.

“And you said you’d never get in my bed.” Bucky smirked after helping you pull off his own shirt.

“Technically, I’m not in your bed yet.”

“Yet,” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before trailing his hand down your jaw, along the curve of your shoulder and down to the hem of your bra. “Can’t wait to have you there, moaning all pretty for me.”

Your face grew hot at his words, but his lips were on yours again too quickly for him to notice. When he eventually pulled back for air, you bit your lip in anticipation.

“Hm, let’s not wait any longer then.”

And he didn’t let you wait any longer, leaning down to kiss you with a passionate hunger as he dragged you by both of your hands to his bed. Maybe it was the way he didn’t rush, that he took time memorizing every inch of your skin with gentle lips and wandering hands. Maybe it was the sighs and moans of pleasure that he’d managed to draw from you so easily, or the way he whispered praises and sweet nothings into your ear as he positioned himself comfortably between your legs. But after the two of you had reached your highs and were left grinning like idiots and panting for breath, you realised how fucking hard you’d fallen for the damn biker who’d somehow gotten you in his bed.

* * *

Soft snores gradually drew you from your slumber, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks before you eventually squinted your eyes open. It couldn’t have been any later than 5am; daylight was peaking through the curtains of the bedroom, but the world outside was still quiet. Quiet for New York, anyway.

Bucky had his arms tucked under his pillow, face buried into the cotton, lips parted, brown strands of hair falling in front of his face. Back muscles relaxed, shoulders raising slightly as he breathed quietly. He looked pretty like that, innocent even. Innocent in comparison to what occurred in his bed the night before.

As you idly observed him in his peaceful state, you couldn’t help but think about what Peggy had said to you earlier the prior night. She was right, as always. Especially after the night you’d just had with him, there was no way that your feelings for Bucky would just leave along with you leaving after summer. Perhaps sleeping with him was the stupidest decision you’d ever made. Perhaps it would’ve just been easier to not stay the night and pretend like you’d never kissed him in the first place. But you didn’t want that. You wanted him, even if you could only have him for the summer.

A muffled moan jerked your attention away from your thoughts and back to the man laying next to you, who was shifting as he began to wake, the muscles in his back flexing as he did so. It was a sight you could get used to for sure.

Soon enough, his baby blues met yours, a lazy smile overcoming his lips. “Watching me sleep?”

“No.” You denied, though he could see straight through the lie.

He hummed, reaching a hand out to trace over your bruised cheek. You leaned into the touch. “Still hurt?”

“Not really. Had a good doctor fix it up last night.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I mean, he slept with me afterwards which I thought was a little inappropriate...”

The biker scoffed, enclosing an arm around your bare waist to pull you closer. Sloppy kisses were planted down your jaw to your shoulder, ghosting over the dark bruises he’d marked you with only hours ago.

“I’ll miss you, you know. When you have to leave.” Bucky murmured, pulling away and laying back down against the pillow, his nose grazing yours.

You smiled sadly, pushing some of the hair away from his face. “Do you think this was stupid of us? To start something that’s just gonna have to end in a month?”

“Maybe, yeah,” He mirrored your expression, voice still a little raspy. “But I don’t regret it.”

“Me neither,” You twirled a lock of his hair sigh your pointer finger. “What’re you gonna do without me, huh? You might have to find another girl to take rides with you at sunset.”

Bucky shook his head, squeezing your waist. “Nah, I think I’d rather ride solo. Won’t be the same without you just over my shoulder.”

“Even when I get road rage?”

“Especially when you get road rage.”

“Well, we should probably make the most of the time we have left,” You propped yourself up on one elbow, a smirk playing on your lips. “How about a ride while the sun rises?”

“Sounds perfect.” He loosened his hold on you, letting you roll away from him and swing your legs over the side of the bed.

“Mind if I take a shower first?”

“Mind if I take a shower with you?”

You thought for a moment. It’d be saving water, wouldn’t it? “Screw it, why not. C’mon, Buck.”

You scurried off to the bathroom, still naked as Bucky followed after you, suddenly not so tired anymore.

Perhaps the summer hadn’t went in the direction you’d been expecting, but you had no complaints about the turn that it’d taken. You’d never believed in fate or destiny, much like you’d never believed in love. However, you’d like to believe that you were meant to meet Bucky when you came back to Brooklyn at some point. You’d never met someone— someone so perfect for you, if you were being honest. He didn’t scold you for your sarcasm, or shame you for standing up for yourself. He responded to your teasing with his own, he knew how to make you laugh, how to make your cheeks hot and your knees weak. You were always on the exact same wavelength, always knowing how the other was feeling, being able to bring out the best in one another.

It seemed like a waste to spend the little time left at home thinking about summer ending, so you simply pushed it out of your mind. Enjoying the moment was something you’d learned to do over and over again, because that was all you could do in the life that you led.

The moments spent with Bucky Barnes were just going to be a little harder to let go of.

* * *

Taglist:

@domolovee @oplunket16 @barnestruck @igotkatiepowers

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #biker!bucky #biker!bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes reader insert

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

Drinks For Two

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 1,800 Warning: None Author’s Note: That premium scene from Book 1, Chapter 2 at the bar from Ethan’s POV

Catch up here.

_______

The raucous cacophony surrounding Ethan that evening at Donahue's is not enough distraction from his traitorous thoughts, much to his annoyance. Ordinarily, the small bar serves as his sanctuary, a blessed transitional space between the harsh demands of the job and the tranquility of home. On most nights, he prefers the place silent enough to enjoy his drink in numbing peace. Upon entering the place and seeing the crowd of intoxicated, uproarious interns, however, Ethan kisses that fantasy goodbye.

He decides to stay anyway because lord knows he needs a drink after the hell hole of a day he had. Ethan, ever the optimist, even finds a silver lining in hoping that the mindless, drunken chatter will keep him from reliving it. When that fails, the riotous noise is nothing but that: noise.

Ethan takes a swig of his drink, savoring the pleasant burn in his throat.

“I don't want your opportunities or your charity. I want my patient to get better.”

Memories of fiery, bright eyes flood him, unbidden.

“And if that's not everyone's priority at this hospital, I'd rather you fire me now.”

Righteous, impassioned anger had colored her face as she spat the words at him with a vehemence that had given him pause. And all after he had placed a precious learning opportunity on a silver platter for her taking? Who the hell did this intern think she was? The nerve, the gall, the idiotic insolence of that brash, silver-tongued, headstrong girl...

Ethan loses steam.

That passionate, fearless, intelligent and rather pretty girl.

A slew of less professional adjectives inundate his awareness before he can stop them. Inwardly groaning, he throws back another drink.

An eruption of cheers and wolf whistles mercifully pulls him from his thoughts. Ethan doesn't need to look to know it's coming from the surgical interns, the rowdiest of the bunch by default. Add to that scores of cheap alcohol and the galvanizing promise of competition a game of dart brings, and they are downright unbearable.

When he does spare them a glance, he is greeted by the sight of a burly, good-looking surgical intern dipping a brunette backwards before planting a scandalous kiss on her lips.

“Get it, Lahela!”

“Traitor!”

God, how Ethan hated PDA.

A whirl of green fabric and glossy brown hair is all Ethan sees as the recipient of the kiss straightens herself, slightly woozy and gripping Lahela’s muscular arms for dear life. It is only when she shifts on her feet that Ethan catches a glimpse of that distinctive smile— the very same he had seen all day, both in person and in his recollection. Lilac Allende, pretty face bright and eyes sparkling, grins at the surgical intern as he whispers something in her ear.

And then, like a stroke of lighting, her eyes meet Ethan’s for the briefest of moments.

Ethan glances away too quickly, his slight annoyance tapering into sheer irritation. His mood deteriorates when he finds his glass empty though he doesn't get the opportunity to order another because mere seconds later, he can see a hazy shape in forest green approaching.

Stubborn as ever, Ethan determinedly avoids gazing her way. He foolishly thinks this will be successful until she is right at his side and practically impossible to ignore. This, of course, does not escape her notice, officially deeming her the most frustrating person he's ever met.

“Something wrong, Dr. Ramsey?” she asks and he can practically hear the cheeky grin in her melodic voice.

As his eyes take in the full force of the outfit she is wearing, he mentally determines the only thing that is wrong are the thoughts the revealing number invites. He makes a conscious effort to keep his eyes on her face and not on the tortuous path her daring neckline sets. Ethan loses the battle for a millisecond because his eyes fall on the black, lacy contraption peeking from her blouse (if he can call it that), the sight a sweet kind of torture. Feeling like an absolute ass, he fixes his gaze on hers, convinced he can still salvage both of their dignities by saying something vague.

“Just noticing how… different you look out in the real world.”

Dr. Allende looks as though she doesn't believe him and she opens her mouth, perhaps to brashly tell him so. Luckily, Reggie slides over to their side of the bar.

“What'll it be?”

She becomes distracted by the question and Ethan privately thanks Reggie's impeccable timing. Dr. Allende pensively chews her lip as she contemplates his empty glass. Ethan pauses, promptly telling himself this is to humor her while also satisfying his own curiosity and not because of the vision that is her bottom lip, made swollen by the pressure of the bite.

“Scotches, neat,” she finally tells Reggie, with a confidence that almost earns her an impressed nod.

In their silence, Dr. Allende cuts him a look that is almost bashful, despite all the bravado she displays. Her posture is ramrod straight and Ethan can practically feel the nervous energy radiating from her. With a bolt, he realizes she is silently extending an olive branch. A truce from their previous encounter at Edenbrook.

“Why neat instead of on the rocks?” he asks, his own quiet way of accepting.

“The ice changes the flavor,” she returns at once, shoulders relaxing visibly.

“Right answer.”

A ghost of a smile escapes him and she takes this with evident satisfaction, returning it with a smug smirk of her own. The crowded, ebullient bar suddenly becomes stifling to Ethan as he holds her gaze. To make it worse, someone decides that is the best moment to play an Al Green song on the jukebox.

Reggie returns with their drinks, saving him again.

“You know I can't be bribed into favoring you, right?” Ethan keeps his face masterfully impassive, his voice expertly controlled as he says this, the first thing he could think of to deter from it all.

“I think you already favor me.”

God, she is good. That clever little quip is enough to inspire a quiet laugh from him, the sound almost foreign to his ears.

“You keep believing that,” he returns almost at once.

This, in turn, makes her match his laughter. Before he can squash it, Ethan feels a proud jolt of satisfaction at being the one to cause the sound.

Reggie returns, noticing their empty glasses. The loaded grin he flashes Ethan leaves no doubt the older man caught the exchange.

“Two specials,” Ethan says, ignoring this. “Thanks, Reggie.”

“Only for you, Ethan,” his old friend returns with a chuckle, his eyes moving over to Dr. Allende before he moves away to prepare his order.

She sends him a curious look. “You're on first-name terms with the bartender?”

“He's an old friend. I come here most nights.”

Ethan can see her considering the statement quietly. “You don't have anyone waiting at home?”

Ethan hesitates, marveling at her tone, easy and casual as though she was asking for the time. Shifting in his seat slightly, he consciously refuses to look for any meaning behind the question.

“I'll come here even when I do,” he responds after a long pause. “I need some buffer between the hospital and the world. An airlock.” Briefly, he thinks of Harper and the many arguments that became too constant in the last months of their relationship.

“Don't take the job home with you, Lilac.” He's not sure why he utters the advice, but it is gone from his lips before he can stop it. Vaguely, he realizes that is the first time he calls her by her first name.

Dr. Allende doesn't seem to notice. She considers him, biting the inside of her cheek. “I'll keep that in mind…” she says, “but you didn't answer my question.”

Ethan decides then that sharp perceptiveness will be his demise.

“No. Nobody waiting at home tonight.”

There is no reaction because his order arrives.

Grateful, Ethan offers her the dark liquid. “Here, try this.”

Dr. Allende accepts the drink wordlessly. She swirls it around in the glass before taking a careful sniff. Ethan almost rolls his eyes though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't amused. Seemingly satisfied, she downs more than half of it with spectacular skill.

“Well, how's it compare?” he prompts, unable to keep that insistent need to know what she is thinking at bay. The way she assesses the empty glass between his fingers, her jaw working as she collects her thoughts only adds to the allure.

She meets his eye with a grin. “That's amazing!”

When he finds no indication of dishonesty on her face, Ethan allows another wave of self-congratulatory smugness. “Either you're sucking up to me, or you've got surprisingly refined taste for an intern. ”

The lopsided quirk of her lips leaves him entirely too charmed for his liking. “I'm surprising in a lot of ways.”

“You'll have to prove that.”

The words are redundant for she had been doing just that from the very instant he met her.

Eyes locked on hers, he raises his glass. “To your intern year. In the hopes you don't completely blow everything you've worked your whole life for.”

Dr. Allende scrunches that freckle dusted nose of hers. “Morbid,” she comments, though not without a signature smile. “I like it.”

Their glasses meet, the clink of the crystal lost in the revelry around them.

An upbeat pop song he is too old and too prideful to know the name of booms through the speakers. It is met with approving cheers from the drunk crowd. Over the hubbub, the sound of her name reaches them.

“Lilac!”

It is from a group of interns at the other end of the bar. Ethan briefly recognizes the short, bubbly one as the intern who pulled him away from his furious rant earlier that day.

“Are we dancing or not?” she yells over the music.

Lilac turns to Ethan who only waves his hand dismissively, encouraging her to go. As she turns to join her friends, she halts, turning to consider him quietly.

For a wild moment, Ethan thinks she might ask him to dance. Drink in hand he selfishly considers what it would be to dance with her, bodies close and lost to the beat of the music. Where might her hands be on his body as they moved? Where would his be? He vanishes the thought with more determination than necessary, though the heat that flares from his neck to his face is impossible to ignore.

Perhaps realizing she is not quite so brave, Lilac shoots him one last smile and simply says, “Good night, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Good night, Dr. Allende.”

________

Author’s Note: Who could have put the Al Green song? Hmm.

Thank you for reading!

At the risk of committing to an ambitious endeavor, I really want to do as many of these as possible. I think my next one will be from the Dolores chapter.

_______

@dulceghernandez | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices #my writing

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

Happiest Year

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 2,700

Summary: Bucky thanks you for the happiest year of his life.

Warnings: Angst (again lol)

A/N: No trick ending this time! The song gives it all away :( “Happiest Year” by Jaymes Young. Enjoy!

...

Month 9

He would never get tired of staring into your eyes. Its how he wanted to fall asleep at night: watching as your eyes fluttered closed slowly, wanting to stay awake with him, pillow talking, gazing into each other’s eyes. Its how he wanted to wake up every morning: watching you squint your eyes open at the sunlight shining from the window, softly smiling as you rubbed the sleep from those eyes.

“What are you lookin’ at,” you mumbled, tilting your chin up, curling up into Bucky’s side.

“Your eye boogers,” he grinned back, laughing loudly as you swatted at his chest.

You giggled back, playfully trying to shove him off the bed – obviously not strong enough. He hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you towards him, burying his face in your neck. “You jerk,” you laughed, breathless.

“I’m kidding, baby.” He kissed your neck, then straightened up to kiss your lips. “You know I love your eyes boogies.”

And that’s how it went. From month 1 to month 11. Every night falling asleep in each other’s arms, waking up in each other’s arms. Constantly laughing and poking fun at each other; it was all light-hearted fun. It was nice to have found someone to laugh with; he hadn’t felt so free in years. To be able to laugh with someone without worrying if you were the butt of the joke. To be able to live with someone who didn’t care or even know about his past; there were no reminders of that side of him: no files labeled The Winter Soldier, no agents leaving the room as soon as he walked in, and no having to look at Stark’s face every day – a painful reminder of the things he had done.

You who he was, sure. You knew about his past; he’d let you in on a few things. He trusted you. He knew that no matter how much money TMZ offered you, how much your friends poked and prodded you, you wouldn’t break; you’d happily take his secrets to the grave with you. But you never pressured him to telling you anything. You understood his boundaries and his desire to not become his past – to go backwards.

So, you propelled him forwards. He relearned emotions: how to accept them, express them, and not cower away from them. He learned how to become a human again; more specifically, the human he was before the war: charming, charismatic, a sweet talker.

It was nice to feel like his old self. It was something he never thought he would’ve felt ever again. Even after he was free from Hydra, welcomed to the Avengers with open arms, he never felt right. With you it was different. He was comfortable; there was no pressure with you. He didn’t understand how someone could be so patient. You waited until he was ready for every step of this relationship. And then love hit him like a fucking freight train. He didn’t know what it felt like; he just woke up one day, looked into your bright eyes, and said: “I love you.”

I’m really on the ropes this time

I’ve been fighting all my life for you

Month 9

He realized that that feeling is what he’s been missing his whole life. It was the only piece left to the puzzle he’d been dying to complete.

Everyone around him noticed it, too. Steve, obviously, could not be more elated that Bucky had found someone. He liked being the one Bucky could confide in, but he knew there way always something missing. There was only so much friendly compassion that could get someone through life. Sam never let Bucky hear the end of it, constantly teasing him about how Bucky would smile down at his phone every time you texted him, how Bucky would come home in the morning after spending the night at your house, how he only came around the tower when he had to: workouts, meetings, missions. “Hey snow queen,” Sam called to Bucky after one debriefing. “You ever plan on sleeping in your own bed again?”

Bucky turned to the man, staring blankly at him. “What?” He stammered, “why?”

Sam chuckled, enjoying the fact that Bucky didn’t know he was joking. “I was just wondering, since you’ve been staying over at a ‘friend’s’ — ” completed with air-quotes “ – house.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say – he was on the ropes for sure.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Relax, man, I’m happy for you,” Sam said, walking over to the man and clapping him on the shoulder. “You should bring her by sometime. Everyone would love to meet her.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. The only person who had met you so far was Steve.

Bucky never brought you by.

Yeah, we made each other bleed

And we tasted it

Month 10

It was hard when Bucky went on missions, for both of you. You didn’t want him to leave, but you understood his obligation to do so. It would be selfish of you to keep him to yourself. So, you bit back your tears, kissed him goodbye, and told him to return to you in one piece.

Bucky came home from missions high with adrenaline every single time. No matter how long the jet ride home was, he’d sit on the plane, leg bouncing furiously, thinking about returning home to you the entire time. Sometimes, he’d come home to you, allow you to calm him down, pull him into a warm shower; he’d let you wash the dirt and blood off his hardened body, double wash his long hair, and let you hold him – that’s really all he needed: your body in his arms, standing with his head tucked down in the crook of your shoulder. You would rub circles on his knotted back, soothing him, relaxing him.

