#besides i did take out my anger without causing too much pain to myself so it's fine

[iqmmir]

I am an okay person i think

[liminal-space-lesbian]

Bg3 Ladies needing comfort after a bad day

Request: So for the BG3 headcanon or blurb requests what about a little thingy where the Lady’s of the game have a bad day and need lots of comfort from their Tav. 🥺

A/n

Honestly idgaf if Lae’zel is ooc, my baby is secretly going soft. Sorry guys!! I believe she actually has feelings deep down <3 Also mild spoilers if you haven’t finished the Crèche questline

Also Karlach is so babygirl omg if someone doesn’t give her a hug rn I SWEARRRR

Karlach:

Karlach had spent the entire day fighting off various enemies, who were unfortunately harder to defeat than expected. And right as she’s settling down for the night, finally getting a reprieve from the day, Raphael shows up.

He’s yammering on about how he wants to strike up a deal with you, but you cannot send him away fast enough. Seeing a devil only dredges up bad memories for your lover, and you do not want her to have to relieve the memories of her torture in Avernus.

“Come here baby, it’s alright just try to relax.” You coax, seeing the tension in her body once Raphael leaves. You coo, gently taking her into your arms. Her head buried in your chest, strong arms wrapping around you tightly as you rub her shoulders and the back of her neck. You ease the tension out of her muscles, kissing the crown of her head.

She finally lets the tension leave her body as she breaks down into tears, quietly crying into the fabric of your shirt. Small sobs wrack her shoulders, sending an aching pain lancing through your heart. You can’t stand seeing her so upset.

“I fuckin’ hate demons. No good ever comes of ‘em. Promise me you’ll never even consider Raphael’s deal.” She pleads, and you’re quick to reassure her. “I promise, I’ll never make a deal with a devil. I love you too much to risk it.” You whisper into her hair as you place a gentle kiss on her temple.

You cuddle her to sleep, allowing her to wrap herself around you entirely. Lord knows a decade of not being able to touch anyone without scorching their skin off leaves a girl touch starved. You tuck her in as cozy as she can get, and pepper her face with gentle kisses as she drifts off. Your heart aches for the suffering your lover has endured, but all you can do is be here now to support her.

Shadowheart:

Shadowhearts wound on her hand had been flaring rather badly all day, and unfortunately you had to travel past an abandoned temple of Shar. All the memories- or lack thereof- cause Shadowheart’s mood to sour. She seems snappy and short tempered, but when you visit her tent later you see her curled into a ball and cradling her hand.

“Oh sweetheart.” You murmur, getting on your knees beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. She sniffles, obviously trying to hide her tears. You shush her, gently lying behind her and wrapping your arms around her. She rolls over and cuddles into your chest, crying more freely now.

“Why did they have to take my memories? Sometimes I don’t even feel like I know myself.” She whimpers, and your heart shatters. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry.” You whisper, kissing her forehead and wiping away her tears. “I know you, and I love you.” You murmur, rubbing your hand soothingly up and down her back as she tucks her head into your neck. You spend the evening wiping away her tears and soothing her as best as you can.

Lae’zel:

Lae’zel doesn’t get upset, she gets angry. It’s how she was raised, channel every feeling into anger. Anger fuels strength, and only created a stronger more tenacious fighter. So when Lae’zel finds out the truth about Vlaakith, she’s angry. Enraged. Furious. Not hurt.

Lae’zel definitely doesn’t cry when she’s alone in her tent that night. She also definitely doesn’t crawl into your arms and bury her face in your shoulder. Your touch is the only balm to the aching in her chest.

“Tsk’va, look at me. So weakened by the betrayal of a false god.” Lae’zel grits out between tears, fists clenched firmly in your shirt. Her anger is directed at herself, as if it’s her fault she was fooled along with every other Gith.

“Darling, it’s not your fault. Vlaakith tricked everyone. I know her betrayal hurts, and you have a right to be upset. Im so sorry you have to deal with something like this.” You coo, kissing her forehead and wiping her tears. She scowls and pulls away from your touch, but only to roll over so she can be little spoon.

She doesn’t speak for the rest of the night, but you feel a bit of tension melt away from her muscles. The next morning she’ll wake as if nothing happened, but for now she burrows farther into your warmth, seeking your comfort.

Dame Aylin:

Aylin’s mood took a turn for the worse when she heard Raphael had proposed a deal to you at Sharess Caress. She had already spent the day overstimulated from the noise of Baldurs Gate, a stark contrast to a century in shadowfell, where the only sound was the wind and rumbling in the distance. Now that you told her this? She was pissed.

She stomped off to be alone, saying she just needed time to think. You could tell by the stiffness of her posture she was upset, more than just angry. You gave her some space, but when she finally returned to your tent to go to sleep, you confronted her.

“What’s wrong darling?” You coax, your expression soft as you open your arms for her. She hesitates, her pride and stoicism holding her back for a moment. Her hesitation is short lived however, as she heaves a sigh and flops into your arms.