Other times, the adrenaline would get the most of him, he’d run through the front door, sweeping you up off your feet into his arms, chest against chest, pulling you away from whatever task you were doing. At first you would giggle – it was cute. But Bucky was all business. Where one hand remained hooked under your thigh, holding you to him, the other quickly snaked up through your back and hair, finding the back of your neck, pulling your mouth to his. Your smile quickly faded into a moan and release of breath as he met you with an open mouth kiss. He swallowed your noise and wasted no time in slipping his tongue into your open mouth.

The kiss was sloppy, there wasn’t time for perfection; he needed your mouth on his, your tongue on his, your ass in his hand – he gave it a firm squeeze and you moaned into his mouth: “James.”

He missed you; he missed the noises you’d make. Each breath, moan, whine. Each time you’d mumble his name, as if it was the only word you’d remembered; scream his name, as if it was your only salvation.

And when you breathed his name into his mouth, he bit your unsuspecting bottom lip, kissing it again, sucking it into his mouth to run his tongue around the metallic taste that was now shared between your mouths.

I’m here to admit

That you were my medicine

Oh, love, I can’t quit

Month 10

He woke you up the next morning with a kiss. He watched as your eyes fluttered open, shutting again quickly, following with a yawn and a stretch. Bucky watched as you cozied yourself back up in the sheets, the cold morning air creating goosebumps on your naked skin. You pulled the blanket up to your chin, turning your head towards Bucky, greeting him with a smile.

And it was this look that Bucky could never grow tired of. It made saving the world worth it, just so he could come home to you again. So, he could watch you looking up at him with lust-filled eyes, gazing up at him in adoration.

Those eyes could heal any wound, cure any disease, and mend any broken heart.

I never should have said goodbye

But maybe that’s what stupid people do

Month 12

“James, please,” you pleaded, sobbing – wailing – holding your hands to his chest, white-knuckling fistfuls of his jacket, unwilling to let him go. “Why?” You begged to understand.

God, he felt stupid. He felt like an idiot.

Throwing away the past year – all the memories, intimate moments, love the two of you had shared – for what seemed, to you, like nothing. But he had been thinking about it for quite some time. Hell, he’d been thinking about it since day one.

It was a part of his programming: the way he’d lived for the past seventy-plus years. At first, it was that he wasn’t deserving. He didn’t deserve love, compassion; he didn’t deserve the featherlike touches of you trailing your fingers over his scars, your soft kisses on his lips, you whispering sweet nothings to him, telling him how much you loved him.

Then it revolved around the fact that he was a monster. That he would hurt you. It was never his intention, obviously. He wanted quite the opposite. But he’d have nightmares. He would wake you up in the middle of the night; you were tranquil, and you calmed him down. You let him talk if he needed to – which he did sometimes – but you never pressured him. You understood his demons for him and understood that he needed to deal with it in his own way.

One month ago, he had a nightmare, and woke himself up thrashing in his bed. Quickly scanning his surroundings, he found you hunched over on your side of the bed, wincing as you clutched your ribcage in silence. “Oh my god,” was the only thing Bucky could whisper, in complete disbelief. He did that. He did that to you.

He elbowed you in the ribs as you were laying next to him. You woke up with a gasp, rolling over, wincing in pain. You quickly settled your breathing, rubbing the area furiously as the pain subsided. Nothing felt cracked, maybe it would be bruised tomorrow. You turned towards Bucky, now quietly panicking on the edge of the bed. You reached out towards him.

He stared at your outstretched hand, hanging in the open air between the two of you. He was absolutely paralyzed in both his body and mind. Why were you reaching out to him? How could he do that to you – when he promised to never hurt you.

“Buck,” you croaked. “It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes. I. Did.” Each word was punctuated with a shaky breath. His whole body was shaking. He’d spent years and years inflicting pain against innocent people. But this one hurt the most.

You crawled over to him on the bed, Bucky matching each of your movements with a step backwards. You held your arms out to him. “James, please.”

…

“I can’t be with you. I can’t hurt you.” It was one month ago. You knew he was upset, and you knew he’d changed. He wouldn’t touch you anymore; he wouldn’t hold you at night. He let you curl up to him at night, wrap your arms around him, kiss him. But it became all you. He was scared to touch you; he didn’t know if he would hurt you again.

And it became increasingly clearer every day that passed by. What if one day he loses all control – just like that night? His mind was not secure; as much as he’d like to think that he was safe now, there was always a chance he could be brain-washed again – that his mind, his free-will, would be taken away from him again. After all that’s happened in his past, even his recent past, he could never rule it out as a possibility. And, as sad as it was, everybody knew that. Steve, Bruce, Tony – especially Tony – all kept an eye out. Everybody knew that except for you.

You didn’t know a few stupid words could trigger him into a murderous villain. It came out in the media that he was framed, yes, of course his record was cleaned; but you didn’t know the extent and the trauma that came along with it.

“You’re, hurting me now, how don’t you understand that,” you screamed through tears. He held onto your wrists, forcefully removing them from your deathlike grip on his coat.

“I’m hurting you now, so I don’t kill you later, (Y/N).” He was firm – you didn’t understand how he could be so calm when he was tearing your heart clean out of your chest. “I can’t put you through this anymore. I’ve hit you once and who knows if it’ll happen again. (Y/N), I don’t have control over my actions – you don’t get it – but I can’t explain it to you – ” he cut himself off, understanding that his rambling only made you cry further, dropping your face into your hands, choking back sobs.

You wiped the undersides of your eyes with your palms, sniffing loudly. “Then explain it to me. You know that I can take it – I don’t care what’s happened to you – I just want to understand.”

“I have to do this because I love you.”

Oh, I can’t quit

And I’m down on my knees again

Asking

For nothing

Month 13

It was thirty days that he spent in his room. He only ate what Wanda would cook for him, making Vision bring him – through his wall; it was invasive, but Bucky needed to eat. He only showered when Steve made him; he’d missed workouts and meetings, but when Steve barged into his room (through the door – literally), and pointed out how greasy and knotty his hair was, the brunet washed up in the shower, sitting on the floor with the hot water running over him for two hours.

He had to keep reminding himself that he was suffering for a reason. There was a reason. You were the reason. Protecting you. All your tears, your broken heart: to protect you. You would heal, eventually. It was hard to know when; but you were beautiful, intelligent, kind, you were everything good in the world. She’ll find somebody better soon, he reassured himself. But the thought of you with anyone – laughing with anyone, kissing, touching anyone – it brought him to his knees; his heart dropping six feet below him.

Bucky barred F.R.I.D.A.Y. from saying your name or anything related to you. He unofficially banned any of his housemates from saying it, as well. One day when Steve brought you up, Bucky punched him straight in the mouth.

That was about the only thing he’d done in the past month.

He didn’t read, didn’t watch TV, didn’t speak.

It was thirty days of silence.

He didn’t want anything.

He only wanted you.

He couldn’t have you any longer.

But there was nothing he wanted more.

So, wake me up when they build that time machine

I want to go back

Wake me up when you’re sleeping next to me

Cause I really loved you

Month 15

Steve wouldn’t let Bucky go on missions anymore.

Tony wouldn’t let Bucky leave the tower anymore.

Not that Bucky wanted to do either of those things. The only thing he found solace in was his bed. His bed with the lights off, blinds closed, curtains pulled shut. It was pitch black all the time. All he wanted to do was sleep.

But he couldn’t sleep. Not alone, anyway.

He wished he was comatose – on ice again. Nothing felt the same without you. There was no light, no taste, no color. The only color he could see was the color of your eyes, clear as day.

He wished he could go back. He would go back to any day in the last year; even if he didn’t get to pick the day. Any day with you was better than one without you.

Leaving you was the only way you’d be safe. He loved you enough to know that.

Thank you for the happiest year of my life

Thank you, (Y/N).

I’m sorry.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #fanfiction #angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine

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dudeandduchess · 5 years

Note

Hi babe! I'm so happy to finally see you open your request box! Can I request a NSFW Shinjuro Rengoku x Reader please? Please start it off with Reader stumbling upon Shinjuro touching himself to the thought of her when she came to visit her good friend Kyojuro for tea. Thank you so much!!

Hey hey, bby! Big oof bc I’ve had this sitting in my ask for so long (since December, I think) and I just got to it now. 😅 Sorry about that! Hope you like it tho. 💜✨

***

Shinjurō x F!S/O: Sinful Surprise (NSFW Scenario):

Warnings: Smut, Getting Caught Masturbating, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Spanking, Oral Sex, Ahegao, Face Riding, D/s Themes

The second Sunday of every month was always something that (Y/n) looked forward to; not only because of her regularly scheduled tea days with Kyōjurō, but also because it meant that she would get to go to his house— granted that she didn’t get to always see whomever it was that she went there for.

But setting foot at the Rengoku estate once in a while was better than not at all, since she wouldn’t have been able to feed her fantasies of riding his father’s cock until sunrise otherwise.

Her lustful feelings for the Rengoku patriarch were her biggest secret; if they ever got out, especially to Kyōjurō, she didn’t know what would happen. So she did her best to control herself around him; especially that one time when she’d seen him walk around the house without his yukata fully on.

She felt herself get wet at the mere memory of that day, as she had used it more than once to help her satiate the lust she felt for him.

Still, even though her pussy tingled with need, she soldiered on and kept walking towards her friend’s estate.

Rubbing her thighs together did very little to alleviate her need, so she was forced to endure the throbbing need in her pussy until she got to her destination.

Kyōjurō wasn’t even outside the gates like he normally would have been so, hesitantly, she peered into the garden and checked to see if Senjurō was there.

But she had no such luck, because it was devoid of any human presence.

“Kyōjurō?” She called out softly, afraid to ruin the tranquil silence that wrapped around the expansive property.

Her feet then led her around the outer perimeter of the house, letting her check to see if her friend was there or not. Because if he weren’t, then she would just head over to Shinazugawa’s house for snacks... and maybe a little something more to take the edge off of her lust.

However, just as she was about to walk away and leave, she passed by the open doors that led to the Rengoku patriarch’s room; and the sight that greeted her made her eyes widen in surprise, as well as darken with lust.

Because right there, laid out on his futon, was Rengoku Shinjurō with his cock in his fist— with his eyes closed and his teeth gritted.

She was frozen in place at that, with her eyes never leaving the hard cock right in front of her. It was so thick and veiny that it didn’t fail to make her mouth water, but that had more to do with the fact that she had been waiting so long to see what laid beneath the older man’s clothes.

Had she known just how monstrous of a cock he would have packed, then she would have made a move on him sooner.

“Fuck, (Y/n), you little slut.” The words reached her ears, but failed to register fully in her mind. And it wasn’t until Shinjurō growled her name once more that she was shaken out of her trance.

(Y/n) felt like she was in a dream, because there was simply no way that the man she’d been lusting after would be masturbating to the thought of her.

Yet there he was, as captivating as how she’d always imagined him to be.

Slowly, her feet shuffled forward to bring her closer to him, only to freeze in place when she saw those piercing eyes of his snap open and immediately zero in on her.

However, instead of being angry and affronted at her voyeurism, Shinjurō’s lips quirked up into a salacious smirk; one that had (Y/n)’s panties getting even more drenched than before.

“Hm. Like what you see?” Shinjurō stated smugly, as his eyes roved over the young woman’s form. From the top of her head, to the tips of her toes, she was perfect to him; and every inch of her served to make him harder than he was earlier.

His cock twitched in his hand, and he looked down at it before looking back up at her.

And slowly, he let go of his erection and allowed her to marvel at the sheer size of it.

“I- I’m sorry, Rengoku-sama,” (Y/n) piped up— her voice catching in her throat as she desperately tried to let her gaze flicker away from Shinjurō’s erection; to no avail, as her eyes only kept gravitating back towards his mouthwatering length.

At that, the former Hashira propped himself up on one elbow and used his right hand to beckon her forward; just two crooks of his index finger was enough to make (Y/n) go walking right to him— and the blatant show of submission made him grin.

“Come here.”

Every step felt so agonizingly slow for the young woman but, eventually, she found herself standing right by Shinjurō’s futon.

He ogled her legs, which were on full display from her skirt, before locking her eyes with his and saying, “Spying on a man is wrong, baby. How do you plan on atoning for you sin?”

The pet name made a shiver race down (Y/n)’s spine, and it was only after it had passed through her that she realized that her eyes had been glued to Shinjurō’s generously sized cock.

“Tell me, have you done this with my son as well? Watched him stroke his cock to his own fantasies of you?” He practically sneered out the last bit, as he felt the first few flares of jealousy spring to life inside him.

He was never a jealous man to begin with, but the mere thought of anyone else having had the pleasure of tasting (Y/n) first grated at him incessantly— like it always did.

Because, ever since he’d first met her, he had wanted nothing more than to bend her over and put his cock inside her.

If he could have, he’d have already spent his days waking up with his cock snugly inside her cunt. But he had to banish those thoughts before, as a perfect opportunity to seduce her had never presented itself.

Not until that moment.

He had never been more thankful for the Demon Slayer Corps for calling Kyōjurō away to an emergency Hashira meeting— which left (Y/n) in his clutches.

(Y/n)’s warm cheeks and frazzled nerves did nothing to hide the nervousness she felt, yet she still found herself answering, “No. We’re just friends.”

It was a blatant lie, and it made her feel so horrible; but he didn’t have to know what went on between her and Kyōjurō behind closed doors.

”With some other man, then?” Shinjurō growled out, as he moved to tug (Y/n) down onto the floor. Luckily, her reflexes kicked in and had her kneeling down to compensate for his sudden movement.

However, she remained silent— as she could just tell that he wouldn’t like her answer.

The former Hashira exhaled exasperatedly at that, before clicking his tongue and roughly dragging her to straddle his hips— where his erection pressed insistently against the crotch of her panties.

“I’m going to make you forget every other cock except mine. From now on you’ll be my fucktoy; my filthy little cocksleeve. Mine to do what I please with, and mine to fuck whenever I want. Got that, baby?”

She couldn’t deny that his words made something inside her so pliant, as she nodded her assent. “Yes.”

“And you will call me Daddy at all times. Failure to do so will warrant punishment.” Shinjurō emphasized his point by bringing a hand down on one of her ass cheeks, before squeezing it tightly and spanking it again through the bottom of her skirt.

“Yes, Daddy.”

A smug smile stretched the older man’s lips, as he settled back down on his futon, and tugged (Y/n) up until her clothed cunt was hovering above his mouth.

“Strip. Now.”

She was hesitant at first, as her fingers moved to gingerly unfasten her Slayer uniform; shrugging the top off along with her haori, while she tried not to moan aloud at the sensations of Shinjurō tracing her clothed slit with the tip of his tongue.

He’d always known that the young woman had always lusted after him; it was evident in the way that her gaze lingered on him whenever he was around, as well as the manner in which she held herself during those times.

(Y/n) had always thought that she was slick and covert, but she was no match for a former Hashira— what with her merely being a Kinoto.

Shinjurō’s senses had always been sharper than her own, so no matter how well she thought she’d hidden how wet she’d gotten at the sight of him, he could always sense the want coming from her.

“I’m going to punish you with my tongue first, then you’re going to be a good little slut and take Daddy’s cock in this tight little cunt,” At that, the older man’s arms wrapped around the tops of her thighs, so that his hands could squeeze the globes of her ass.

A mere whimper answered him, so he brought his right hand down against her flesh in a hard slap. “Answer me.”

“Yes, Daddy. I’ll be a good girl and ride your cock, I promise.” (Y/n) cried out, just as Shinjurō moved her panties aside and bunched her skirt up in his left hand.

He didn’t answer her verbally; instead, the former Hashira traced her wet slit with the flat of his tongue, before sucking her clit into his mouth. He then rolled the tiny bundle of nerves between his lips, which caused (Y/n)’s muscles to tense up, as her hands came down to grip her lover’s hair.

Still, the older man didn’t lighten up on his actions. In fact, he pulled down further against his mouth, just so he could keep playing with her clit.

(Y/n) felt like she was all sorts of disoriented at that alone. Her head was thrown forward, with her eyes screwed shut and her lips parted into a tiny ‘o’; while her thighs quivered involuntarily, as the tight coil inside her stretched further and further— until it snapped.

With a cry, her orgasm flooded through her entire body— making her hips try and lift up from Shinjurō’s mouth. But he wasn’t having that, so he tightened his grasp on her right right, while his left hand bunched her skirt harder; to the point that they heard a crisp ripping sound echo in the room.

Still, neither of them cared.

Especially when Shinjurō slid her down to rest on his stomach.

She left a trail of her cum along her lover’s chest, but he didn’t mind that at all as he eyed her slick cunt hungrily.

Without any warning, the older man lifted her up and flipped their positions; with him hovering above her, and with her back flat against the futon.

And slowly, Shinjurō moved to grasp her legs by the ankles, before slinging her knees up against his shoulders in a breeding press. “By the time I’m done fucking you, you’re going to be pregnant with my brats.”

His left hand drifted down to rest against her hip, while the right one moved to grip the base of his aching cock. He first ran the head of his erection along her wet slit; relishing in the lewd sounds that made, before using his dick to slap her clit.

(Y/n)’s entire body seemed to spasm at that, which had him smugly smirking as he looked down at her.

“Do you want me to knock you up, baby?” He asked in a gruff tone, right before slapping her clit with his dick once more. “Get you fucking pregnant with my seed?”

Frantically, (Y/n) nodded— almost delirious with the need to feel his cock inside her throbbing pussy; even though she had just orgasmed a mere few minutes before. “Please, Daddy. I need you to fill me up with your cum until I’m pregnant with your child. Please, please, Daddy.”

Shinjurō couldn’t have held back his happiness at that, even if he tried.

So, he placed the head of his cock right at her entrance and pushed in slowly. His eyes never left (Y/n)’s face, and he took note of how her eyes had practically rolled into the back of her head when he’d bottomed out inside her. And instantaneously, his left hand anchored itself to her waist.

The head of his cock brushed against her cervix, so he took advantage of that and moved his hips to an angle that he was sure would bring her immense pleasure.

(Y/n) had never felt so full in her entire life; not even Kyōjurō’s cock felt so thick inside her. She was close to bursting at the seams, and she was also sure that it was evident on her face; because when Shinjurō began thrusting inside her, her mouth had instantly parted in a scream while her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth.

Every hard thrust pressed the head of his cock up against her cervix, and the amount of pleasure it caused to course through her entirety was nowhere near what the younger Rengoku could make her feel.

“Fuck, baby. Your cunt feels so good around Daddy’s cock,” Shinjurō groaned, as his grip on either side of (Y/n)’s waist tightened; so tight that he was sure he was going to leave finger-shaped bruises on her skin. “Such a fucking slut. Daddy’s little slut.”

More filthy words of praise rolled off of the former Hashira’s tongue, all while the sounds of skin slapping against skin reverberated off the walls.

And when he increased the pace and force of his movements, (Y/n) could only mewl and claw at the futon beneath her for some semblance of purchase. It felt as if her mind was slowly starting to float away with every drag of her lover’s cock against her walls; all that there was in her world were Shinjurō and his amazing dick.

“Please, please, Daddy. Knock me up.” The young woman cried, while her fingers curled around the thick material of the futon. She was so close to cumming, and the fact was made even more evident with the way she frantically tried to meet her lover’s thrusts.

The muscles in her legs began to quiver once more, as her walls clamped down hard on the thick cock that kept fervently hammering in and out of her tight cunt. “I’m cumming, Daddy!”

With those words hanging in the air, Shinjurō bottomed out inside (Y/n), succumbing to the peak of his own pleasure and shooting ropes of his thick cum inside her.

And even though he was done filling her up, he made no move to pull his cock out of her. Instead, he leaned down and pressed the softest of kisses against her now-closed lips. “I’m nowhere near done with you, baby.”

#rengoku shinjuro #rengoku shinjuro x reader #shinjuro rengoku #kny shinjuro #shinjuro rengoku x reader #daddy shin #kny x reader #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #jen writes

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filthfichunter · 4 years

Text

My first entry for the #WitcherDeadDoveBingo!! Gaslighting and spider gags squares.

Noncon, Rough Oral, Fisting, Object Insertion, quasi enema, belly bulge, non con drug use, non con somnophilia, gaslighting... DeadDoveDoNotEat.

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Summary: Geralt never usually knew how he got into the more preposterous of the situations he found himself in, but in this case he only had himself to blame.

Geralt starts drugging Jaskier for some peace and quiet, it's the perfect solution until it isnt. Cue Jaskier being convinced a past partner has cursed him- begging Geralt to save him from his sexual haunting, or hex or whatever has him waking up with a sore throat and bruises and strains that he can't explain.

________

Within the first week of Jaskier following him on the Path Geralt longed for the quiet peace of his pre-bard life.

The other man just would not stop making noise, or moving. If it wasn't inane chatter or singing or humming it was the constant movement and barely contained energy and boundless enthusiasm.

Jaskier reminded him of an over eager wolf cub, all oversized paws and tumbling over itself

He could deal with it during the day traveling. But at night anytime they were setting up camp he had to brace himself for dealing with Jaskier until the bard would finally fall asleep granting Geralt his much valued peace.

The Witcher pretty much hated heading into towns, but at least if they spent the night at an inn Jaskier would be busy playing his craft and earning coin. Being able to brood in a dark corner with some ale was an improvement, at least the rest of the humans knew to give him a wide buffer.

As an added bonus towns meant that more often than not the lusty little lark would spend the evening sleeping next to someone else. Geralt wasn't a prude, but he had within the first month of knowing Jaskier run all of the tests he had learned or ever heard of to check for any trace of sex demon energy or lineage.

Even at his horniest as a young adolescent trainee with a full double dose of mutagens running through his body Geralt didn't remember ever needing to get a leg over on everything as much as Jaskier so obviously did.

The bright young man was becoming something of a friend, and Geralt didn't actually want to drive him away. There was a charm to how he treated Geralt as more than the monster he knew himself to be. Also the way he fawned over Geralt's body, prepared baths and did nice things for him was... nice, the smell of sexual longing and desire in Jaskier's pheromones was also nice.

The second month was when he first happened across what he thought might be a solution to his Jaskier problem.

Instead of chattering filling the entire clearing with noise Geralt had looked up startled by the quiet to see Jaskier passed out over Roach's rucksack. Instead of following Geralt's instructions to never go into his ingredient/potions sack the younger man must have decided to go searching for some seasoning for the stew that he had been preparing.

Tromping over to see what ridiculous situation Jaskier had landed himself in this time. Geral was relieved and annoyed to see that Jaskier would be fine, but that he would need to reorder his bag and it's many vials. Based on the beading pinprick of blood on his finger and overpowering scent of a mix of olliander and manticore bile Jaskier had managed to dose himself with one of the safest (for humans) tranquilizer in his Witcher kit of potions.

For all that he might have been a sheltered recent college graduate before he started following along after Geralt he had a rather sophisticated palette when it came to seasoning his food and cooking.

That still didn't excuse Jaskier from rooting through a pack that wasn't his, but being knocked out for the next maybe two hours and having to eat a cold dinner was punishment enough. He wasn't the boys disciplinarian to pull Jaskier's silks down over his ass and give him a spanking, even if some days Geralt was tempted to do it just to see if he could pink up that soft pale skin and drive the always chirping lark beyond words.

That first night was all Jaskier. Geralt was good and carefully laid Jaskier bacj down over the rucksack buffered by his bedroll so that the insensate body wouldn't get jostled or bruised as he waited for Jaskier to regain consciousness.

It was when Jaskier came right back awake and continued the exact same conversation he had been having (conversation was a generous discriptor for the one sided wave of words) seemingly none the wiser that he had missed any time at all that the first seed of the idea was planted in Geralt's mind.

The next night Geralt made up his mind to knock the bard unconscious for the full evening after supper.

"Jaskier!"

"Your coarseness stands in the way of true artistry Geralt! You don't see me complaining over your knife sharpening! Or your, silent, but very loud brooding! Your brooding is like an entire chamber orchestra of angry kittens Geralt, spitting and angry and adorable!"

Jaskier continued to strum the same four bars of music over and over and over.

It was a simple thing to drug Jaskier, this time with a silk thin needle dipped in enough of the solution to give Geralt a complete uninterrupted night of peace, slipped into the unblemished skin over his carotid artery. Jaskier had noticed the tiny slice to his fingers the day before, but was unable to figure out when it had happened. Jaskier used his fingers and hands too much to risk a repeat.

He didn't feel guilty at all, he had seen mother's do much the same with fussy infants. And really Geralt can easily imagine Jaskier's own family having done something similar for the boy to have made it to adulthood without being throttled.

The consequences the next day were worse for Geralt than for Jaskier.

Just like before Jaskier woke up without realizing anything was strange. Unlike last time the bard was even more full of energy after his time unconscious.

Geralt gave it up as a solution for the next two weeks. Two weeks of noise and chatter and a marked uptick in the lust and sex smells that Jaskier was putting out. Apparently some barrier of familiarity had been breached, because it was also about that time that Geralt learned something that would guarantee a sleepy quiet bard.

Jaskier was a two and done orgasm type of man. To hear the irate barmaid tell it Jaskier hadn't even stayed awake long enough to help her to her own climax. Sure enough on the road that morning Jaskier was more yawning and tired than usual.

That night was the second time Geralt drugged Jaskier and then rubbed the bard to completion through his trousers. The reward of a quieter and chagrin bard for the full morning the next day was worth any moral twinge Geralt might have felt. His smirk caused Jaskier to blush and bluster in a very becoming way, the scent of sex and cum coming from the boy didn't hurt Geralt's mood either.

Two days into the new routine Geralt had it down to a science. It was too suspicious to always have Jaskier wake to a mess in his own pants, so the night before Geralt had discovered that Jaskier's slim cock was the perfect mouthful for him to suck down without having to do any prep work of his own, with enough stimulation Geralt had been able to bring his friend off three times quickly one after the next anfter the next.

The last climax Geralt had coaxed along by burying a cooked finger up into the bard to stimulate his prostate, the result was the same, the next day a sleepy sated bard and peace till the sun was nearly directly above them.

On the anniversary of the first week of peace Geralt first traced the seam of Jaskier's mouth, edging the boys usually animated and loud mouth open and petting the pink moist tongue. It wasn't like the bard wouldn't offer if Geralt asked him to get on his knees and service him in this way...

The morning after the sloppiest and most thorough throat fucking blow job Geralt had ever managed to experience in the entirety of his long life Jaskier complained of a hoarse throat and rested his voice the entire rest of the trip into town where he had a job booked to sing that evening. Silence. Bliss.

And it was no wonder. Geralt wasn't as well hung as some of the Witchers he knew, but even he had been surprised to be able to press the wiry white hair at his crotch to Jaskier's lips. Most whores charged extra, both because he was a Witcher, and because of the inconvenience of trying to blow him. He'd been so shocked by Jaskier's success he ended up rearranging and contorting the bard into a bunch of different positions over the coming days to see just how deep and how long he could thrust down into that golden throat.

The first morning that Jaskier had passed on breakfast and claimed he must still be full for the night before Geralt didn't bother hiding his smirk. He had come at least three times down into Jaskier's belly, and it was no wonder the bard didn't need to break his fast. If Jaskier was confused about his cum scented morning breath he didn't voice any concerns.

Jaskier took to thanking Geralt for the small kindnesses the Witcher started to offer, honey tea in the morning for Jaskier's throat, herbs to help him feel more relaxed, balm for any of the aches, pains or bruises that cropped up when traveling with a Witcher.

Geralt was maybe a little guilty, but he also had come to enjoy seeing his little song bird's smile at the unexpected gifts.

After Geralt picked up the spider gag to keep Jaskier's mouth held open more conveniently for his throat fucking he also bought some lip balm for the dry skin and pressure sores that sometime came from overusing the device.

"You are the soul of thoughtfulness dearheart! A paragon of care"

When Jaskier complained later on about a sore jaw it wasn't even Geralt, but the proprietor of an inn that told the bard it was no wonder his jaw hurt with as much wagging he did with it.

Jaskier's lips weren't the only hole Geralt explored after drugging him. What had started with one slick finger tip hesitant and searching had exploded into Geralt making a thorough study of just what he could fit into Jaskier's ass.

He could pump his way to orgasm so many times his own cock started to chafe, with no accounting for how raw and used Jaskier's own rim faired after such treatment.

He always fixed what he broke with a combination of more tinctures and the application of magic. He did start to worry that Jaskier might notice that his once youthful tight hole had a pronounced gape to it, but so far like the rest of the small discomforts of the Path Jaskier hadn't said a thing.

On a night on the road after sharing an amphora of of wine with Jaskier Geralt had even managed to work the rim of Jaskier's lax asshole around the lip of the mouth of the vessel and tip nearly a full gallon of water into the drunk drugged bards guts.

Holding Jaskier's hips up high, with only the boys head and shoulders touching the ground Geralt might have felt a little guilty if it hadn't been so hot seeing Jaskier so stretched and his belly slowly being sloshed over full and swollen- his rim stretched so wide it was nearly white with the stress where it kissed the lip of the wine jar.

He did miss some of Jaskier's noise. And he did wonder what sounds he could evoke from his little lark, what it might be like to have Jaskier's body clentch back and respond when Geralt's cock was deep dicking him so thoroughly that the bard started shooting blank, milked dry by Geralt's attentions.

Once again Jaskier supplied a solution, and with excellent timing too, it was near impossible to find a manticore this time of year and he was nearly out of the drug concoction he had been using.

"Geralt, I need your help desperately!! It's a life or death situation!!"

Immediately coming to attention Geralt turned to Jaskier, limping slowly beside Roach voice a little scratchy and strained even after the tea and herbs he had been fed.

It was a bashful red faced Jaskier that explained his theory.

"Everything is perfectly normal and then, hmmm it must have been a month ago! No wait maybe it was two...Geralt do you remember that tiny little town with that councilman's wife who threw me out of her bedroom right before I was able to finish satisfying her with my talented..."

"Jaskier"

"My talented tongue Geralt! Let me continue, I am convinced I am cursed, or haunted, or cursed and haunted."

"Even I know to avoid the ones that smell off or have rashes bard" In all honesty Geralt would be surprised to learn if Jaskier had been able to masturbate let alone get it up to service his normal number of partners, not with how Geralt had been overworking him at night.

The bards body only got a reprieve on nights after a hunt or when they were staying at inns. Even then it was only sometimes that Geralt left the bard alone.

"The point stands! And it is your job as a Witcher to break the curse!"

The last visit to a town, the night before, Jaskier had actually returned drunk and cum stained still dripping a load of cum from a tumble with a strapping blacksmith that had tipped the bard and then tupped the bard in quick succession.

"What curse is it you think you have Jaskier?" Geralt was putting on a show growsing, but he was curious to see what the boy thought was happening to him.

It's true he had maybe over done it both with the drug and with how hard he had used the bard last night. But it was partly Jaskier's fault for giving Geralt the perfect cover to try fisting Jaskier for the first time. The bard already expected to wake up pleasantly sore and leaking.

"The councilman's wife cursed me! It's the only explanation Geralt! Scratchy throats in the morning that disappear by afternoon, unaccounted bruises, an er inability to inspire and follow through in the appreciation of my audience of young nubile stable boys and milk girls I am afflicted Geralt! Cursed!'

"You seem healthy to me" Geralt grunted amused for once by the length and passion of this rant. "Doesn't sound like a likely curse"

"That's exactly what she wants you to think!!"

Seeing the bard so animated and full of energy did make Geralt realize how subdued he had been for the last week? Maybe more?

"Tell me the rest of it"

"What makes you think there is more! I've already told you the worst of it, really Geralt, a man of your long years and deep understanding of curses and hexes I expect you can mix together a few things and have me back to normal in no time, someone is jealous of my immense musical talents and bedroom prowess and they want me to suffer Geralt!" Jaskier had nearly spooked Roach with the vehemence of his speech and the trio of continued down the path silently for another league before Jaskier actually started sniffling a bit, emotions high.

The Witcher resolved that no matter how hot it was he wouldn't fist the bard again if this was the result. Seeing the usually flat belly swell and ripple out from the fist punching up into his belly, seeing the slender cock spurt and drip from the pressure of Geralt's forearm against Jaskier's prostate...it wasn't worthwhile if the result was an overwrought limping bard.

"Geralt can you at least check to see if I'm cursed? It isn't just the throat, or damage to my youthfully robust and much celebrated libido."

Saying so Jaskier actually started to blush so strongly Geralt was surprised there was still enough blood pumping through his veins to keep him shuffling forward.

Even after Geralt had finished with punch fucking that sloppy loose hole and depositing his own cum alongside that of the blacksmiths Jaskier's hole has leaked.

"Geralt, please help me? I feel some empty inside all the time"

Geralt sharp ears caught the whispered confession and he actually got hard so fast he was dizzy as a tiny blerb of pre cum dripped into his leather trousers.

Looking down at the strangely silent and solem bard Geralt let Jaskier's statement settle in around them accompanied by the low level swell of Jaskier's lust smell and the salty pepper of his embarrassment.

Remembering how swollen and hot Jaskier's rim had been as he had worked a soothing healing lotion into the much abused flesh, Geralt decided to be kind after having been unknowingly gifted such a novel experience.

Jaskier had fulfilled a large number of Geralt's sexual fantasies without ever being aware of how much Geralt had come to enjoy their one sided time together.

"Yes, Jaskier, let me set you on Roach and get you more tea, tonight we will find out what's wrong with you."

It was easy to promise to help his friend. Jaskier didn't need to know that the Witcher was the source of his problems if Geralt fixed them for him now.

"Your cock isn't cursed or haunted bard, so please stop composing whatever raunchy ditty you are thinking of composing"

From on top of Roach Jaskier beamed down at Geralt walking beside him happy and hopeful for the first time in at least a month that his friend, the White Wolf himself, would help him...

#CW FH DeadDoveDoNotEat #CW FH NonConSomno #CW FH DeadDoveWitcherBingo #This fic has more kinks than a second hand slinky

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acockius · 5 years

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can’t be topped.

a/n: i’ve been spending way too much time in my pool on my cactus float, and sometimes the mind wanders... remember, you guys ASKED for this. i promise to stop writing food-related smut (shout out to heat wave) by 2020. here’s to hoping! feedback is appreciated, even if it’s negative; i am a little rusty.

ben hardy x y/n; 1,778 words; smut (18+ please)

Summer was once a time of adventure and merriment. During childhood and adolescence, the end of the school year signaled the most exciting three months of the year. With summer came amusement parks, beach days, picnics, cookouts, and cold treats on hot days. All that magic seemed to disappear during the transition into adulthood.

Being an adult meant working through the summer months and perhaps stealing a day or two for an adventure if life allowed. It meant watching young ones take a turn in experiencing the bliss you once took for granted. It was all part of growing up. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a hard pill to swallow.

The mundane routine of the 9 to 5 workweek was dragging you down. If you were lucky, you could complete a week’s worth of chores during one of the two days of the weekend and take advantage of the downtime of the other. Your weekend outings were small - a farmer’s market one day and a boozy brunch the next - but enjoyable. You made sure to remind yourself that it was better tan nothing.

Your boyfriend’s career contributed to the low-profile adventures. You didn’t necessarily mind because you’d take what you can get. Ben’s career as an actor kept him away for extended periods of time, leaving you to find your own fun. This summer was no different and it somewhat contributed to the funk you found yourself in.

When Ben suggested spending a long weekend together at his friend’s cottage, you practically jumped at the opportunity. He’d been there with a group of his best mates several times before and raved about the space. He seemed eager to bring you there, especially given the chance to relish each other’s company.

You’d driven to the cottage after dinner on Thursday and went right to bed after a long day. It was almost jarring to wake up Friday morning and have the world as your oyster. You got to choose how to spend the day, and you were going to make it good.

So, that’s how you found yourself perched on a pool float in the middle of the early afternoon on a Friday, soaking in the sun’s rays and capturing whatever color the lasting summer days could offer you.

You donned a black bikini that left little to the imagination. It was a swimsuit from last year that you’d hardly worn, and if you knew that it was a touch too small, you would’ve invested in a new one before leaving on your excursion. The pool float you sat atop of was nothing out of the ordinary for a friend of Ben’s; it was a gigantic slice of pizza. Though it was definitely a bit juvenile, it was the perfect size and allowed you to lounge comfortably.

The atmosphere had you perfectly at ease, taking in the aspects of the nature that surrounded you. The landscape of the yard was in its prime, the brightest hues of color that shone with assistance from the sun above. City life had caused to you forget something as primal as birds chirping. It was the perfect score that accompanied your aimless lazing.

Your state of tranquility nearly had you drifting off into a blissful nap. That was until a drawn out whistle startled you. Ben was peering at you over the top of his sunglasses, eyeing you like his favorite meal that was bound to be devoured.