“I’m just thinking of my time spent in shadowfell. Raphael is a devil, simply a reminder of the evils in this world.” She pauses, heaving an irritated sigh. “After being trapped in that soul cage for so long… sometimes it feels as though I’m still there. Not physically but… in my mind that place haunts me.” She admits quietly, and you think you hear her voice quiver.

“I’m sorry Aylin. You didn’t deserve that. If I could take away all your pain I would.” You murmur, hugging her a bit tighter as you look in her eyes. You see tears clinging to her lashes as she swallows thickly.

“I know you would. And I love you for it.” She whispers brokenly, nuzzling her head into your shoulder as she clings to you. She pulls away to place a deep kiss on your lips, reveling in the comfort of you.

“Try and rest Aylin, you need sleep.” You coax, easing her to lie back. She complies, allowing herself to get comfortable as she slips off to sleep. For the first time in weeks she doesn’t have a single nightmare.

Isobel Thorm:

Isobel was drained after narrowly escaping being kidnapped by Marcus. She pumped all of her magical abilities into the shield around the Last Light Inn, as well as blessing you and your companions to ward off the shadow curse.

You could see her bottom lip quiver as she climbed into bed, and she instantly cuddled into your side. You turned towards her, gently cupping her face in your hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask gently, and she simply shakes her head, blinking heavily as tears flow freely down her face. You brush the tears away with your thumbs, nodding as you kiss her forehead. You take her into your arms and let her cry it out.

You rub up and down her arms soothingly, allowing her the space to let out her feelings. Eventually her cries taper out, and soon enough she’s drifting off to sleep. You carefully make sure she’s tucked in perfectly before resuming your spot, cuddled up to her for the night.

A/n

If this is bad it’s bc I’ve been awake for 17 hours, sorry peeps 😔

[huamea]

— ° 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐢𝐯𝐲

› belphegor x f!reader (you/yours)

› cw: sleep deprivation + associated symptoms, dream encounter, thigh riding, biting, fingering, mirror sex, spit, fingers in throat

› wc: 1.6k

› synopsis: a certain demon has plagued you with late night visits since your early adulthood, giving rise to resentment as he continually interferes in your life from your dreams. But is he really all that bad, or is he just trying to show you the desires you deny yourself?

Saying you hated him was perhaps a little extreme, some part of you felt oddly connected to the devil that had sunk his fingers into your mind over the years. Difficult to not form some connection, even one of spite, with someone you see so frequently.

Not that you physically see him, no that would be too easy to deal with. This one afflicts you in your dreamscape, a much crueler form of connection. You weren't sure when it really began, perhaps he'd been there all the while and you'd only grown to truly see him as you aged. Though, that may just be a small paranoid part of you speaking.

Still, his meddling has undoubtedly impacted your life in negative ways. Unable to feel rested no matter how much you slept, the constant fogginess, and the persistent nausea from lack of sleep had left you nearly ruined.

Tonight was no different, opening your eyes to a dreamy copy of your bedroom and feeling the chill in your bones knowing he was perched on the sill of the open window.

"Get the fuck out of here."

"Ouch, hostile tonight?" His playful tone made your teeth clench. "Did I catch you on a bad day?"

Heavy footsteps brought him to your bedside, making you rise propped on your elbows to glare up into his deep violet eyes and resenting the mirth you saw in them.

"Every day I see you is a bad one," you hiss, "can't I have one night to myself?"

"You know, there's easier wishes to grant... I just can't help myself with you." His careless attitude made you deflate quickly, instead training your eyes on the wall as you felt the mattress dip with his weight beside you.

"I'm going to figure out how to get rid of you," you mutter more to yourself than your unwelcome guest.

He's quick to take advantage of your momentary distraction, slipping one arm behind your back and lightly pushing you down onto the mattress, forcing your back to arch while the other hand wrestles your wrists into a firm hold. Anger superheated your blood and caused you to nearly bare your teeth up at him.

"What am I supposed to do with you, hm? You're so uncooperative." His statement was punctuated by the way he leaned over you, your noses millimeters apart.

"You won't do anything with me unless I want to," your voice wobbled in a strange way, making you even more embarrassed by the easy way he'd brought you to this position.

He scoffed, "of course not, what kind of demon do you take me for? But how about a little proposition, I know I can relieve some of your stress without even touching you," his eyes glimmered as his voice took on a softer tone.

You hated that you were honestly considering it, but it's not like you were as disgusted by him as you pretended to be. If he weren't such a pain you'd be able to acknowledge his objective attractiveness. It would be easier without him touching you though...

"No hands and no fingers? If you're lying to me-"

"Cross my heart," he interjected cheekily.

Gingerly he guided you back up, before switching your positions and leaning back against the pillows and lightly patting his thigh; smirking all the while like the cat who got the cream.

Oh you bastard.