“There’s my favorite pizza topping.” Ben mused as he draped his towel over a chair at the patio table.

Your stunning boyfriend, with a physique that could rival Adonis, sported red swim trunks that hung low at his waist. It revealed his perfectly sculpted torso and tempting curves of his hip bones.

Even though your mouth was practically watering at the sight of him, you needed to play coy, even for just a little.

“Aw, how original…” You rolled your eyes after lifting your sunglasses from your eyes and setting them atop your head.

“I try.” Ben shrugged before squatting by the edge of the pool and hopping in the water. “I mean, cheesus christ… you’re just laying out here like a damn snack.”

You confidently tossed your hair over your shoulder and let out an airy laugh. “Oh, baby… I’m the whole ass meal. Don’t you forget it.”

Your ears could’ve tricked you, but you could’ve sworn that you heard Ben growl under his breath. He fought the force of the water and sauntered over to you in a hurried fashion.

“You know I pepperonly have eyes for you.” Ben confessed as he leaned on the float for leverage in order to kiss you.

You squealed loudly against his lips as you felt the float teeter, causing you to throw your arms around Ben’s neck.

“Are you crazy? Do you not know how the center of gravity works?”

“I - don’t have a pun for that one…” Ben admitted, pressing a kiss to your cheek and setting you back on the float carefully.

“If you want to get in a girl’s pants, you probably shouldn’t drown her...” You reached out to pry Ben’s lip from between his teeth when he grabbed your wrist.

“Really? This is coming from a girl who’s barely wearing bottoms to begin with…” Ben’s grip was firm but not forceful. “Do you really think I’m really going to let you get off with wearing this skimpy little number?”

“Ben…” You pouted slightly. “At yeast allow me to explain…”

The grin on Ben’s face was priceless. He let go on your wrist and moved his hand over your chest, fingers tweaking your nipple through the fabric of your swimsuit. You moaned softly, instinctively squeezing your thighs together.

Ben’s response was not a kind one; He chuckled lightly and ran his hand down your body, prying your thighs apart. Using his free hand, he steadied the pool float before beginning to adjust your body by tugging your legs over the side of the float.

“What’re you doing?” Your hands gripped the sides of the float nervously as Ben helped swivel your hips so you rested diagonally on the float.

“Eating. Now lie back.” Ben carefully guided you back against the pillowy plastic before gliding his hands back down your body to tug the bottom of your bikini off.

He unceremoniously threw them over his shoulder, having them land somewhere across the pool. Ben sunk down in the water, his hands never leaving the float to hold it in place, positioning himself between your thighs. When he rose from the water, your legs were draped over his shoulders with your core easily exposed to him.

“Ben…” You croaked nervously. You were silence as Ben licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. His hand, the one that wasn’t keeping the float stable, took yours and laced his fingers through yours.

Ben sucked your clit between his lips, tongue carefully flicking against the sensitive nub. Your hand squeezed his tightly and he responded by caressing the back of your hand with his thumb and humming against your center.

“Fuck… baby -“ Your moans and whimpers were getting louder, and you involuntarily moved your hips against Ben’s mouth.

He continued to lap at your folds cruelly and you were aware that you were losing yourself quickly. You pushed the fabric of your bikini top aside and pinched your nipple between your fingers to try and ground yourself. You felt Ben’s hand leave yours, and before you could protest, his finger gently entered you with ease. You used both of your hands to tease yourself now, fighting the urge to come undone from Ben’s ministrations.

“You’re close.” Ben tone sounded patronizing, but it was probably because you were overcome with lust. Ben gave you another finger and crooked them in attempt to find your sweet spot.

“What was y-your first clue?” Your voice was weak and your face was flushed, with some strands of hair sticking to your forehead.

“Well for one, by the way your pussy’s clenching around my fingers.” Ben pointed out, laughing when you moaned in response. Ben continued to fuck you with his fingers and tease you with his mouth, hitting the perfect spot in no time.

“Ben— please…” You whispered your plea, your hips rocking in time with the thrust of his fingers.

He didn’t respond but he gave in easily, moving his fingers with vigor and working you over with his mouth. He didn’t stop even after you saw stars, moaning his name and closing his head between your legs.

You quaked slightly, causing the float to sway, and only then did Ben ease up. One hand halted the float as he pulled his fingers from you, licking the juices from them proudly.

“How was that?” Ben asked cockily.

You tugged him to you wrapping your arms around his neck as you did earlier, pulling him into a deep kiss. You did your best to haul him against your body and onto the float, but the float capcized and sent you two into the water. When you emerged from the water, Ben had his arms around your waist as you clung to him and you both were laughing.

“You were so adamant about not throwing the float off balance…” Ben shook his head and kissed you, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, well that’s before I needed you inside of me.” Your tongue prodded Ben’s lips eagerly in attempt to return the kiss with fervor.

Ben broke the kiss after a few moments and turned his head.

“Y’think we could try and do it on there?” Ben waggled his eyebrows.

You buried your face in his chest and shook your head.

“Aw, come on! Pretty please? Pretty please with extra cheese on top?”

“Absolutely not. We’ll never be able to stay on it. It a recipe for an edging disaster.” You shook your head but attached your lips to Ben’s neck, kissing along his skin up to his earlobe.

“Fine…” Ben gazed down at your and took your face in his hands. “Don’t worry babe… You still have a pizza my heart”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, walking towards the pool ladder. You replaced the fabric of your swimsuit over your breasts and retrieved your bottoms before getting out of the pool. Ben sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Are you going to stand there all day? Or do you want a slice of my pie?” You wrapped a towel around yourself and walked towards the back door of the cottage.

Ben blushes and bit his lip, shaking his head to himself in disbelief.

#my fic #ben hardy fic #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy fan fic #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x y/n #ben hardy smut

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tallowes · 5 years

Text

I’m working on a bio template by working on Tace’s bio and doing the personality part has been really insightful / helped me to remember some things about him that are #Canon but I sometimes forget because I’m a Fool and the reason why I juxtapose / compare him to Anders a lot mentally while I work on meta-level shit. Tace was given to the Circle as a very young child, it’s basically all he’s ever known, as someone who’s very strong willed and stubborn he always had some trouble living in the Circle. But when his dreamer capabilities kicked in at 13 things got infinitely worst and he had to very quickly readapt and get the authorities on his side just to survive and not be made tranquil. In the span of a few short months as his powers became less sporadic and more consistent and the enchanters sorted out what was going on Tace went from being just another ( if a bit bratty ) apprentice to being considered the most dangerous person in the Circle and a threat to the safety of the other mages just by living. He was isolated from the other mages, given private sleeping quarters with wards, etc. on them ( basically a glorified isolation cell ) and a constant guard of templars day and night. He was basically treated like a dangerous criminal or plague victim. Some of that is justified, he was a very young mage and it’s talked about in DA2 just how bad can be if something goes wrong with a dreamer. However it all set him on edge and made him shift quickly from disliking the templars and enchanters because he’s a unruly preteen to thinking of them as threats because of the harsh 180. Tace is smart, very observant and while he’s hot-blooded he doesn’t like to act or lash out, especially when it’s a serious situation where that could really hurt him. He wants to have all the facts so he can point by point tell you why you’re wrong. It became clear to him that they were watching him more intensely than they were anyone else, looking for signs of instability or possession and he knew if they felt they found something regardless if it was there he’d be made tranquil. Even at that age he found the concept nightmarish and was terrified of it being done to him. So he stopped acting out completely, or questioning things too much or really showing any outward signs of not being an exemplary circle mage as much as possible as a means of self preservation. So while Anders, his contemporary in the same Circle was becoming more rebellious Tace was becoming more docile and embedded in the community.

When Falon’din’s Putrescence locked on to him around 14-15 and he began to not just deal with more frequent and intense demon attacks than the rest of the mages and the physical / mental / emotional toll that took on him, but also began wake up with physical bruising his life was genuinely in danger from the templars. Knowing where this would likely lead he preempted the talks of tranquility before they got too serious by essentially begging for his life, pointing out that he had now faced about 2 years of near constant demonic assault of all kinds on a level of intensity none of the rest had at a young “untrained and unstable” age and had never had a single moment of faltering. Thankfully since Irving and Greagoir aren’t complete monsters they agreed he had proven to have a very strong will and he would not be made tranquil but he would still live apart from the rest, go through the harrowing and have a constant guard of at least 1 templar, usually 2, assigned to him for the rest of his life. Tace agreed readily, he didn’t really have a choice and frankly he found the idea of someone around to kill him if he fucked up comforting. His main strength against demons had always been his stubbornness and loathing of being told what to do but Falon’din’s Putrescence is in a category all of it’s own and the idea of what could happen if he did finally break and give up terrified him as much as being tranquil did. Both because of the loss of Self / control and the possible carnage that could be done through him. Over time he became a split personality with his real self curdling into something very unpleasant as he pushed down all his negative traits, thoughts, feelings etc. and basically lied almost constantly about himself. He couldn’t completely stop being his naturally stubborn independent self but he stamped it down enough to come across as an eccentric and a bit of jerk and not a dangerously rebellious and angry garbage fire of a person, which he actually is. He maintained his shit by basically only caring about himself and focusing intensely on his studies, research and duties, excelling as an academic and a researcher and gaining the rank of enchanter. People like Anders were inherently dangerous to his survival, not because they themselves where a threat to him physically or anything but because Tace deeply felt for them and sympathized with them. Tace’s seeming inability to connect with others is both the product of his on going trauma and as part of his self-preservation. If he cares about people like Anders, who are clearly struggling, failing to thrive and being obviously miss treated and subjected to barbaric punishments for doing / thinking things he agrees with for reasons he empathizes with he will 100% mclose it and have outburst after outburst and eventually lead to his own demise. So he actively squashes his better traits like his very real and very deep compassion and instead lets himself see everyone as a threat, suspicious or just Not Important or Real like he is. Boom now he doesn’t get upset about poor Jowan, guy just was fucking loser who sucked and couldn’t cut it like he can so rip adios laddie don’t write. While he and Anders have similarities ( personalities not suited for the circle, long bouts of enforced isolation, mental illness struggles, massive sense of betrayal, strong wills, intensely emotional, regretfully care a LOT about others, “radical ideas” like basic human rights for everyone ) Tace’s situation from day one was much more precarious, since 13 he was living on the knife’s edge with opinion on him liable to change irrevocably with just one bad day and he fucking knew it. His ways of coping and working to survive were much different, he used his inherent extroversion, people skills, intelligence and sheer force of will to convince people and to blend in and appear “safe”. Basically becoming an actor putting on some kind of sick play for the amusement of overlords who held his life in their hands. While I’ve joked and talked about how much of an asshole he is and how he has little respect for others or the dead in particular the fact is that other half of his split personality rarely comes out. The era it was most apparent in was DA2 when he’d finally left the Circle, knowing that if he had stayed and let the transfer to the Gallows go thru it was a death sentence. During that time as an apostate largely on his own or with people like Hawke’s gang who really can’t complain much about bad behavior / attitude his true personality got to make an appearance. He was mean, petty, vindictive, intensely distrustful, careless with other people and honestly kind of awful to be around, but along with that he was also helpful, protective of others ( especially Anders, Merrill, Isabella and Fenris ) , considerate, thoughtful, funny and sporadically deeply compassionate. Tace without all his baggage and trauma would be a deeply compassionate, witty, good natured well regarded natural mentor friend ( if a bit of a hard ass ) but at is stands his experiences have made him manipulative, cruel, brutal, callous with the emotions / lives of others, intensely selfish and self centered, stubborn / spiteful to the point of self damaging and largely unable to connect with others on deeper levels. When in situations where his life is in danger from the opinion of groups or “superiors” like the Circle, Mage Rebellion camps or the Inquisition he comes across as a largely harmless academic with an at times strong personality. When he deems himself out of the line of sight or with people he at least trusts not to narc on him he drops some level of the pretense and it becomes increasingly clear he’s very fucked up, deeply unpleasant, needs a lot of therapy ASAP and is absolutely earth shatteringly furious and violently egalitarian. I think it says a lot about him that he has two main reasons that fuel him in his constant battle against possession and they’re that he’s so furiously individualistic and stubborn that he’d rather die and have his immortal soul shredded into non-existence than lose even 1 spec of the bodily autonomy he still has and that he knows exactly how catastrophic it would be if any demon, let alone something like Falon’din’s Putrescence got control of him, and he would rather suffer for eternity than let that kind of calamity happen, especially if he’d be the vehicle for it because despite all his callousness the idea he might be party to that level of monstrousness makes him sick.

#TACE ❭ META #TACE ❭ HEADCANONS #OH MY GODS THIS IS SO LONG HOLY SHIT #i thought i'd make you all suffer it uncut on ur dashes if i had to slave over it AND THEN I SCROLLED UP AGAIN #TBH THO IT'S A KINDA IMPORTANT DISCUSSION OF TACE'S MENTALITY / WHATEVER and it only barely scratches the surface

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writesaboutbangtan17 · 7 years

Text

what I found in you | 01

jungkook x reader slight angst, smut

12,820 words

a/n: remember that time i posted a long list of fic ideas n stuff i was writing and this wasn’t on it? oops! this was originally gonna be a oneshot but things got way out of hand so, please forgive me for taking two months to write a 12K part one, i know i’m garbage. the next part will have a lot more angst so prepare yourselves, and once again thx @mysoftae this would never have come to fruition without you ;(

~ in which your ridiculously hot, annoying brat of a roommate keeps you up at all hours of the night, takes up all your space, is essentially trying to ruin your life, and is intent on sticking his dick in you

You had always liked living alone.

There were no one’s dishes to wash but your own, you could play your music as loud as you wanted, the only person you had to worry about your cat liking was yourself, nobody could complain about what spices you stunk up the place with, and most importantly, you never had to wear pants.

You would have been content to live alone for the rest of your sad, lonely life enjoying nothing but those small pleasures.

Then one day there was Jeon Jungkook, on his knees, hands clasped beneath his chin, looking up at you with those wide, glittering brown eyes of his. Maybe you would have said no if he hadn’t been blocking you up against the door to the library, if there hadn’t been a line of people building up behind him complaining about the two of you being in their way, if he actually would have moved when you grabbed his shoulder and tried to shove him to the side with all of your strength. That kid had been working out a little too much.

Also, he was begging. That might have had something to do with it.

He came with only his backpack, a few boxes full of clothes and books and things, three pairs of boots tied together and slung over his shoulder, and his PS4—he didn’t ask for help carrying any of it, just showed up outside your door with all of it piled up in his arms at once. Your guest bedroom already had a bed and a dresser for him, and you had saved up for a pretty nice TV in the living room, and that was all he needed otherwise.

The first few weeks having a roommate were...different. Your cat seemed to like him, always disappearing into his room and deciding you were no longer worth her time. He kicked his shoes off right in front of the door for you to trip on every morning and every night, and even when he knew you were going grocery shopping, he never told you that he’d finished off the carton of milk or eggs.

With Jungkook came all of his friends. There were six of them in particular who came around more than most, but you didn’t really mind them. Jin cooked for you, and Hoseok could never help himself from tidying up any of the common living areas; Taehyung was nice to look at, you’d never met anyone kinder than Jimin, and Yoongi kept them all in check; Namjoon was fine as long as he sat on the couch and didn’t touch anything the whole time he was over. Your apartment was never without one or two of them, and now you always had to wear pants.

But he washed his own dishes and never asked you to turn your music down, so as long as he was taking a load off of your bills, you would survive. Jungkook never did tell you why he had so desperately, immediately needed a place to stay, and you never thought to ask why none of his other friends would take him in.

It took two months for you to start figuring that out for yourself.

You’d been living with him for nine weeks the first time it happened.

The first year in your graduate program was kicking your ass, but by the grace of God you had crawled beneath your covers before 2 A.M. and your only plans for tomorrow were to sleep in until noon, order a pizza, and lay in bed all day.

At least that was the plan until your eyes popped open at the sound of whatever the fuck coming from outside your door and down the hall. The alarm clock on your bedside table told you that it was 3:24 A.M. It took a minute for your consciousness to wade through the swampy, dreamy haze and register exactly what the unholy noise filling up what should have been your dead silent apartment was.

“Naaants ingonyama bagithi baba!”

He’d been watching The Lion King when you got home from work.

“Jeon Jungkook, do you want to die!?” You screeched, throwing your comforter off of your legs and wobbling on your feet in a half-asleep stupor as you pursued the object of your despair. His singing only got louder after you shoved your door open and let it slam against the wall, and you started a list in your head of the all the easiest ways you could kill him and who you could call to help get rid of the body.

Jimin was probably your best option. He’d been looking for any good reason to attack Jungkook since he’d needed him to come get something off of a high shelf in your kitchen a couple of days ago, and Jungkook had called him a “little nugget.”

The sound of his voice brought you stumbling into the living room, where he sat on the couch in the dark, screaming the lyrics so hard he must have been hurting himself instead of singing at this point. You smacked blindly against the wall, relieved to feel a switch and flicking it upwards. The room filled with soft yellow light from overhead, and Jungkook’s “singing” stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He slowly turned to look at you with those doe eyes, shining with the most glaringly insincere innocence and remorse.

“Oh, sorry noona, did I wake you?”

You blinked at him once, twice, and let him believe for a moment that you wouldn’t actually do him any bodily harm.

“I’m going to castrate you,” you answered him quietly, and then lunged, tackling him back into the couch cushions. With the advantage of being on top, you reached down to wrap both of your hands around his neck.

“Who do you think you are!” You demanded, keeping the pressure on his throat light, “I let you live here and this is how you repay me, you brat!” Jungkook just laughed as his much larger hands wrapped around your wrists and easily pried you off of him, before shifting his upper body weight to his shoulders and lifting his hips.

“What are you—oomph,” you were cut off as your back hit the carpet, realizing just a moment too late that Jungkook had rolled the two of you onto the floor and now had you pinned beneath him. He was holding your arms down by your head with an iron grip, and your legs were trapped between his absurdly meaty thighs, and you could barely move. You’d have to go into his room and throw all his weights out the window next time he went out and left you—

“It’s the circle of life, and it moves us all!” He’d leaned in so close to you that the tips of your noses brushed. It was easy to ignore the heat on your cheeks at his close proximity when you could smell the...peanuts and chili peppers on his breath.

“Jeon Jungkook, were you eating my Chinese food again?!”

There, on the coffee table, was your previously half-eaten quart of kung pao chicken. You knew it was yours because you had taken special care to write your initials on every side of it, and the top and even the bottom—you’d noticed Jungkook had a special talent for eating everything that wasn’t explicitly yours, but obviously wasn’t his, that way he could talk himself out of it if he got caught.

You’d been so excited to eat that for lunch tomorrow, and Jungkook was just giggling at the frown that pulled your lips down low on your face.

His offenses on the night were just piling up, but up to that point had been reasonably forgivable. Then he took it one step further, moving both of your wrists into just one of his hands and stabbing two fingers right into your ribs.

Your involuntary peals of distressed laughter rang through the room, knocking off the ceiling and the walls and surrounding the both of you. If the way the corners of Jungkook’s lips quirked up was any indication, he was enjoying your pain and suffering. He knew exactly where to jab and poke to make you scream.

“Jung...kook!...please, I...I-I’m fucking begging you, you.....you fuck...fucking demon!” Getting any words in around the heaves that had once been laughs, trying to suck oxygen back in and relieve your aching lungs, was no simple task. Jungkook did stop, finally, but his eyes were narrowed and his lip curled and you knew that he wasn’t done torturing you just yet.

“What did you call me? A demon? Noona, that’s just mean,” he mocked you, “now where else are you ticklish...behind your knee, right?” He leaned back to cup your calf in his hand, then ghosted his touch up your leg, leaving goosebumps behind his fingertips’ trail. You thrashed to the side to get away from him, and realized that his stance had opened up the space between his thighs just so—you jerked your leg up with every intention of kneeing him in the balls and leaving him infertile, but Jungkook was quick, sitting back down on your legs with all of his weight to stop you.

His move backfired.

A moan ripped through the night.

Your leg was trapped, still wedged between his thighs, and dug hard into the dick hidden in his sweatpants. You could feel it twitch against your knee.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook wheezed, both of his hands immediately letting you go as he clambered up and backed away. You couldn’t look him in the eye, so you turned your head towards the TV. The cable box read 4 A.M. So much for your night of tranquil, undisturbed rest.

“I, uh,” he started and immediately stopped, smart enough to know there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make the situation even more embarrassing for either of you. You just dipped a nod down at him, then stood and rushed back down the hall to your bedroom. As you passed him, you noticed from the corner of your eye that he had to cover the beginnings of an erection with his hands.

It was a sight that kept you up the rest of the night.

Your phone rang at 7 A.M., and it was your boss calling you into work at the last minute because one of your co-workers was sick. You scratched ‘order a pizza and lay in bed all day’ off the mental two-item list of things you’d needed to maintain the appearance of sanity as you wandered around your room, somehow stepping out of it in your uniform with your hair and teeth brushed. You were barely conscious as you dragged yourself downstairs and to your car—you didn’t know how you made it to work or back in one piece.

Jungkook made himself scarce for the next few days, for which you were thankful. Between your rage at him for stealing away what would have been your first and last peaceful night of the semester and your mortification at violating him, it was best that you didn’t have to see him for a little while. Eventually you willed yourself to forget about the whole thing, and sooner rather than later, things around the apartment went back to normal.

Some people say things always get worse before they get better, but in your experience, things always got better before they became dramatically worse.

After knowing him for two years and living with him for several months, you were shocked that there were still things for you to learn about Jungkook. It was mostly little things, like how he hated black olives (he refused to eat a pizza you brought home for dinner even after pulling off all the little slivers, as if the taste of them would linger over the cheese and sauce) or how he knew all the words to every Britney Spears song you could demand that he sing (at 3 A.M., instead of Disney renaissance movie soundtracks).

Some of these new discoveries excited you, some terrified you, some made you angry or sad or happy or confused, but none had ever affected you quite as much as when you found out that Jungkook could dance.

Jimin was one of the top performers in his university’s ballet program, and Hoseok taught at a local studio and performed with a street crew, but Jungkook had never done anything outside of his shitty retail job and graphic design major that enlightened you to his secret talent. It was possible you never would have found out if Hoseok hadn’t come around pounding on your door one morning, ranting and raving about a competition his crew wanted to enter with a hefty monetary prize on the line, but was one member short of being qualified for.

That was where Jungkook came in.

You had already told Hoseok you’d go see him at the competition, but your eyes were on Jungkook the whole time. With only a few weeks of practice, he outshone almost everybody he danced alongside. You knew Jungkook was good at everything that he tried to do, but this was more than that—you were clearly watching him do something that he was meant to do.

He stepped out for somebody else to fill the spot after the competition, but he started going to Hoseok’s studio a couple nights a week after that, dancing with his friends just for fun. It was a simple story—he’d been on a dance team in high school, they’d won their fair share of championships and Jungkook had considered studying dance in college, but in the end had dropped it in pursuit of something more realistic. It broke your heart to hear that he just didn’t think he was good enough at it, when you had seen so clearly otherwise with your own two eyes.

As sympathetic as you were, that didn’t keep you from being annoyed when Jungkook brought dancing home. Of all places, he made his own studio out of the kitchen, and especially liked to gyrate and twirl around in the tight space when it was occupied by somebody (usually Jin) trying to cook around his choreography. There had been lots of close calls with Jin having to duck underneath an incoming dab as he carried a pot of pasta and scalding water to the sink to drain, or struggling to get around Jungkook attempting to spin on his shoulders on the floor to get to a pan of something burning on the stove.

Jungkook never found anything wrong with all of this, of course. When he asked where else he was supposed to dance, and you suggested literally anywhere else, he’d just pat your head as he insisted there was nowhere else in the house with enough space and decent flooring. He couldn’t spin on his shoulders on the living room carpet, obviously.

Four months to the day after Jungkook moved in, the dancing epidemic reached its breaking point. It was his 21st birthday, and even though he wanted to throw a wild party or go club hopping all night, it fell on a Tuesday. None of his friends felt like partying after a long day at school or work, before another long day of school or work. He’d spent hours moping when he realized this, and was just barely pacified by the compromise that you’d have a nice dinner that night, instead, and then you’d all take him out that weekend.

He’d accepted this, but only with whines and stomps of his feet.

You weren’t much of a cook, but found yourself sauteing beef at the stove regardless, as Jin bustled around behind you, throwing a dash of salt into this and giving that a vicious stir and overall acting like preparing this meal was the most stressful, grueling thing he’d ever had to do. He’d cooked for you and Jungkook dozens of times, but that night he was holding himself to a different standard—under no circumstances could he disappoint his youngest and most precious dongsaeng.

“Is it almost done?” Namjoon asked from the doorway, but before he could set foot over the threshold, Jin had spun around and was whipping the towel he’d had thrown over his shoulder at him.

“Put your hands up! Take three steps back! Don’t touch anything!” The younger man relented, settling back deep into the hallway. Jin turned back to whatever he was mixing, mumbling manically to himself about trying to cut onions with the blunt side of a knife and catching ovens on fire and accidentally getting pancakes stuck on the ceiling.

There was a strict no Namjoon in the kitchen rule for many good reasons.

“Ok, well, Jungkook is on his third beer already,” Namjoon had to half-shout so you could hear him, and his statement was punctuated by a bellowing yeeeeeaaaaah, boooooy! from the living room. The boys had agreed to indulge Jungkook in a Mario Kart tournament, and were all graciously letting him win every round—the drunker he got, the less obvious that was and the more taunting and ruthless he became.

“Keep him under control!” Jin snapped, “We are not dying in here just for him to pass out in the soup!” You had decided to make the seaweed soup yourself when Jungkook told you it was the first birthday he’d be spending away from his parents, and his mom had given you her recipe over the phone that morning. He’d been pleasantly absent from the kitchen while you soaked the seaweed, marinated the beef, and made a stock, but you knew he’d be in there sooner or later in his best attempts at ruining everything.

“He just keeps screaming that he’s an adult and he’ll call the cops if we don’t let him have another beer,” Namjoon informed him, “and Taehyung keeps giving him shots of tequila, and I think Jimin was drunk before he even got here and he keeps trying to make out with Yoongi, pretty sure Hoseok is getting ready to fight him.” Jin immediately threw down his rag and started untying the knot keeping his apron on around his waist.

“You’re hopeless, Joon,” Jin sighed, “it’s like I’m raising these kids all on my own!” Then he was brushing past him into the living room in an attempt to temper the situation, Namjoon was hurrying after him, and you were left alone—with your pan of beef, three different pots on the stove, several bowls of mysterious concoctions scattered across the counter, two dishes in the oven...

There was yelling from the direction the pair had gone, hysterical laughter, the sound of someone being choke slammed into the floor, and then silence...until Chris Brown was blasting through the apartment. Cold dread sliced down your spine as you knew exactly what was coming next, eyes darting one way and then the other, surveying your surroundings for something, anything you could use to block the one way into the kitchen.

But then a pot was boiling over, a timer was going off on the other side of the kitchen, and Jin was yelling at you, “Y/N, take the cake out of the oven now!” It was as you were backing up with the cake in your hand that you sensed it, and when you turned to place the cake on the counter, there was he was body rolling by the sink.

“That looks good, noona,” Jungkook purred at you, and you sent a quick prayer to whatever higher power was watching over you for help dealing with him drunk. He didn’t drink much, and usually when he did, he ended up staying with one of the boys, so this was new territory for you.

“You know I like dancing in here,” he said, as if you needed the reminder, “are you gonna say that I can’t? On my birthday?” You gathered the strength to ignore him as you took the icing from where Jin had placed it in the fridge and began to spread it over the vanilla cake, wondering when the older boy would return, hoping he wasn’t reffing an actual fist fight in your living room. There were breakables in there.

You kept your eyes trained on the task at hand, but could sense Jungkook twerking in your direction from your peripheral vision.

“Oh, god, here he is,” Jin moaned as he came back into the kitchen, bee lining for his jajjangmyeon simmering on the stove, “don’t come near me, Jungkook, I swear to God.” The birthday boy paid no mind to his hyung—all of his concentration was on undulating at your side, and when the cake was properly iced and you had turned back to your soup, he took up the spot behind you and...starting grinding.

Against your ass.

He’s drunk! It’s his birthday! Your brain screamed at you, but you couldn’t decide if either of those were reasons to make him stop or to just let him keep going. “Nooooona, dance with me...” He whined into your ear, placing both of his hands on your waist and trying to move your body against his. You shot up another quick prayer that Jin didn’t look at the two of you.

“I can’t dance, Kookie,” you said in a soft voice, but still let him move your hips as he pleased, “I’m trying to cook.” He had moved so close you could feel his rising body heat through both of your shirts, and his nose was trailing up the curve of your neck, nudging behind your ear...damn Taehyung and those shots of tequila. You were going to kill him the next time you saw him sober.

“Jungkook, where’d you go!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear—Taehyung burst into the kitchen with Jimin hot on his heels, a disinterested Yoongi and a stoic Hoseok trailing behind them. Namjoon was nowhere to be seen, probably because Jin would just kick him out again, anyways.

“Oooh, he’s d-dancing with Y/N,” Jimin cooed, or tried to coo but was interrupted by a hiccup. The idiot could barely stand up straight as he leaned his entire weight against Taehyung’s back. “Kitchen dance party!” Taehyung announced, twirling around to wind his arms around Jimin, and the pair began to perform an elaborate waltz on the other side of the island from you and Jungkook.

You were never letting those two back into your apartment.

Hoseok seemed appeased, forcing Yoongi into a half-tango-half-dance-battle, and you were at least relieved that they were all so busy with each other they didn’t notice what you immediately did—the feeling of Jungkook growing hard against you.

ABORT MISSION, you screamed internally, MUST EXTRICATE MYSELF FROM THIS SITUATION AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE. But figuring out how to get away from him without any of the other five boys in the kitchen noticing his semi and raining a hellfire of teasing and shame upon the two of you was no easy task.

“It’s ok, noona,” Jungkook sighed over your shoulder, and his boozy breath fanned out over your chest, “just daaance with meee...”

It was definitely not ok.

“Oh, Y/N, your seaweed soup looks really good!” Jin suddenly popped up at your side, seemingly unperturbed by Jungkook’s dance moves—the glossy look in his eyes signaling he had totally mentally checked out, the stress pushing him into a numb subspace devoid of any fucks towards the grinding going on. “Give Jungkookie a taste!” This sounded like the absolute last thing you wanted to do, the worst thing you could do, but without a good excuse not to, you slowly twisted around with a spoonful of soup and held it upwards without daring to look at Jungkook’s face.

The weight of the soup on the spoon stayed as it was, and Jin laughed, “How are you supposed to get it in his mouth if you won’t even look at him,” and you immediately regretted it when you did. There was something in his eyes that you had never seen there before—something dark, predatory. His pupils were blown wide and the moment your head tilted upwards at him, he was scanning your whole face before his eyes dipped down to observe every curve of the rest of you.

Just as you had decided to make a break for it and leave Jungkook to deal with the humiliation of his erection all on his own, he finally leaned forward and wrapped his tongue around the spoon, sucking it into his mouth. His gaze pierced directly into yours again as he licked every drop off of it and then some, watching the way your breathing picked up in response to the way his tongue moved.

“Uh, Y/N, are you alright?” You didn’t even realize your jaw was dropped, eyes were wide, and chest was heaving until Hoseok had twirled Yoongi over to you and was staring at the scene before him in equal parts concern and disgust. The spell was broken as the spoon popped out of Jungkook’s mouth, and you dropped it to the floor with a clatter so both of your hands were free to shove him away.

“No!” You cried, slipping behind him to put more space between yourself and your drunk, hot, ridiculously fucking irritating roommate, “I mean, yes, I’m fine! Fuck, I just—I just remembered I, I left something at work. Uh, my—my notes for that paper I was telling you about, I have to go get them. Right now.” None of the sober men pressed you about the obvious lie, Jin just rolling his eyes and tending to your soup, cursing Jungkook under his breath and probably Namjoon, too, finding some way to blame this whole mess on him.

Yoongi just watched you back out of the kitchen with a knowing smirk, and Hoseok was pushing Jungkook out into the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you until you rounded the corner out of his line of sight. Air raced back into your lungs—you hadn’t realized how hard it had been to breathe for the past fifteen minutes.

“Have fun doing whatever, Y/N! See you later!” Taehyung called out, sticking his head into the entrance way and observing you rushing out the door with your jacket half on and your shoes hanging off of your fingers. You narrowed your eyes at him and ripped the bottle of tequila out of his hand, essentially cutting the younger boys off for the night.

“I hope you’re ready to die the next time I see you,” you said and slammed the door shut before he could say anything more.

As always, Taehyung and Jimin had both left their doors to your shitty old car unlocked after you picked them up, so even though you’d left without your keys, you could still hole yourself up in the backseat for a few hours. You drowned yourself in what was left of the tequila, hoping it’d make you forget the feeling of Jungkook’s hardness against your ass, but had no such luck.

In the end, you just drunkenly rubbed one out. The orgasm was less than satisfying, with your focus divided between wondering how that hardness would feel between your legs, trying to imagine literally anything else, and keeping an eye out for anyone wandering around the parking lot. As inebriated as you were, you still didn’t want anyone to catch you masturbating in your car. You were pretty sure you could be arrested for that.

At least getting off put you to sleep, and sleeping helped pass the time. It was obnoxious pounding on your rear windshield that brought you back to half consciousness, and Jin was holding his phone up to the glass so you could see that it was past midnight already.

“I thought you’d go to a friend’s place or something,” you heard Yoongi’s voice from behind him, “this is just sad.” He wasn’t wrong about that. You threw the door open and stumbled out onto the asphalt, letting Hoseok put an arm around you to keep you on your feet and lead you over to his car.

“The kids are passed out in your living room, so you can stay with me tonight, if you want,” he offered, but didn’t wait for a yes or no before dumping you into his passenger’s seat.

The last thing you remembered was somehow getting the seat belt around your body and clicked into place before you woke up in his bed the next morning. You looked a complete mess, of course, as you met Hoseok in the kitchen where a bowl of cereal and several pills awaited you. He helped you pat down your hair and gave you a change of clothes, but you drew the limit at him saying he’d drive you back home. Hoseok was too nice for his own good.

You spent the entire Uber ride home begging whatever entity would listen to let the three stooges still be asleep when you got home, and for once luck was on your side. Taehyung was passed out in Jimin’s lap, and they were both draped across Jungkook’s back on the floor. It was a sight that would have warmed your heart if you didn’t hate them all so much.

You tiptoed through the living room and let out a breath of relief when you were behind the safety of your locked bedroom door. I can totally stay in here forever, you thought, what do I really need outside of this room? Food and water be damned, survival was not worth having to face Jungkook ever again. You could probably have anything you needed delivered by drone to your window until he moved out.

Unfortunately, in the real world there was still work and school to worry about, but you managed to sneak around your roommate for the next few days. Half the time he had school and work himself, but you had to give up fifty dollars that you really couldn’t afford to bribe Taehyung and Jimin into abducting him and keeping him busy whenever he had any free time.

For some reason, you had yourself convinced that if you made it to the weekend without seeing him, somehow, everything would reset. He’d go out clubbing with the boys, as promised, get blackout drunk and spend the night with one of them, and by the time he came to on Sunday morning, there could be no way he’d remember the kitchen grinding incident. It all made sense in your head.

Of course, that all went to shit, as things normally did since Jungkook moved in and his friends invaded your life. It was Hoseok who showed up on Saturday evening, after Jungkook had left with the twin terrors and you were in your pajamas already. He said he was cashing in the favor you owed him after he had helped you out on Tuesday night and Wednesday morning.

“Technically, I don’t owe you anything since I didn’t ask for your help,” you pointed out as he let himself in and rushed to your bedroom.

“And I technically saw you looking at Jungkook like you wanted to eat him alive,” Hoseok shot back, freezing you in your doorway. He was already in your closet, throwing your comfy sweaters and mom jeans this way and that.

“Holy shit, you’ve never tried to look sexy in your life, have you,” but he was mumbling to himself, and it wasn’t a statement worthy of an answer, anyways.

“I did not want to...I’m not attracted to Jungkook,” you said, a moment too late for it to sound like it was true, “I want to lock him in his room and ground him for the next several months for being gross and stupid on Tuesday, and that’s it.” Hoseok hummed back in fake agreement, before backing up out of your clothes with a pink maxi dress slung over one forearm and a black baby doll dress over the other.

“It’s so sad that these are the only two things you own that make you look younger than, like, 35,” he said, “just put one on so we can go.”