Your movements were jerky and leaking trepidation as you straddled his thigh, heat rising furiously beneath your skin in humiliation. That feeling mounted as your crotch rubbed lightly against him, already feeling embarrassingly aroused by the action.

But you couldn't help it, with how perpetually exhausted you've been the only hands on your body lately have been your own. Timidly you moved your hips again, desperately trying to keep your eyes off his face as your hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt. That didn't stop you from catching his flexing hands in your peripheral, biting your lip in a small sense of satisfaction that clearly not being able to touch you was difficult for him.

As your confidence grew any lingering concern over what you were doing became distant in your mind, your movements were bordering on frantic as you chased the sparks of pleasure from the friction of your underwear rubbing against your throbbing clit and making your cunt spasm.

Your throaty groans and Belphegors soft hums of approval filled the room as your wide eyes settled on the growing erection in his pants and shivered from the way his hungry gaze was practically burning a hole through you.

"Look at you," he rasped out, "where'd all that bite go?"

Smirking you didn't dignify a response, opting to grab his shoulders and lean in against his neck. It was fitting the tables turned and you get to be the torturer, licking a long stripe up his throat and listening to his sharp intake of breath as your teeth lightly sunk into his flesh.

Before his hands could make contact with your body, you anticipated his snapping resolve and pushed yourself away from him, nearly gasping from the abrupt lack of sensation.

"You said you wouldn't touch me-"

"You don't want me to touch you?"

You froze, any response drying up like a rain starved stream as your thoughts seemingly short circuited. Did you really not want him to touch you... The question flip flopped in your head from one extreme to another.

"If you can look me in my eyes and say you don't want me to touch you I'll leave you alone forever," he whispered.

Suddenly it was impossible to speak altogether, any rational part of your mind that would weep in joy at the idea of getting peace back was warring with the part that craved a continuation of your momentary pleasure.

"Use your fingers this time," the words came out breathy, "please." The urge to hide from the humiliation of giving in was drowned by your lust, nevermind the consequences of your choice.

In a rush of clumsy desire you both reposition, Belphie getting you sat between his legs with your own spread wide in front of the standing mirror at the foot of your bed leaned on the wall. You almost don't recognize yourself, all lust blown eyes and disheveled pajamas.

"I want you to watch, remember every little sound I pull from you. Every expression you make. Don't close your eyes," he whispered against the shell of your ear, but it was difficult to process his words when you could feel his erection pressing against your ass.

Slowly his hand traveled downward, massaging your clothed breast, teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts before slipping past them and letting his fingers brush against your clit to make you jolt. His other hand came to caress beneath your jaw, sliding his index against your lips to demand you open your mouth.

You obliged, a whine that he tugged out of you with another brush to your clit was muffled as fingers stuffed your throat. Your eyes rolled back feeling him apply firmer pressure to your now aching clit, circling it and alternating the stimulation. It made your head spin and your hips buck pathetically into the palm of his hand, garbled moans cut into the tension as saliva trailed down through his fingers to drop on to your chest.

What you saw in the mirror sent a feeling similar to electric shocks through your nerves. Fingers stuffed into your mouth, the shiny drool sliding down his hand, the wet splotches on your shirt and his hand furiously working inside your shorts. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

His pace slowed, prompting more jumbled noises to burst between his fingers as your hips impatient wiggled against his hand to chase your high.

"Say you want me, maybe I'll let you cum," he teased, tongue sliding over your earlobe to make you shiver as his fingers pulled past your lips.

Without being stretched the skin of your lips was now throbbing in their relaxed position, making speech feel impossible.

Still you forced it out, watching the grin stretch his lips with each syllable.

"I want you- I need you-"

Before you could finish two fingers slid lightly inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit making your plea dissolve into a squeal. He'd tipped you past the point of no return, you opened the door and ushered him inside.

You arched against his chest as his fingers scissored and stretched to hit those spots that made your vision turn to television static, coupled with the steady pressure on your clit it felt like someone released a high pressure spring inside your abdomen.

Within seconds you'd disobeyed his command, unable to help closing your eyes and throwing your head back against his shoulder as the wave of ecstasy crested, feeling the bed become soaked beneath your ass and you unabashedly squirmed in his hold and rode out the high of your orgasm.

Your thighs continued to shake even after he pulled his hand away from your spasming cunt, sighing contentedly as your body slumped back against his.

"I can't believe we did that," you spoke softly, voice small.

He placed a lingering kiss to the side of your head, fingers stroking your cheek.

"We can do that as much as you want," his words were muffled against your head, "I tried to tell you it wasn't a bad thing having me around."

You rolled your eyes halfheartedly as you allowed yourself to relax further in his arms. Maybe he was right, and it would be nice to look forward to sleeping again. Perhaps you didn't want to get rid of him after all...

[just-dreaming-marvel]

The Bond Between Us ~ 68

THE BOND BETWEEN US MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,400ish

Summary: You request some answers.

Notes: don’t mind my trash edit of a photo below... I tried.

Previously on The Bond Between Us…

“Told you, I did,” Yoda sighed. “Reckless is he. Now, matters are worse.”

“That boy is our last hope,” Obi-Wan replied.

“No, there is another. That you know.”

“Leia is not—“

“Talking about Leia, I was not. Know that, you do.”

“She is not who she once was.”

“Questions, I sense you have for me, Obi-Wan.”

“They are not my questions to ask.”

“No, they’re not,” you said, coming into the clearing. You had been hiding in the trees since Luke had started packing up, the light having led you to them. Your eyes were glued on Obi-Wan's blue, ghostly figure. “They are my questions and I deserve the truth.” 

~~~

“Little star,” Obi-Wan whispered, taking you in. 

Obi-Wan had watched you from afar over the three years since his death. You were still the most beautiful being in the galaxy to him, his little star. He wanted to reach out to you, to talk to you, to comfort you, but the Force would never allow it. No matter how hard he tried. 

As his eyes scanned over you, they paused at the rings that hung from a chain around your neck. He remembered watching you slip the ring from your finger a few months ago. You had been crying out for him, begging for him to comfort you. Obi-Wan had tried so hard to get to you, but the Force wasn’t letting him. Large tears were falling from your face as you took the ring from your finger and placed it on the chain next to his. It caused more pain to Obi-Wan than he cared to admit.

“Obi-Wan,” your tone was cool and calm, pulling him back to the present. 

You wanted to launch yourself at your dead husband, but you knew that you would just go right through him. You had begged and pleaded with the Force to show you Obi-Wan and now here he was, standing beside Master Yoda. He looked like he did when he was struck down by Vader; tired, with longer hair, and a beard with his normal Jedi robes. He was still as handsome as ever.

Obi-Wan flinched at your tone. He knew that this was hard for you. He could feel the hatred and anger within you, which caused him so much sorrow. He remembered the time when your light filled the whole Jedi Temple. How Obi-Wan wished he could bring some part of that back for you.

“My former Padawan,” Yoda greeted, “been a long time, it has.”

“Yes, Master Yoda, it has,” you agreed, stepping closer to the two.

“Time has caused you great pain, I sense.”

“Time… or you? And the Force? And this stupid prophecy that I’ve been haunted by since I joined the Order?”

“Little star—“

You held up your hand in Obi-Wan’s direction, cutting him off while still focused on Yoda. “I’m not done. How could you?” Tears collected in your eyes, but you would not let them fall. “How could you betray my trust like that? Mutilate my body without my knowledge or consent?”

“Following the Force, we were.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” You were growing angrier and not bothering to hide it.

“Calm your mind, my former Padawan. Letting your emotions control you, you are.”

“I have every right to let my emotions control me. I have had very little control over my own life. I get to feel this way.”

“Control over your life, you have had. Made decisions throughout your years, you did. Your relationship with Obi-Wan being one of them. Your reactions are proof of why relations are forbidden by the Code.”

“Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan finally interrupted, “I don’t think Y/N or myself will take the will of the Force as an answer to why the Council approved the surgery to not allow Y/N to have children.”

“Mhmm,” Yoda hummed in a displeasing manner. “Important, the answer is not. Get Y/N back to the light fully, we must.”

“That will not happen without an answer.”

You appreciated how Obi-Wan was standing up for you, but it was almost too late. Yoda sighed before turning and heading into his hut.

“Coward!” You called after Yoda. You went to go after him but Obi-Wan appeared in front of you causing you to come to a sudden halt.

“Let him go and allow yourself some time to calm down,” Obi-Wan advised.

“Calm down?” You scoffed. “Do you even know what I’ve been through? How hard it’s been without you?”

Obi-Wan sighed, bringing his hand up to brush his fingers against your cheek, but they never made contact. You turned your head away, hating that you couldn’t actually feel him.

“I do… I’ve watched you as close as the Force let me,” Obi-Wan quietly told you.

“I cried for you… Begged for anything from you… I always came up empty… but Luke saw and heard you, multiple times.”

“I am so sorry, little star. I tried—”

“You left me…” Tears fell down your cheeks. “We were supposed to grow old together… and you left me.”

“I didn’t want to, darling. I really didn’t want to leave you, ever. You are my little star, the center of my galaxy, always.”

“But you did leave me, Obi-Wan. And now look at where we are.”

You walked away, heading for Yoda’s hut. You crouched down and entered it. Yoda was facing away from you, poking at the fire with his cane. You sat down behind him, waiting for him to speak up.

“Mistakes, I and the Council made,” Yoda said roughly. “Anakin and yourself were at the center of most of them… Change them now, we cannot. But do our best to right them, we can.”

“You knew of the bond Obi-Wan and I shared,” you said. “Even if you fully didn’t realize the reality of it all… Is that the reason why you made it impossible for me to have children?”

Yoda sighed. “Much of what you said is true.” He turned, walked over to his bed, and sat on the edge of it. “While you were in surgery, both Master Windu and I felt something shift in the Force. Medical droids came to us while you were out. The call, we had to make, to try and save those parts of you or not. Trusted the Force we did in that decision.”

“I should have been allowed to make that decision.”

“Know that, I do. Change that now, we cannot.”