“Go where,” you hissed, grabbing them both and throwing them onto your bed, “I was actually about to go to sleep, so, if you don’t mind—”

“Go out with us, obviously,” Hoseok dropped down beside the dresses, grabbing a pillow to hopefully smother himself to death with. Instead, he just squished it underneath his head to make himself more comfortable as he waited.

And waited, and waited. You just stared at him like he’d grown a second eyeball in the middle of his forehead or like he’d turned purple or something.

“That’s really funny,” you finally said after several moments of waiting for him to let you in on the joke, “unless you point a gun to my head, that’s not happening.” You stepped towards your door to let him out, but on second thought—

“Actually, I think I’d rather let you shoot me than go out with you guys, so I don’t think there’s anything you could do to get me out of this apartment tonight.” You hadn’t known Hoseok for long, but the sight of him frowning just seemed so...wrong. Like his face wasn’t really his face any longer, like nothing in the world would ever be decent and good again if he didn’t start smiling again, or at least stop doing...whatever his lips were doing.

“Why do you even want me to go?!” You relented, at least a little bit—if he had a good enough reason, you’d give him a second of consideration. He immediately brightened up at your slightest budging.

“Well there’s this girl from the studio who I asked to come with,” he started, and you had already checked out again. Jungkook’s friends’ girl problems were not your concern. Still, you let him finish, “but she wasn’t really comfortable coming with just me and the guys, so I told her that you’d be there. This is my shot, I’ve been waiting months to ask her out!”

You knew telling him no would get him to make that weird, horrible, sad face again, but it had to be done—”Also, if you don’t come, I’m gonna tell everyone about how you masturbated in your car on Tuesday night.”

And you had thought Hoseok was a nice guy.

“Yeah, I saw that,” he told you, “Jin made me go check on you when he saw you left your keys. Don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, just your hand in your pants and you practically screaming Jungkook’s name. It was like, a gross hot? If you know what I mean?” Your dad had tried to convince you to buy a weapon when you moved away from home, and now was the first time since then that you wished you had. Anything to seriously maim the man sitting on your bed would have been welcomed.

Things were bad enough with the kitchen grinding incident. If Jungkook knew about the sad car masturbating, you’d really have to kick him out or end your own lease to get away from him, neither of which were valid, realistic options.

“Fuck you,” you spat at him, “get out so I can change.” He skipped out into the living room, screaming and clapping along the way, but when you shut your door he was back up on it screeching about which dress you should wear.

“The pink one is like a muumuu!” He insisted, “You can’t dance in that! Guys will literally run away from you if you wear it!” That almost made you want to wear the damn thing, but in the end, you walked out of your room in the black dress. You might not have if the pink dress had still fit you, but you had bought it three summers ago and it had barely fit you then, back when you cared at least a little bit about your body, before Jungkook and graduate school took away your will to live.

“I wore this to two funerals,” you told Hoseok as he looked at you and sighed in distaste, “I’ve never worn it anywhere else.” He grabbed your hair and pulled it up over your ears on both sides, then grabbed your nose to twist your face in every direction, inspecting each inch of you with critical eyes.

“You couldn’t tease your hair or even put on eyeliner or something?”

“I brushed it and I covered up the big zit on my forehead. That’s all you’re getting, asshole,” and with that you were out the door and into Hoseok’s car, again, ruminating on why it couldn’t have been Jin or even Yoongi who let you crash at their place on Tuesday night. Yoongi would have been an ass about it, and never let you forget that he helped you that one time, but at least you wouldn’t be about to go into this club in a dress you’d bought because your great grandma died and high heels your mother had made you buy once that you literally never wore, having to face Jungkook for the first time since he fucking made you wet in the kitchen.

It occurred to you then that letting Jungkook move into your apartment was probably the worst mistake you’d ever made, and it was one you’d be paying for for a long time, you were sure.

“Something about this is...very wrong,” was the first thing any of the boys said when Hoseok dragged you over to the table they’d occupied. You allowed yourself a brief moment of comfort at the fact that there were only five of them there—Jungkook was nowhere to be seen, for now at least.

“You look kind of hot,” Namjoon reassured you with a wink, or he thought he was being reassuring, then grunted when Seokjin violently elbowed him in the ribs.

“I mean, you look nice,” he tried again, and Jin nodded in approval.

“Y/N, this is Seulgi,” Hoseok said, gesturing to the one girl pressed against Jimin’s side, “Seulgi! This is my friend Y/N that I was telling you about!” She looked miserable as Hoseok brought you to her attention, and her face brightened only just at the sight of the one other girl she had been promised would be there.

“We’re going to the bathroom,” she said with no preamble, just scooted out of her chair, grabbed your arm, and dragged you away from the group.

The night was off to a great start.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, only after pulling both of you into one dirty stall together, “I know you’re friends with all those guys, but the blonde one has been quizzing me on Hobi trivia for the past half hour, and Tweedledum and Tweedledee were having a burping contest when I first got here and,” she took a deep breath,

“I felt like I was actually going crazy for a minute there. I know Hoseok likes me, and he’s a nice guy but,” another deep breath, “I think the scary one would kill me if I laid a single finger on him. Not to mention,” another deep breath, “I have to see Jimin at the studio every couple days and he’d never let me live it down if we hooked up. And the birthday boy did like five shots when someone mentioned you were coming, so good luck with that.”

You thought it all over in your head—Taehyung and Jimin had a burping contest like the idiots they were, Yoongi didn’t want Hoseok dating this girl, and Jungkook was obviously purposely avoiding you. That was fine.

“The birthday boy can kiss my ass,” you said, for some reason. All you’d meant to do was introduce yourself and say it was nice to meet her, but for a second there, your mouth clearly had a mind of its own.

“I’ve seen him dancing with like, any girl he could spot with a C-cup,” Seulgi added, and you would have immediately sought him out to give him a good spanking for being so shallow and gross if the idea of spanking him didn’t seem so kinky now.

“We live together,” you informed her, and got the pat on the shoulder of pity and attempted comfort that you were looking for. Seulgi didn’t seem so bad, you could tell why Hoseok liked her.

You let her lead you back out to the table, from which all but Yoongi and Taehyung had disappeared. Taehyung was already out cold, and Yoongi was scrolling through his phone with his earbuds in, entirely uninterested in anything going on around him. You wished you gave as few fucks about everything as he did.

There were two shots on the table of God only knew what, and even though one was clearly meant for her, Seulgi let you take both of them before she dragged you out onto the dance floor. By no means could you dance, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try. At least you couldn’t embarrass yourself as much as Namjoon did, flapping around beside Jin, who had the decency to do nothing more than sway left and right. You knew he could pull out some truly terrible dance moves, but apparently wouldn’t do so in public.

“Of course you don’t know how to move your hips,” Hoseok groaned as he came up behind Seulgi, “let’s show her, yeah?” And the two of them were immediately caught up in the own world, rubbing and writhing against each other without a care in the world. Your job was complete, as far as you were concerned.

The music was only mildly shitty, so you just kept dancing for awhile. A few times you were joined by a guy, only to have them duck out as soon as they realized you wouldn’t give them a handjob or go have a quickie in the bathroom. For the most part, you were alone, and Jimin got you a drink that you couldn’t identify but it tasted damn good, and you hadn’t seen Jungkook at all, so it wasn’t that bad. You’d even go as far as to say you were having fun.

“There he goes again,” you heard Seulgi’s voice in your ear for the first time in what seemed like hours, as she directed your attention to a certain doe-eyed, ruffly-haired young man making out with a cute blonde on the other side of the dance floor. Frankly, you were just relieved he wasn’t harassing you again, the last thing you needed was his dick grinding against your ass and—

“Hey, let’s not break the fancy cups,” Hoseok said, grabbing your hand and easing the fingers that you didn’t even realize had tightened threateningly around the stem of your glass. You let him take it away from you, as your eyes were fixated on the obscene sight. Jungkook was squeezing her ass, grinding into her front-to-front, pulling away from her lips to trail his nose up her jaw until his lips found her ear to nip at just so—and then he was looking right at you.

You immediately spun on your heel, rushing back in the general direction you could remember the table being to find your purse and leave. I just don’t want him to come over and say anything about Tuesday night, you thought, but it left a sour taste in your mouth, knowing it was only half the truth.

“I’ll take you home,” you heard Seulgi say as you found the table and pulled your purse over your shoulder. You hadn’t even realized she was following you.

“Don’t let me ruin your night, I’m fine, I’m just tired,” you lied through your teeth, but Seulgi laughed humorlessly, “The night was ruined before you got here, don’t worry about it, I’m ready to leave, too.”

You agreed to wait by the table as Seulgi went to tell Hoseok goodbye, only hoping that Jungkook wouldn’t find his way over before you could escape. Yoongi had finally taken his eyes off of his phone and was watching you with narrowed, calculating eyes.

“You’re in deep,” he eventually sighed, “me too.”

“Seulgi’s nice,” was the only thing you could think of to say. Yoongi just shrugged before he was looking back at whatever on his phone screen.

“Okay, let’s go!” And then she was back, and she was once again dragging you onto the dance floor, but this time in service of getting to the exit as quickly as possible. As much as you tried to distract yourself by looking at anything or anybody else, you couldn’t help but glance over in the direction you’d last seen Jungkook.

He was still making out with that girl.

He didn’t care that you were there, at all.

Laying in bed that night, you came to the conclusion that he must not have remembered the kitchen grinding incident. It wouldn’t be a shock with how drunk he was if he couldn’t remember anything from Tuesday night. It would be just like him to forget all about it and leave you to deal with the embarrassment and misery on your own. Now that you thought about it, you figured that if Jungkook had remembered he would have been outside your door begging you to forgive him and not kick him out the next morning. He knew what the boundaries of your relationship were, and rubbing his dick on you on purpose far overstepped them.

Things around the apartment changed. Obviously, Jungkook was unhappy with you, if the way he stopped making sure to leave leftovers for you and ignored you when you said good morning to him and erased all your saved TV shows was any indication. And you were mad at him, as well, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. All you knew was that whenever you saw him, there was a heat building in your chest threatening to spill over. You weren’t even sure what you’d do if it did.

Eighteen weeks after Jungkook moved into your apartment, you found out.

There was an unspoken rule that Sunday nights were your night. Jungkook was always quieter than usual, let you decide what was for dinner and monopolize the bathroom and have free, uninterrupted TV use. Even when your friendship with him was virtually nonexistent at this point, he still respected that.

That is until you stepped out into the hall after a long bath one Sunday evening and were immediately welcomed back to reality by Jungkook screaming expletives in the living room. Something about Reaper escaping his Deadeye.

The music and sounds of Overwatch, including Jungkook’s frustrated yells or cries of victory, had more or less become the soundtrack to your life over the past four and a half months. Normally, you wouldn’t have minded, but Jungkook had been an asshole for the past two weeks and today was your day.

“Hey, it’s Sunday,” you called out, to no response, of course. It was vague, but Jungkook knew exactly what you meant. If he was smart, he would have just turned the game off and gone to his room—it would have saved the two of you a lot of trouble. Too bad that, at least for today, Jungkook was pretty dumb.

“Did you hear me? I said it’s Sunday,” you repeated as you stomped into the living room, and feasted your eyes upon the sight of shirtless Jungkook sitting on top of the coffee table, eyes glued to the TV screen. We eat on that coffee table, you hissed in your head, and even from the angle you were at, you could see too many stains of only-God-knew-what on his dirty sweatpants. Probably cum, and hot sauce. The little shit was getting cum, hot sauce, and farts all over your coffee table.

He still didn’t answer you, he didn’t acknowledge your presence at all. He couldn’t bear to so much as jerk his head in your direction. The heat in your chest was flaring and licking up your throat.

“I’m talking to you, asshole,” you barked, taking a few more steps in until you were standing directly behind him, closely watching the way he played with his whole body. All he had to do was move his fingers, but he was leaning to the left as if that’d help him get a better view of a player shooting at him from above, throwing his arms as if he was actually dodging an attack. For a moment, you were transfixed by his shoulder blades shifting, deltoid muscles stretching beneath his taut skin. The heat in your chest spread down between your ribs until it was brewing in the pit of your belly.

“Well I’d appreciate it if you’d fucking stop,” Jungkook snapped back, and for you, the world froze. You could barely remember now, the shy sophomore who could barely look you in the eye for months when you first started tutoring him, who would run ahead to open every door for you and bring you coffee, who worshiped the ground you walked on. He had changed so much.

You planted a hand on each side of his firm, wide shoulders and shoved with all your strength. Jungkook was spinning around to face you, but it was too late—he was falling backwards onto the floor, yelping and flailing his limbs, trying to find a place to plant his hands and catch himself. Instead, he landed on his back and rolled ass over head. The satisfaction as you watched one of his feet catch and unplug the PS4’s power cord from the wall was unrivaled.

And then the room was silent. Jungkook was on the ground and you were leaning over the coffee table to stare down at him, your lips quirked just so. His face was pressed into the carpet, you could just barely see his torso lifting with each breath. “Stay down there, will you,” you sighed at him, and reached for the remote.

He moved with a swiftness you didn’t know he possessed, jumping onto his feet and grabbing your wrist in a grip so tight he’d definitely leave angry red evidence of it on your skin. He stared down at you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place, but you doubted anyone had ever looked at you like that. It was almost calculating, there were cogs whirring in his brain, but it was something more raw and human than that. You felt exposed, as if he was taking you apart piece by piece.

“I’m tired of playing this game with you.” Barely a second went by for you to think about what that meant before Jungkook reached over to wrap one arm around your waist and haul you up, over the table and against his chest.

Kissing Jungkook was not like how you’d imagined it would be—not that you’d imagined it before this, of course. He’d never raised his voice at you, probably never felt anything less than simple indifference towards you, so you’d never had reason to believe his kiss would be anything but soft, pliant, tender.

Instead his lips were pressed hard against yours, unforgiving. He bit your lip when you wouldn’t relent beneath him, and with your gasp his tongue was deep in your throat, licking out the apology that he knew he wouldn’t hear. You moaned around the intrusion, into his mouth, and braced your legs up around his waist.

The hand that was still holding your wrist finally let go so that he could grab your ass, kneading the flesh through your flannel pajama pants. Your arms wound around his neck to bring him closer to you.

Jungkook walked backwards around the table so he could fall onto the couch, and now you were straddling him. Your fingertips played with the soft hair at his neck, then trailed across his shoulders, down until your palms were pressed against his pecs and you finally, gently pushed him back, separating your lips from his.

“What is this? Why are we doing this?” You asked, barely able to get the words out through your breathlessness. Jungkook leaned forward, knocking his forehead lightly against yours.

“You’re dense, huh,” he said, and as you were about to indignantly huff and slip away from him, he continued, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, and I know you have, too. Don’t deny it.”

So maybe you had never not checked him out when he got home from his morning jog, immediately pulling his shirt over his head when he walked through the door, strutting in all of his sweat-slicked glory into the kitchen for a drink of water before disappearing into the bathroom. Maybe you had become, over time, more and more keenly aware of how large, rugged, and masculine his obnoxious Timberlands were framing your dainty flats and sneakers by the door. Maybe you walked through the door and sighed in bliss when you were surrounded by his mere smell, his cologne and aftershave and whatever was just him.

“...I’m not denying it,” you conceded. That was all the confirmation Jungkook needed. He was leaving wet kisses on your jaw, down your throat to your collarbone where you felt his teeth nibbling, and you sighed your satisfaction back at him while your hands drifted down from his chest to feel the warm skin of his abdomen. You traced his abs, delighting in the way his breath caught in his throat when your fingers softly followed the curve of his v-line towards the hem of his sweatpants.

One of his own hands had found its way beneath your shirt against the small of your back, inviting your body into his. You could feel him against your thigh, the soft bulge there stiffening, and took the plunge—his head tipped back as you rocked your hips experimentally against him, and the throaty groan he let out made your entire lower half throb.

“Did you like that, Kookie?” You asked him softly, teasingly, and his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip while he refused to look at you was all the answer you needed. Now both of those big hands of his were spread out on your hips, coaxing you to keep grinding against him.

“Take off your shirt, noona,” you barely heard his request, but it was there, breathed out into the air. He still had his head leaned back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling, you’d guess trying to keep himself from finishing too early. Little boys had a hard time controlling themselves that way.

“Why should I?” You asked, swallowing the moan that threatened to spill from your throat when you next rubbed against him and felt the head of his cock dig between your lips and nudge against your clit. Your underwear and pants were like a second skin, you were so wet that they had all but adhered to you.

It was a genuine question. You knew you’d be naked soon, there was no way you weren’t going to finish this now, but you still wanted to hear his answer. He had been a little shit for months.

“Because I want to see your fucking tits,” he grunted at you, “and you want me to suck on them and bite them and bruise them, you know you do.”

Not good enough.

You froze, and Jungkook kept tugging at your waist a few times before he realized you weren’t going to keep grinding and dropped his hands. His whole body deflated beneath you.

“But you’ve been an asshole,” you barked at him, “so I don’t think you deserve to see my ‘tits’, brat.” You climbed off of his lap but didn’t go far, settling down right beside him. He still wouldn’t look at you.

“I do want to get off, though,” you said, and grabbed one of his hands. It was large, rough from use, the veins stretched across it pronounced, but you didn’t observe it for long. It had a job to do.

“Now Kookie, keep your eyes to yourself,” you warned him as you shoved your pants down your thighs, then placed his palm down against your mound. Jungkook immediately jumped and tried to pull his hand away, but you held it there, giving him time to adjust to the warmth radiating off of you, the wetness he could feel against his fingers. Your eyes were locked on him, waiting for a sign. He gave it to you with the gulp that shook his throat, the way he relaxed his hand in your hold.

You pressed down on his index and middle finger with your own, and sighed in fucking bliss when they touched your clit through your underwear. On its own, your body slumped back to open yourself up to him. You led his fingers to start circling, slow and steady, and the heat bubbling in your stomach dissolved into a warmth that spread throughout your entire lower body, to the tips of your toes.

“Noona, please...p-please take your panties off...” Jungkook whined. You were still watching him, saw the way his eyes squeezed tight together and his nose scrunched in a wince, as if it was physically painful for him to ask politely.

“Why should I?” You repeated, trying to keep your voice steady.

“So I can make you feel good, noona.” Ding ding ding.

You moved Jungkook’s hand onto your knee, letting out a shudder of a breath when you realized how sticky the tips of his fingers were, and slid your underwear down to meet your pants. The open air hit your core and you trembled, from the chill or from anticipation, you weren’t sure.

He didn’t move.

“Jungkook? What are you waiting for?” You snapped.