You knew that that was going to be the closest thing to an apology that you would get from Yoda. It wasn’t going to fix what happened, but it was a start.

“Strayed from the light, you have,” Yoda continued. “Not as much as Vader.”

“I hate it,” you admitted with a sigh. “I hate that I’ve let that darkness grow and fester inside of me. But how could I not? I barely trust the Force anymore. Its guidance throughout my life has not been the best… look at where I’m at now.”

“Fix that, we will. The light inside of you is still there and strong.”

“Vader can sense my darkness and has tried to pull me over to his side. Tried to tell me that we can destroy the Emperor together.”

“Thought about it, have you?”

“I’ve thought about reuniting with my brother and destroying the Emperor, but Vader is not my brother and dark destroying dark will only create more darkness.”

“Wise, your thoughts are. Wise, you have always been.”

“Do you still believe me to be the Chosen One? Even after everything?”

“That, I do.”

Obi-Wan was outside the hut, listening to the conversation. His heart dropped and he shook his head as he listen to Yoda tell you that he still believed you to be the Chosen One. Despite the years and the trials that you had been put through, Obi-Wan feared that you were going to easily fall back into old habits—the Council’s Chosen One. Though dead, Obi-Wan would not let that happen. He would help Yoda guide you back toward the path of light, but he would not allow you to be the Chosen One anymore. Luke could fill in the spot of the Chosen One just fine with the proper training and Obi-Wan would do what he could to make that happen.

next chapter >

TAGLIST IS CLOSED - Taglist Information

[meditating-dog-lover]

Anti-inflammatory lifestyle update

As I said earlier on my blog, I want to follow an anti-inflammatory lifestyle. For someone like me, it's absolutely possible, and I just need some fine-tuning here and there. The true area that's going to need a lot of attention, care, and modification is my anxiety. Excess anxiety and stress cause inflammation which can manifest as eczema. My anxiety is not my fault of course. The fact that I might be on the spectrum and just found that out at the age of 29 goes to show I've never knew the root cause of my random anxiety and anger outbursts and thought there was something wrong with me.

The steps to following and living an anti-inflammatory lifestyle are as follows:

Eat an anti-inflammatory diet. Eating a diet rich in berries, leafy greens, broccoli, mushrooms, sweet potatoes, fish, unprocessed dairy, sprouted or whole grains, turmeric/black pepper, nuts, chia seeds, olive oil, avocados, dark chocolate, green tea, and foods rich in fiber will do wonders. I named a few of the anti-inflammatory foods I enjoy, but there are more. Also limiting intake of sugar, processed white bread/grains, foods cooked/fried in refined vegetable oils, too much salt, omega-6 rich foods, trans fats, and processed meats like hot dogs and bacon (I don't like meat so I'm not worried about this for myself). I do want to meet with a dietitian eventually to ask about how to add on to my anti-inflammatory diet and how to indulge/eat out wisely. Because my goal is to add and not subtract, but I obviously want to limit processed foods. I notice my skin is less inflamed when I eat the above anti-inflammatory foods. My skin is not clear now, but I noticed it clear up a bit when I started drinking green tea this week.

Supplement with anti-inflammatory nutrients that are hard to get from diet alone. These include vitamin D, omega 3 fatty acids (EPA and DHA from fish), and even zinc in some cases.

Drink enough water. I already drink around 2 L of water daily. Also getting it in the form of green tea is fine (I drink plain green tea no sugar, milk, honey).

Avoid drinking alcohol. I know wine can be anti-inflammatory, but other alcohols can be terrible and I don't drink to begin with. I'm going to avoid alcohol altogether.

Avoid smoking.

Get enough sleep each night. From my experience, I need 7-8 hours.

Exercise. I walk a lot, around 8-10k steps a day. I also started exercising this week and did a no jumping HIIT workout for around 15 minutes, combined with a 5 minute warmup and 5 minute cooldown. It was a Youtube video and I felt like the difficulty was a 5-6 out of 10. I want to do some occasional workouts like this that allow me to sweat and challenge/build my muscles. But without overdoing it or experience pain. I'll go for a duration I can tolerate (15-20 minutes) and will modify, slow down on, or skip a workout I find to challenging (anything with side planks or leg circles for example). And the goal is to do these 2-3 times a week. Once again diet is way more important than exercise. I should mainly focus on my diet, and also exercise, but it's effects are not as important as that of diet. So the goal here is to exercise, but not to make it a top priority or a big challenge. I'm here to regulate my insulin/metabolic wellness, reduce inflammation, and build muscle, not to become a super athlete or power lifter.

Maintain a healthy body weight. Being in a healthy body fat/weight range maintains good health and reduced inflammation. From my experience, intermittent fasting helps so much with this. I've been intermittent fasting since last December. For 6 months straight, I want to say that out of all those days, I think I only broke my fast 4 days. A few times to take flaxseed oil in the middle of a skin flareup at night, the first few days I started IF because I got hungry in the middle of the night, on work days where I had busy mornings and couldn't eat until ~2, and on mornings where I had blood work done. Besides that I've been sticking to it for 6 months and do not feel deprived nor hungry nor dizzy at all. Even with a busy work schedule.