“Permission?” His voice was small, and you melted for it. He’d been acting up ever since he moved in—you hadn’t seen him this docile or obedient in a long time.

“Touch me,” you sighed, “but don’t look,” and he immediately dragged his hand up your thigh until it reached the split between your legs. Jungkook’s touch over your underwear had been one thing, but his calloused fingertips exploring your lips, tracing shapes into your clit directly was something else, something so much better. He dipped one finger into your entrance, not even up to his knuckle and swirled it there tentatively.

“More?” He asked.

“More, more, more,” you panted, grabbing his forearm with both hands to brace yourself and trapping your bottom lip between your teeth.

Jungkook’s finger pulled away, only for two to dive right back in. The sounds that you made were obscene, would have embarrassed you, if the way he rubbed against your inner walls didn’t feel so good. His fingertips dragged against them as he pulled his fingers out then thrusted them back inside of you, again and again and again. You couldn’t decide between letting your eyelids flutter closed as pleasure wracked your body or intently watching the veins of Jungkook’s hand jumping, the muscles in his forearm flexing in your grasp as he worked you over.

Of course, he made that decision for you when his thumb brushed over your clit. Your eyes slammed shut and your entire body lurched forward, curling around his arm, trying to pull him further into you. He was rubbing your clit side-to-side, mercilessly, while his two fingers stretched you wide open.

Who had taught him to touch a woman like this? You’d never thought about his sex life before, other than feeling relieved that he chose to fuck girls at their place instead of bringing them home to bother you with all that noise. Obviously he wasn’t a virgin, not that you’d have ever assumed he was, but it amazed you how well he knew his way around a vagina—well enough to leave you speechless.

It was a third finger testing at your entrance that forced words out of your mouth, “No, wait, I— I don’t think I can—”

“Yes, you can, noona,” Jungkook assured you, and then his three middle fingers were pressed into you as far as they could reach. You were mewling, clawing at his arm as his hand jackhammered inside of your pussy—it had been so long since you felt this full, and you could feel your peak was so so so close—

“Look at me, noona,” Jungkook hissed, and he grabbed your chin with his other hand as your eyes peeled open to look into his hard gaze. The emotions swirled so tightly together—irritation, lust, something akin to hurt—making his eyes darker than usual. “Come for me,” he demanded, letting go of your chin so he could use those fingers to cup your mound and pinch your clit.

The heat in your body gathered between his hands before it burst out to every nerve, setting you aflame. You screamed through your orgasm, shaking and convulsing underneath him, but watched him watching you the whole time.

When it was over and aftershocks had you writhing only just, you let go of him, fell back against the couch and shut your eyes, exhausted. No one had made you feel that good in...ever. You hadn’t had many sexual experiences, but something about this...this was the best, you were sure.

Jungkook was silent, and when you finally felt like you could move your jelly limbs and form coherent human words, you glanced over to thank him for being so good at everything, just this once.

He had his middle and ring finger in his mouth, the two of them that had been knuckle deep in your cunt, eyes shut in ecstasy as he savored your taste. Of all things, this is what shocked you the most. The red on your cheeks at the image just embarrassed and aggravated you.

“What the fuck, you nasty little shit,” you bit out, hard still with breath you didn’t have, and he looked right at you again, no shame on his face. One of the corners of his lips tugged up into a smirk. With no hesitation, he reached forward with the index finger still coated in your cum, and painted your lips with it. You were frozen to the spot, unable to stop him or say a word.

“Lick it, noona,” he implored, and with a mind of its own, your tongue slithered out to collect every last drop he’d left for you. Your willingness made Jungkook brave, brave enough to press the tip of his finger against your closed lips again, but this time with more pressure until they parted and sucked his finger in. You wrapped your tongue tight around it, licking your juices off of him.

“Good girl,” Jungkook groaned, “you taste so good, don’t you?” And you were nodding, even though realistically you thought you tasted a little salty and metallic. If Jungkook said you tasted good then you tasted damn good.

He grabbed one of the hands lying limp at your sides and for a second it was tender, even with his finger in your mouth, he was just squeezing your hand in his with encouragement and affection, or something like it. It wasn’t until he let go of your hand that you realized he’d pulled your arm across both of your bodies and placed it down directly onto his stiff cock, still hidden beneath his sweats.

“Now you make me feel good, hm?” His voice lifted at the end, sounding like a suggestion, but you knew it was a demand, and not one you could even think of refusing. You took hold best you could through the thick fabric and rubbed softly, up and down, mimicking the movement with your tongue. The tips of your fingers brushed against his tip, making him jerk, but other than that Jungkook just narrowed his eyes and breathed hard through his nose, seeming otherwise entirely unaffected.

“Try harder, noona,” Jungkook growled, and grabbed your wrist to push your hand into his pants. Immediately, you wrapped your fingers around his cock. It didn’t feel particularly thick, but as you jerked it once you could tell it was a little longer than average. It was heavy and warm, hard but soft to the touch. You moaned around Jungkook’s finger imagining it inside of you.

As you worked his cock, Jungkook’s free hand grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up over your chest, just enough so that he could grab one of your breasts to knead and take a nipple between his lips. You squeezed him, pumping your palm over him back and forth and back and forth, to the same rhythm of his ministrations against your flesh, the same rhythm with which you bobbed on his finger.

He hissed when you paused to dig your thumb into his slit, looking up at you with a grimace, and you took the opportunity to pop his finger out of your mouth and reattach your lips to his. The kiss was all teeth on teeth, bruising and gnashing and drinking each other in. Jungkook bucked his hips up into your hand, and in response, you grabbed his sweatpants to yank them down, past his thighs and over his knees until they lay in a pile at his feet.

“Ok, Kookie,” you pulled away to murmur against his lips, “I’m gonna ride you now, you son of a bitch.” You felt a rumble of a laugh in his chest as you pushed him back and threw one leg over his lap, suspending your heat over his length. His eyes were hooded watching you take it into your hold, positioning it at your entrance, letting the tip slip in and rotating your hips on it just so.

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” Jungkook warned you, but you just hummed at him and offered up a few shallow bounces on his head. It was hard to resist sinking down and letting him fill you up, but it was worth it for one more moment of that irritation and resistance on his face, the curled lip and the fire in his eyes. One more moment before you handed yourself over to him, before everything changed, before there was absolutely no going back, no way to write all of this off.

That point had probably long passed, but you allowed yourself the dramatics.

Jungkook’s hands, which just a moment ago had been gripping your waist, reached up to lock around your wrists and then you were spun over onto your back with him on top of you. You were stuck for a moment on the dreadful sense of déjà vu that swept over you, but then Jungkook leaned back to watch as he buried his cock in your pussy and you could hardly remember your own name, his name, where you were and why you were here, anything other than him fucking you.

Like you’d noticed earlier, his cock was slender but long enough to reach a spot inside of you that you and your toys and no other man had ever gotten to before. There were immediate tears of pleasure in your eyes, a sob tearing from your throat, and Jungkook was reaching up to pet your hair back and place soft kisses all over your face.

“Are you alright, noona?” He asked carefully, and you cried out at him, “Yes, Jungkook, I’m fuck—fucking amazing, I feel you so fucking deeeeep inside of me, what the fuck!” He grinded into you, pressing against that spot and against your clit both at once, and somehow it already felt like you were going to come and it was too soon, you didn’t think you could go on after another orgasm. Jungkook still needed his own release, so you started to rock against him.

He rose an eyebrow, dragging his cock out of you slowly. You waited right on the edge for him to thrust back in, but half a minute passed and—nothing. You opened your eyes and there he was, lingering above you with such a smug look on his face.

“Do something,” you seethed.

“But noona,” he said, “why should I?”

You should have known that you had never really been in control. The tip of his cock bobbed and you felt it tap against your clit.

“Because I need it,” you whined, “Kookie, please, I need it.” Observing the dampness beneath your eyes, the way you’d bitten your lip raw, the way you struggled to lift your hips for just the slightest touch—he couldn’t refuse you.

He slammed his cock back into you, balls deep.

You fucking shrieked, and prayed that your neighbors didn’t hear. It couldn’t be helped. Jungkook was pistoning his cock into your heat, and his forearms were braced on either side of your head to hold him up, allowing you access to grab and scratch his swelling biceps. Sweat was rolling down his forehead, and there were tears dripping down your cheeks. Between the two of you there was so much wet and so much sticky, it was dirty and wrong and perfect.

“T-Tell me that you...that you l-love my cock, noona,“ Jungkook gasped as his pace quickened, and who were you to deny him?

“Oh god, Kookie, your cock is so good,” you cried, “I do, I do love your cock.”

“Are you gonna come for me again? Come all over my cock like a good girl, noona?” You couldn’t even say yes, feeling him stop again to poke at that spot inside of you, the one that made your eyes roll back into your head, your lips widen around a scream that must have shaken your entire building as you hit your high.

Jungkook rode it out, but the moment your body went lax beneath him, he was leaning back to slip himself out of you. He had one hand around his cock pumping it wildly, and you could see his face twisting in pain—he’d had to come for awhile now. You could barely move, but through sheer power of will you lifted your arm to smack his hand away and tug his cock yourself. It took only one, two, three yanks before Jungkook bent over and one long squirt of cum splattered onto your stomach, hot and thick and all yours.

Then he was collapsing on top of you, squishing his cum between your bodies, nuzzling his big dumb nose into your neck and leaving a peck of appreciation there. You laid still, unsure of what to do, until you settled on reaching up to your fingers through his hair while you tried to catch your breath. He similarly put his hands on your head, massaging your scalp, making you purr for him. It was...nice.

Until it wasn’t, because Jungkook was fucking steaming and it felt like a thousands pounds of muscle had melted into steel on top of you, trapping you there. You offered up only one more affectionate gesture, a kiss to the crown of his head, before you put both of your hands on his shoulders and rolled him off of you and onto the floor. He grunted in muted pain, but didn’t say anything else.

You would have instantly fallen asleep if a thousand alarms weren’t ringing in your head—YOU JUST FUCKED JUNGKOOK! THE BOY YOU TUTORED WHEN HE WAS 19! YOUR ROOMMATE AND ONE OF YOUR CLOSEST FRIENDS! WAY TO GO, YOU FUCKING MORON! As it was, you kept your eyes closed, like maybe if you didn’t open them this would all fade away, just a strange, wonderful dream...

The sounds of Jungkook standing, of his bare feet slapping against the wooden floors while he hurried away, did nothing for your hopes of this being a dream, of waking up alone and clothed in your bed tomorrow morning with no angry red marks or bruises to prove any of this had actually happened. If this was real, you hoped Jungkook at least had the decency to come back and wipe up the mess he’d made on you. That would have been sweet of him to do.

But instead you heard him shuffle back in, and then...something familiar. Something you couldn’t immediately place, a tune that was grand and sweeping—

The Overwatch main menu theme.

You sat up and opened your mouth to yell protests at him, but then a wet rag was smacking against your forehead and falling into your lap. Jungkook had the nerve to look pleased with himself, but could you blame him? The little shit had plenty of things to be proud of at the moment, his rag sniper shot being the least of them.

You were going to kill him, and as you did you were going to make sure he knew that everything was his fault. Everything that sucked in the world sucked because of him. World hunger? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. The dirty dishes piled up in your sink? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. The fact that you’d just fucked him and you liked it and wouldn’t mind if it happened again? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. When you heated up leftovers and it was all warm except for that bite in the middle? Jeon Jungkook’s fault. When you got a pebble stuck in your shoe? Of course, Jeon Jungkook’s fau—

Wait. As you wiped his cum off of your stomach and tossed the rag onto the floor, grabbed the blanket you kept draped over the back of the couch and wrapped yourself up in it, you realized...you weren’t mad at Jungkook. You weren’t even mildly annoyed. There was no heat lingering in your chest.

Trust Jeon Jungkook to realize how to manipulate you out of being upset at him with sex and orgasms.

“Hey, babe,” he asked without looking at you, from where had resat himself on the coffee table, and the pet name made something tick in your jaw before the slightest irritation settled into something much softer, “which hero should I play as?”

“Don’t call me ‘babe’, brat,” you mumbled as you came up behind him and leaned against his back. You could feel the comforting, steady thump of his heartbeat. It occurred to you a second too late that that meant he could feel the rapid flutter going on in your own chest, then.

You observed the other heroes selected on his team, the time winding down, and tilted your head towards, “Widowmaker, she’s my favorite.” Jungkook giggled, his big wonky front teeth peeking out from behind his lips, a sight you hadn’t even realized you’d missed.

“She’s one of mine, too,” he said as he selected her and started the match. You watched closely, although you didn’t know much about the game, you’d watched him play enough to know when things were going well or were going poorly. Regardless of which way it was looking for his team, you said,

“Wow, you suck at this.” He bristled, glancing back at you only briefly with slits for eyes. You bit back a smile at the pout his lips sunk into.

Jungkook slept in your bed that night, only after promising to eat you out for hours if you let him. It wasn’t quite hours, but the forty minutes and two orgasms added onto the two from earlier were good enough.

He never slept in his own bed again, and things were definitely...different after that. It took four and a half months of living together for you to accept that while Jungkook was certainly a silly little boy, he was also...a man. A big, strong, and obscenely good-looking one, at that.

You definitely weren’t dating. Jeon Jungkook was not your boyfriend by any means and you weren’t his anything, either. The two of you just liked to sleep in the same bed and fuck every day.

The sex didn’t stop his annoying habits. He turned the kitchen into his own personal dance studio every night, he hogged the living room TV to play video games all the time, there was always food mysteriously spilled on the carpet, and you could never seem to get rid of the smell of his cologne stinking up the entire apartment. The only difference was that now, when he did something that particularly pissed you off, he got to make it up to you with orgasms. You were content with that trade-off.

You decided that maybe, just maybe, having a roommate was not the worst thing that had ever happened to you.

But you had gone and forgotten your life’s own golden rule: things always, always, always got better before they got dramatically worse.

#jungkook smut #bts smut #kpop smut #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #kpop scenarios #jungkook #bts #i wrote this #the struggle is real everybody!!#writing is hard and idk why to heck i even try!!!#i hope someone likes it #and as always...pls validate me ;(#GOODBYE!!!!!!

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thatweirdmod · 4 years

Text

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 2: Subject

Windowless Moviemaker Chapter 2:

Subject

Street lights twitch above me as I walk down the sidewalk, not yet wearing the mask. My black backpack and all my clothes are nondescript, common brands. I wear no watch or jewelry.

This is so that if Mrs. Horatay braves the humiliation and tells someone about tonight, the police won't have good leads to go on. It'd be safer, admittedly, to keep a blindfold on her for the entire time, but that ruins it.

We are making movies here,after all, not just raping. We bring urges and emotions out of our subjects that most humans never get to see in all their lifetimes. The eyes convey a great quantity of that emotion, and I avow to commit as much of it as I can to film.

I gain base sadistic pleasure by doing these things, of course, and I'm able to relive those moments of pleasure by watching the recordings. However, this is also my legacy, and the internet makes it possible for me to share it with the world.

Well, not just the internet. I have a specific person to thank. Mitchol. I was on the school roof, when he showed up.

"You come here too?" And that was how it began. We talked during that lunch break, and many more.

Then one time, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and gave it to me. "I think this is something you'll be interested in, Jeeto. Check it out after school," he'd said.

On the piece of paper was a URL for a private site called "adesireisfulfilled", and a password.

Later, I went there and logged in. I was greeted by a dark page with 3 red boxes. They were marked as, "Local Files", "Files 2", and "Files 3", respectively.

I clicked on "Local Files", and to my surprise saw Nana, my class rep, naked and hogtied on a blue tiled floor. I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing as my eyes traveled over the rest of the thumbnails.

There were picture folders and videos, all of girls from nearby schools being molested, tortured, and raped. I continued to scour the website, getting harder and harder, until it hurt to leave my dick in my pants. I had to take it out and jerk off more vigorously than I ever had before.

The next day, Mitchol met me on the roof. "So, how was it?" He had asked. I knew exactly what he was referring to. I'd responded that it was awesome, and he'd looked pleased at that.

"It might say typical stuff like 'extreme bondage' and 'forced play' for a lose backup cover, but it's all real." He had said with a fiendish smirk.

Then, I remember him chuckling at my agape expression, and saying, "That makes it even hotter, though. Doesn't it?"

He'd then paused and looked at me thoughtfully, before saying the words that changed everything.

"You could do it too, you know."

I'm grateful that Mitchol took the risk of letting me in on this. And he's grateful now too. After all, I contribute just as much as he does.

I begin cutting through some woods that lead to the back of the Horatays' house. I only don my mask once I'm out of view for sure. I don't need anyone associating this thing with me.

I'm almost there when I spot a silhouette crouched down behind a tree. I approach as quietly as I can, but a twig snaps under my foot.

They suck in a quick breath and look back at me. A bit of light from the house catches their face, and I see that it's Kidney, wearing the same kind of mask as I am. I loose a breath, and approach.

"You scared me for a second there," Kidney chuckles.

"You scared the shit out of me too," I say.

He scoffs. "You were careless enough to leave criminal evidence on your shelf, but this scared you? I mean, who would it be other than me anyway?"

"'Who would it be’, eh?" I muse. "That makes me wonder if there are other guys like us around here."

Kidney shrugs. "According to the news, rapes are pretty rare around here. The problems most people worry about are burglaries and drunk driving."

I notice he's holding binoculars. "Were you trying to get a peak through the window?"

"Yeah," he responds. "She's still up in there. It's easier to catch them sleeping, so they won't hear us breaking in as fast and call the cops."

"Did you see if she's in her pajamas or not?"

"Yeah, she's getting ready for bed."

"Good," I say. "Now lets hope she's not an insomniac, or we'll be waiting here for a long time."

"It would've been better not to have to wait at all," Kidney says. "I told you it was kinda early, man. This is so boring. I didn't even bring my Gameboy."

"I guess you were right," I concede. "If you ask me though, it's no shame you didn't bring your Gameboy. Pokemon's like the only thing you have on that. I just can't get how people enjoy that tedium."

"Not 'tedium'. Momemtum," Kidney corrects me. "Sure it takes a lot of hours, but you're always leveling up and getting more Pokemon. It feels like a flow of perpetual progress."

"Boorrring," I drawl. "I'd much rather capture people on film than fake, pixelated animals on a Gameboy."

"Fine, suit yourself," he says, crossing his arms. Just one less asshole I've got to worry about competing with for the latest figures."

"Gimme those for second," I say gesturing towards the binoculars.