Stress relief. I think we all know that stress is super inflammatory. Unfortunately I do struggle with stress and anxiety and have for a long time. It's a combination of not being taught the best coping skills growing up, childhood trauma, and possible being on the autism spectrum (I'm going to do a screening for this soon). If I am autistic, then I'm going to get as much access to resources as possible so I can get the help I need. I know anxiety and stress and rigidity, social anxiety and hypochondria are going to be a normal part of my life, but I just need any help I can get.

Gut health. I've been working with a doctor to improve my gut inflammation so my eczema improves. From my experience I did notice some improvement. But at the end of the day, an accumulation of inflammation triggers it and not just 1 of these things. Gut health is one piece of the puzzle, but it is important. I'm still on the lookout for a go to routine/supplement that can help maintain good gut health. Edit: aloe juice!

Exposure to toxins. We are all exposed to "toxins" on a daily basis, including chemicals and metals. I'll speak to my doctor about this, especially in the context of liver health.

Be around those you love and avoid those who hurt and stress you out (much easier said than done and I'll add more to this).

Take steroid shots and prednisone when needed.

For now, I'll take my vitamin D, fish oil, and multivitamin. As well as the morning aloe juice.

I modified my diet this week to include more anti-inflammatory foods and am even going to try some healthy vegetarian dishes my mom and sister make. I know some people with eczema rave about elimination diets and how cutting out gluten, dairy, eggs, nightshades, caffeine, citrus fruits, and foods high in histamine cleared their skin. I know that some people out there have benefited from elimination diets, but I personally hate these diets. I would much rather focus on adding anti-inflammatory foods and limiting my intake of inflammatory foods like sugars, processed/refined oils, trans fats, and processed white bread rather than eliminating foods that random people on the internet said were "inflammatory". These foods can be a rich source of vitamins and minerals, so I'm really hesitant to exclude them from my diet. The goal is to add a lot of anti-inflammatory food sources to my diet rather than taking foods out.

There are many diets out there, but I believe an anti-inflammatory diet would be best for me to follow. Again I'm going to meet with a dietitian to get some tips and tricks on how to work with it. I've been hearing about different diets for years, but only heard about an anti-inflammatory diet last year when I went to my women's health doctor for a pelvic exam (inflammation causes bad period cramps which I used to struggle with but they've gotten better).

I already drink a lot of water daily and sleep well. I also do not smoke nor drink at all, and I'm maintaining a healthy body weight through IF and walking.

I see exercise as a way to improve my metabolic health and build muscle. It is anti-inflammatory. But it's not very high on the priority list like diet and body-weight is. But it's great for building muscle mass and sweating, both which improve overall metabolism and insulin sensitivity. I'm going to do doable workouts that are 5-6 out of 10 challenging. No jumping, no heavy weights. 2-3 times a week for 15-20 minutes including a 5 minute warmup and 5 minute cooldown.

I am susceptible to anger and anxiety, and I'm going to do an autism screening soon and will get the help I need to navigate in life. Knowing that autism may be a possibility lifted a heavy weight off my shoulders because it explains why there is something "unconventional" in the way I behave that isn't bad nor wrong nor problematic, nor is it a sign of laziness, failure, or incompetence. I know getting the help I need will help a lot with my anxiety, and therefore, inflammation/skin flareups.

I'll add more to point 12. Thankfully the people I interact with on a daily basis do not stress me out that much. And I'm happy I have a supportive community here and that I reunited with my old friends from college. I feel less lonely and empty.

My skin is getting better, and I know that adopting anti-inflammatory habits help. I know that adding anti-inflammatory foods to my diet this week (especially the green tea) and knowing that I might be autistic (lifted a huge weight off my shoulders) made me feel much better this week and my skin was less inflamed. Exercising is a great habit too. I'm going to heal and follow this anti-inflammatory lifestyle. The most challenging part will be the anxiety management and healing, which will take a lot of time. I have a lot to heal from, especially after doing a testing/getting a diagnosis. I'll be okay. My mom and sister are here to help. I also have hypochondria, which they will help with too.

[districtxii]

it's not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball (everlark fic from 2012)

Posting this here on the new dedicated Hunger Games blog. It's the only complete fic I ever posted for this fandom, for a fic exchange back in 2012, even though I spent many hours in private RP.

Link to AO3.

Rating: T Warnings: none Word Count: 6,019 Post-Trilogy hurt/comfort everlark

it's not hard to fall when you float like a cannonball

🌿

My eyes follow the marks Peeta makes on the page, opposite a long burst of painstakingly neat handwriting that belongs to me. I can see where the pressure of my writing darkened and thickened the lines, corresponding with the moments when I clenched my teeth in anger or struggled for deep breaths that wouldn't turn into easy, overwhelming sobs. Some days it's harder than others, to write down those things that I refuse to forget.