"Sure," Kidney responds, and hands them to me.

I squint through a space between the blinds. They've got the big, fancy kind. They're made of wood, and have kind of wide spaces in between them.

I'll take the tight, vinyl mini blinds I have at home over these bloated ass, big money ones, because I can see her sleeping all too well from here.

"Looks like we're in luck," I announce.

"What? She's crashed already?"

"Seems like it," I say, smirking. "Wait here," I tell Kidney as I hand his binoculars back. "And make sure Mrs. Horatay stays in bed while I go in."

He nods and says, "I'll text you pronto if she starts waking up."

With that, I sleuth around the corner to the window of another room. It's still facing the woods, but far enough away to not to wake her if she's an average sleeper.

I push up on the window- locked. No matter. I take the crowbar out of my backpack and, as quietly as possible, use it to pry it open. I flip open my phone.

No text. Jackpot. Screen still bars my entry, but I swiftly and noiselessly dispatch it with a few slices from my pocketknife.

I lift the blinds, thankfully less noisy than vinyl, and look around the room. It appears to be a bedroom that's been designated as an office or study.

What really matters, however, is that the floor is wooden. The open bedroom door is across from me, so I can see that the floor beyond is also wooden.

I click my tongue lightly in annoyance, take off my shoes, and put them in my backpack. I shoot Kidney a text saying, "Window open. Hard floor."

He appears around the corner as I'm climbing inside, and comes in after me. We quietly take out our "capture gear." With me holding the syringe of animal tranquilizer and Kidney holding rope and a gag, we pad down the hallway to Mrs. Horatay's bedroom.

As we approach cautiously, I observe her in peaceful slumber: strands of her mid-length brown hair strewn carelessly and perfectly across her fine features, silky, beige nightclothes covering her hourglass figure, the lines of nipples underneath as her luscious bosom rises and falls slowly.

Once we're close, Kidney pounces. By the time she's seriously started to make a stir, he's already gagged her and roped her wrists. He hops on the bed on top of her, pinning her legs down.

I lean over and plunge the syringe into her neck. I press down with my thumb, and fill her body with the potent chemicals. She only struggles for a few more seconds before falling under and going limp as a corpse.

I heft Mrs. Horatay up, and Kidney helps me stuff her into a large bag with straps. We feed our backpacks and the woman through the forced-open window, exit, and close it behind ourselves. Kidney puts on both of our backpacks, while I carry the woman on my back.

"Where'd you park?" I inquire.

"Just follow me. It's a few blocks down, in a private-ish spot right outside the woods."

We dash through the Horatay's lawn and back under and through the cover of the woods as quickly as we can. Once we reach the end, Kidney holds a hand up to me.

"Wait up. I'm gonna peak out to see if anyone's around."

I stay nervously, my back aching from holding the woman's weight all through the woodland trek. I should probably workout more.

"Okay," Kidney says. He waves me forward, scurries to the rental, gray mini van, and opens its trunk. "Hurry!" He whispers.

I toss Mrs. Horatay in the back, and then hop in the passenger's seat.

He presses moderately on the gas, obeying the low neighborhood speed limit. These speed limits have always annoyed me. You know it's for the dumbass brats running around on the street.

I say let the car engines run, and let natural selection run its course on the crotch goblins that are too stupid to stay off the road. They've all been told before. If they don't listen, why should that be anyone's responsibility except their own?

Once we're out of the bullshit zone, we take off our masks, that way, no one who sees us in the car will pay us any mind.

"This really is a whole lot of work," Kidney says with a sigh, as he presses down on the accelerator.

"I hope you're not thinking of quitting," I say to him.

His response is silence.

"Unlike you," I say. "There's no good sex that exists outside of this for me. Doing it normally over this past month would've been even worse than staying in my room with my hand and porn.

I can't stand either, though. I'd have gone nuts if I had to continue on forever like that."

"All the content on adesireisafulfilled isn't enough to fulfill your desire for this?" Kidney asks.

"That's way different than a real woman," I say. "Besides, I've already watched all the stuff on adesireisfulfilled. I need new content, and the other members need new content too."

"Where there's a demand," Kidney muses. "There's always someone cashing in by supplying. Have you ever wondered how much Mitchol's making off of the members?"

"Huh?" I question. "We don't pay anything."

"Well of course not; we're the suppliers, the content creators. We should be the ones getting paid."

I can sense Kidney's irritation.

"Look," he says. "As far as I know, there are only 5 uploaders on the site. Us, Mitchol, and the other two guys, Redhand Heriolt and my uncle, Stoulfer. But," he continues,

"Mitchol said before that there are about 600 members. You think they're all friends that he just gave the password out to for free?"

"Probably not," I admit.

"Yeah," Kidney says angrily. "I bet Mitchol's charging registration and membership fees. Maybe he's even charging for access to "premium content."

"But," I argue. "Mitchol's the one who pays the bills to keep the site online. He needs money for that. And for us, well, don't you think the work is its own reward?"

"Maybe for you it is, but that doesn't change the fact that the profits of our labor are being swiped out from under our noses. If I'm gonna keep doing this," he says as he veers onto the obscure dirt road, "It'll be for the full reward."

We put our masks back on and get out of the mini van. Kidney parked in a grassy clearing in the middle of a bunch of wild land. There's a rundown little house here, but the main purpose it serves is to be a distraction.

I go to the edge of the clearing, and move some "fallen" branches and shrubs to uncover the metal door of the underground bunker. I open it, and Kidney carries Mrs. Horatay over from the car.

We walk down the concrete stairs, and I flip on the light. Thanks to the house, it doesn't appear suspicious that electricity is being used in this middle-of-nowhere location. The company and the police would just assume that that's where it's going, I hope.

As Kidney and I set up our filming equipment, he says. "Hey, Jeeto. Check out this new camera and tripod my uncle gave me."

"Wow, it's super tall."

"Yeah, now we can get even better angles. If I set it up here," he says, rolling the tripod in front of the bed, "I can get a top down shot of her tits jiggling and the dick going in and out."

"Top down isn't a favorite of mine," I say. "However, interspersing shots like that would lend a more professional feel to the movies."

"Exactly," Kidney says, then looks over at the bag Mrs. Horatay is in. Moaning comes from it. I can see her weakly squirming around. She's just come to. I rush to grab a camera and start filming.

We leave her in there, allowing her state to progress naturally. Her muffled cries rise from confusion and fear to outright shrieks of panic and terror.

"Heermmmmpphhh!" Mrs. Horatay screams through the loosened gag. She squirms viciously in the bag, rolling and flopping over, her wrists and ankles bound.

Kidney and I both laugh heartily. Upon hearing us, her animalistic flight response slows down somewhat into human diplomacy.

"Hmmm errmm yeourr?" She attempts to speak again through the gag and the bag.

"I think she's asking who we are," I say.

"Well, I guess it's time to get her out of there," Kidney says. He goes over to her, unzips her prison, and pulls it off.

She's shaking violently. Salty tears stream down her face and soak the gag in her mouth as she looks up at the masked Kidney- petrified. I'm reminded of Kidney's earlier comparison of women to rabbits.

I zoom in on her face. Through the window of her eyes, I see the horror of the certainty of doom. Chills prickle up my skin.

"Oh, she looks good," Kidney says, unzipping his pants and freeing his semi-hard dick.

Mrs. Horatay bursts into a noisier fit of tears, pleading incoherently. I put the camera on the tripod, walk over, and finally take the gag off.

"Please, please, please." She says rapidly. "You don't have to do this."

I give her a perplexed look, which she can't see underneath my mask anyway. "I don't know why some of you women say that, like we're doing this out of some solemn sense of duty to you."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" She says, high pitched. "I never... I didn't mean it that way. I'm so sorry."

I laugh. "Looks like we've got an ass kisser over here," I remark to Kidney.

"Even if she wasn't tied up, she might be groveling down there anyway."

"Hmm, I think we can work with this... Hey bitch!" I bark at Mrs. Horatay.

"Ye-yes?" She answers meekly.

I squat down at eye level with her, and pull the knife out of my pocket. When I flip it open, she flinches.

"Hmph," I observe, amused. Then, I grab her by the collar of her silky night shirt, and press the blade up against her neck.

She gasps, and I laugh again. "If you keep shaking like that, I might accidentally cut you." I say this with sarcasm thick enough to let her know that I don't really give an iota of a shit about her well-being.

Then I switch to grave seriousness. "I caught your eyes when they darted around the room a moment ago. It's true-" I dig the knife in, puncturing her skin as I say the next words. "There isn't any way out."

Mrs. Horatay whimpers as tantalizing red blood trickles down her supple neck and stains her beige pajamas. I lick my lips, trying not to pant. She cries out softly as I pull her closer to me by the collar, slicing her skin more.

"And the worst places your mind went, the places it's going now, I could take you there." I feel unbelievable elation from the look on her face, and the fact that the camera behind me is recording it all. I soften my tone a mite.

"You're a smart woman, Mrs. Horatay, so let me do whatever I want to you. It won't even take the whole night."

She nods slowly.

I untie the ropes around her ankles and wrists, and she lies obediently, even once freed of the bindings.

"Stand up," I order her.

She stands nervously.

"Unbutton your shirt."

She swallows, and glances uncomfortably at Kidney, who's lightly stroking his penis.

I wait, a firm object before her. After looking up at my masked face, then back down to my shoes, she begins to undo her buttons. A sheen forms in her eyes.

"Hurry up and take it off," I tell her impatiently.

She pulls the shirt away, exposing her bare body. My eyes feast upon her voluptuous breasts, like ripe fruits hanging heavily on a tree branch. Her eyes widen when she notices my erection, bulging in the front of my black pants.

"Take off your bottoms too."

She slips them off. Pale pick panties with a little red bow in the front. Not very adult-ish, so it's kind of funny.

I step closer to her, and she stays still. I grab and squeeze a handful of her breasts with my left hand, while my right runs down her torso and dives under her panties.

Her pussy lips feel dry under my fingers. I fondle and rub her to my heart's content, then push two fingers inside her. I move them in and out roughly, and she gasps and groans at the painful molestation.

I let up once her body starts reacting, finally making her pussy slick. She looses a breath when I withdraw.

"Go to the bed, take off your panties, and bend over," I tell her.

Mrs. Horatay follows my instructions with a red face. She keeps her legs close together, as if that does anything to preserve her dignity. I can still see her pussy, but I say, "Spread your legs."

Kidney films her face, which must be twisted in shame and frustration.

Her legs open a few inches, and I click my tongue. I slap her on the ass, hard. "Spread them more!"

Tears trickle down her face as she scoots her knees out, splaying her legs enough to make her pussy lips part.

"Yeah," I say, rubbing her cunt and grabbing her ass from behind. "That's what I like to see."

I unzip my pants and whip my cock out. Without warning, I grab her by the waist and line her vagina up with my thrusting dick.

With one fluid motion, I plunge all the way inside her. Mrs. Horatay cries out at the sudden intrusion. Without giving her a moment to adjust, I begin a high tempo pounding rhythm. Kidney fixes the tall camera and tripod to get a better shot of me doing Mrs. Horatay.

I take my left hand off her waist and latch it around her arm. I pull, forcing her back to arch up, and giving the camera a good shot of her bouncing tits.

I lean down slightly while pulling Mrs. Horatay up against myself, then I grab her by her breasts. My nose is inhibited by the mask, but I think her hair smells nice. I would love to get my teeth around her ear or her neck, and bite while I'm thrusting into her.

I increase the force of my movements. The sounds she's making are enough to make me shoot my load all over her back.

"It's my turn," Kidney says. So, gather my bearings and go to man the cameras.

Mrs. Horatay is lying on the bed, shivering in the fetal position.

He climbs on with her, and grabs her by a fistful of hair. She groans sharply as he yanks, twisting her over onto her back.

"Does your husband ever do this with you?" Kidney asks as he sits over Mrs. Horatay's chest and slides his erect penis between her large breasts.

"Hmm?" He pries again as he moves his hips slowly, awaiting an answer.

Her eyes dart down to the head of penis, poking in and out of her cleavage. "N-no..." She says in a soft, broken voice.

"Oh," Kidney says, surprised. He tweaks her pink nipples and squeezes her breasts together around his cock. "That's a shame, because this is great," he tells her, moving faster now.

I make sure one of the cameras is trained on her face. When they talk about rape, they never tell you about the awkward expressions and the not knowing where to look.

The heavier feelings like horror and violation take precedent, but also, being naked in front of and doing sexual things with two complete strangers is uncomfortable, bizarre, and embarrassing for the average woman.

With a satisfied moan, Kidney spurts semen all over her face. Luckily for her, she closes her eyes in time.

While he's recuperating, I make scissors with fingers and put one "blade" in her anus and the other in her vagina. I chuckle when she moans in a whore-like manner.

With a camera zoomed into the action, I thrust my fingers in and out, making sloppy sounds. Once I've filmed enough of that, I lie on the bed on my back.

"Come sit on my lap," I say.

Mrs. Horatay obeys, tired and afraid.

"Show me what you'd do if I was your husband."

She abashedly begins moving her hips, dragging her pussy along my flaccid length to get me hard. Once I'm ready, she lifts herself up, then slowly impales her vagina on my cock. I smirk.

As she rides me, I trail my hands over her thighs and up her tight stomach, to the lovely breasts swaying above me.

I grope them fondly, before leaning up and taking a nipple in my mouth. She moans as my tongue twirls around the soft pink bud. I suck and clasp her breasts, occasionally nipping with my teeth.

When Kidney comes over, I lie back again and pull her down so that she's lying on my chest. We continue moving together as he spreads her asscheeks.

Mrs. Horatay groans through her teeth, close to my ear, as Kidney pushes his member inside her anus. My dick hardens and twitches inside of her.

"Fuck, she's so tight... and hot," Kidney groans as he struggles to push his cock in and out of her anal cavity. We time our thrusts together. The pressure of his dick on the other side is making her cunt feel even tighter.

"Ahh," I moan. "I'm gonna come again." Mrs. Horatay is whimpering in my ear in pain. There's no way I can hold my come back now that I feel the wetness of her tears on my neck. I cream inside her pussy. Kidney's climax follows soon after.

We put our pants back on. For the final sequence, Kidney gets a vibrator out of his bag.

"Lie back on the edge of the bed and spread your legs," he says to Mrs. Horatay. I lower the height of one of the tripods, roll it over, and focus the camera on her genitals.

For the next several minutes, Kidney carefully masturbates her. He licks, sucks, and rubs her red little clit while moving the vibrator in and out of her vagina at a steady, moderate pace.

One of the most frequent users on adesireisafulfilled recently left a few comments requesting a "spasm closeup."

So, I guess this is Kidney providing customer satisfaction. Going by what he said earlier, he does plan to get paid, after all.

Kidney finally makes Mrs. Horatay's body climax, forcing a strangled moan from her mouth. I make sure every undulation and twitch of her privates is recorded in perfect focus.

"Alright," he announces once her orgasming has ceased. "That's a rap."

I throw Mrs. Horatay's clothes and a roll of paper towels at her.

"As I'm sure you can tell," I begin as she re-dresses. "Everything that we did has been filmed." She frowns knowingly.

"Can you imagine what would happen if everyone in your life saw this? Your friends, your dad- it could even find the eyes of any future children you might have.

And your husband... some of this looks pretty consensual, you know."

She perks up at that. "Oh yeah," I say, huffing a laugh. "We could only release those parts. Tell me, how good is your relationship with your husband?" I don't wait for an answer before continuing.

"Are you positive he'd take your word that you were forced, against video footage of you on top of me grinding on my dick? Against footage of your pussy spasming in pleasure?"

Her eyebrows are furrowed, and it looks like she's going to be sick. "What do you want me to do?" She questions desperately.

"We want you to keep quiet about this. That's all."

Kidney tosses her the pills and water.

"Is this some kind of birth control?" Mrs. Horatay asks skeptically, examining the bottle.

"Right on. They're good too. Sure to work, with no awful side effects. Take 2 of them," Kidney says.

"No matter how you feel later," I insert, "Be sure to keep on the face you normally wear, and keep up with your usual tasks."

She cautiously twists open the cap and shakes 2 pills into her palm.

"Swig a shot of hard liquor. Sneak a smoke every now and then. Go punch around a bag at the gym. Do whatever you need to do."

Then, I lower my voice. "Just don't let anyone know, or you'll lose everything," I tell her as she swallows thickly.

"Did you know?" I say. "All the cells in our bodies are replaced every 10 years, but we don't say we're new people every 10 years because of that fact.

This is because who we really are is what's inside our hearts. This might sound like bad news for someone like you, so full of pain, shame, and confusion.

But, there are sayings: 'We are who we pretend to be, so we must be very careful what we pretend to be.' And, 'If you gaze into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.'

If you pretend everything's fine, eventually, it truly will be. The act will transmute from second nature to first before you realize it. And, if you gaze into the abyss of wellness and happiness, those things will reflect back into you."

Mrs. Horatay looks as unconvinced as could be expected, but I go on with the drivel anyway.

"Your heart can be disciplined- molded and changed by your own will. You need only know what your will is. So... do you wish to be a victim?" I ask her.

"Another statistic, a shell being dragged along barren sand through days filled with pity? Do you want to live the rest of your life in the worst moments of your past, with your mind trapped in this bunker forever?"

Her expression is one of disturbance and confusion.

"You might think you have no choice, but that's a lie," I say. "Not everyone who's been belittled must be nothing, and not everyone who's been shoved down must wallow in the mud.

Despite all the media's talk of coming forward and closure, your contentment doesn't have to be chained by being hinged upon things outside of your control. You have the right to live freely from here on out.

You have a right to thrive, to leave the shadows of the past behind in the darkness, and to run straight ahead into the brightness of the future, without inhibition.

Your life is still full of positive possibilities, and the truth is, not a single one can be taken away without your releasing it."

I speak more firmly. "Hanging in the balances now are your marriage, your dignity, and even your identity, because no one would see you the same way if they saw these recordings. You can tip those balances in your favor, easily."

She blinks slowly, clutching her arms with her hands. I let the silence linger for a while until Mrs. Horatay quietly says, "Okay."

I grin, pleased. "I told you didn't I? You're a smart woman."

I actually have no idea what effect these speeches I give have upon the women we rape. They might even be destructive.

All I really need to say is, 'We'll show everyone you know these recordings if you tell anyone about what happened.'

Their minds would do the rest, and do a much better job than I ever could. I guess I just like having someone to rant at for a few minutes.

#kidnapping #crime #filming #movie #homemade movie

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