Peeta had reached out and squeezed my shoulder, his thumb running up a cord of tension in my neck, his hand as steady as it is now while he draws on the paper. He asked me if I wanted to stop and I snapped at him, but his hand stayed in place for a while anyway. Finally, I wiped roughly at my face, drying beneath my eyes and against my cheeks and kept writing, causing yet another of the dark marks on a line.

I can't stop writing, even when it's harder to write down the things that had felt like hope, that had made me smile at the time. The things that I might say made me happy are the ones that bring me most dangerously close to stopping. They're all gone now, those moments, taken away or simply over, but I can't forget them. Peeta has forgotten too much, lost too much in his mind, for the both of us.

The sketch begins to take shape from the initial, seemingly random soft lines that look a little chaotic to me. I rub beneath my strained eyes and lean forward across the kitchen table against my elbows to watch more closely as the page becomes something almost living, the ghost of a moment I recalled on the page beside it. When I glance up at him, there is a faint smile on Peeta's lips and I know I'm not returning it. Instead, my mouth is a little agape and I reach for the book impulsively. The edge of the cover brushes against my fingertips as Peeta slides it over to me so I can see the image in the direction it's meant to be seen. I can't help but marvel at how deep the piece of paper has become, as if I could step into it. He captures the past as easily as any photograph, more easily. The drawing looks, feels real, and it's not even finished yet.

“It's good,” I say, remembering that I should probably give Peeta some kind of positive feedback for simply being here with me, for holding onto what he knows. It's more than that, though. It's so easy to forget. For such a long time I was without him. First he was left behind, taken by the Capitol, while I spent all that time in District 13, wishing for a person to be safe, to be there with me—a person who would never really come home. Then Peeta did come back, different, and then gone forever. The boy with the bread, the boy on the beach, not mine anymore and unreachable. Even with the pieces of him that seem to come back and to become a bit more real, natural each day, it's easy to lose just how much of it he was there for. I spent so much time trying and failing to steel myself against the raw, painful truth that the steady, naively adoring, real Peeta was gone, dead, killed in some cold sterile room in the Capitol, that I still don't dare let myself believe that he'll really come back, stay with me. But he was there for so much of what has happened to me, since that first reaping, and what he has drawn matches what's in my head, but he hasn't drawn it just from my writing. It's in his head, too. It belongs to him and he's sorted it free from the shiny, false memories the Capitol gave him.

“Thanks,” he replies in a leading tone that I'm sure is trying to draw a returned smile from me, like he doesn't believe I mean the compliment, but only in jest.

“... I'm going to get some air,” I announce abruptly, pushing the book back firmly into Peeta's possession and getting up from my chair.

“I'll come with you,” Peeta asserts, getting up with an urgency that almost startles me and still makes me worry about his leg. We just stare at each other for a moment and he reaches out to carefully close the book and set it out of harm's way. It's just a reminder that there's no one ever there besides us to spill anything on it or to damage it at all. The world is so still now.

“I'm going out into the woods,” I tell him, almost hoping that it will deter him from following me, but I guess it might be a bit of a test, too. I'm just not sure what I'm testing for.

“... And I'll make too much noise,” Peeta supplies, not quite a question. He looks down, away from me, apparently disappointed.

“No,” I say quickly and then wonder why I did. Now I've trapped myself, though, and have to keep going with the train of thought. “... No, I'm not going to hunt. If anything it might... keep anything from wanting to sneak up on me.”

Peeta's expression brightens a little and he pushes up the chair I had been sitting in, too and moves to follow me out the door. There's a little spark of satisfaction that runs through me when I see some kind of life go back into him at the promise of coming into the woods with me, but I don't trust it. I take a few backward steps and then turn around, tensely leading the way out the door, my thumbs sliding down into my trouser pockets for a moment until I pull them back out, compelled to fidget.

I'm meandering toward town and eventually on to the fence, so Peeta easily catches pace with me and we walk along in silence for a while. It only occurs to me after several minutes to glance over at him to see whether he seems to be enjoying it. I remember the last time he and I walked into town together. I'd asked him if he would run away with me—not just with me, though. My family, his, Haymitch—all gone now except for Haymitch who has enough liquor to last him at least another week or two. For a moment I want to hide my eyes from what remains of the 12 I knew, from what they're building back on top of it, but I keep my feet moving, going through the motions.

“Are you alright?” Peeta asks.

“Great,” I reply, a little breathlessly. I'm a little surprised at my attempt at sarcasm, but then I'm too busy worrying about seeing the raw earth above the mass grave that the Meadow has become. It still isn't much easier and Peeta being with me makes me even more aware. Soon we're passing by where the bakery once was and I notice the momentary falter and subsequent quickening of his step. All the things I know about his family with the exception of his father are somehow negative and fill me with resentment. His bruised face, the way the one brother who could have didn't step up to take his place, but if he had then I'd never have known Peeta at all. The thought gives me pause and I wonder if I should ask him if he misses them, but I know he must and I don't want to talk about all the things I miss anymore today. Instead, I reach out and brush my fingertips along the edge of Peeta's hand, not quite taking it in mine but drawing his attention down to my fingers and then up to my face. I expect some conversation to follow but instead Peeta takes my hand, apparently perceiving some invitation, and I don't revoke it.

When we finally reach the edge of 12, Peeta finally lets go and reaches down to hold up a section of the fencing for me as if I hadn't been crawling under on my own for years. This earns him a strange look from me for a moment, but I'm about to just accept it and squirm my way beneath to show him how at the very least when he speaks up.

“Finally getting out of the district with you... Running away,” he muses lowly, offering a sad smile in place of the hopeful, searching one I've gotten almost used to getting sometimes. The thought that his thoughts run along the same tracks that mine do, that the moments that make up my memory of the past are so entwined with his, makes something catch in my throat and I try to swallow it. I search his eyes for a moment and then look abruptly down at the ground at the looser section of the fence down at the bottom that's familiar.

“We can't run away anymore, Peeta,” I say simply, not sure why his name rolls from my tongue. There's nothing left worth running from and what's left of 12 is all that's left of home. Then I take a deep breath and get down closer to the ground to step through and roll my body beneath the fence to the other side. “Like this,” I say, settling my balance once I've gotten through to the other side. Peeta listlessly lets go of what he'd been trying to hold up for me and instead reaches out for the loose one and tries mimicking my movements with as much grace as he's ever managed. He makes it through, but when he's trying to get his balance again, I hear a metallic snapping that makes me terrified that the electrical current in the fence has gone live again even though I know better. Instead of being electrocuted, Peeta just stumbles back a little and I instinctively reach up to stop his progress backward. My hand against his back seems to give him the stability he needs to stop. He's holding the fencing still when he's much too far out from it because it has snapped away from one of its posts. I stare at it and at the slacked gap that it's now left just above the ground, a window between two places, the woods and the district, that I still can't imagine ever really touching.

The breaths that follow from me are a little halted and I find myself looking back at Peeta and wondering just how it was that he survived two arenas, even with my help—and then without it. I swallow hard and try forcing the kind of tentative, hopeful smile he gives me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Peeta nods and looks down at the fencing he's holding and lets it down gently, as if it might minimize the damage. While he does this, I look out beyond him and try to decide where to take him. The idea of taking him to the place where Gale and I looked out for such a long time seems wrong, off, so I set off to guide him deeper into the woods toward the only other landmark I can really think of.

- - -

“I didn't know this was here,” Peeta comments with some measure of awe when we're at the edge of the lake, surveying around it, focusing for a moment on the ancient, untouched building hidden away by time.

“You didn't know any of this was out here,” I remind him. Peeta exhales in the same halted way I had at the fence and hearing it from someone else, I realize it's some attempt at a laugh that something broken within each of us blocks from escaping. “... My father brought me here. That's... how I knew how to swim,” I tell him with the most careful confidence I can, as if someone else might be around to hear us and I don't want them to. There's no one else, but I still feel some kind of vulnerability as I admit it.

“I still don't really know how to swim,” Peeta replies after a moment I realize was filled with some acknowledging reverence.

“I know,” I say quietly, giving him that same attempt at a smile and this time we both manage it at the same time. I walk a few paces around the lake's shore and find a gap in the trees were unobstructed sunlight touches down, warming the earth. Then I sit down, leaning back a little against the heels of my hands and nodding for Peeta to do the same if he wants.

He joins me after a moment and I notice that he's looking at me in the light with startling clarity, his gaze moving down until it falls against my stomach. I straighten a little and draw up my knees, tugging down at my shirt but finding that an extra fold of fabric bunches against my thin body. I'm not actually emaciated the way I got dangerously close to being at one point since we got home, but I'm not wearing the clothes that still hang in my closet that were from Cinna, tailored for the girl I used to be.

“I could teach you,” I decide quickly, looking up to Peeta's face and hoping to catch his eyes, to steal them away from my body.

“What?” he asks, startled.

“I could teach you how to swim,” I say more idly, hugging my knees and then leaning my chin against one of them.

“Are you sure--” Peeta starts to ask dubiously, looking out at the water contemplatively.

“I taught Gale,” I say quickly, cutting off any argument and staring out at the water, my face flushed with something I tell myself isn't shame. There's no reason for it to be, but I can't deny that there's a tightness in my stomach that no longer feels like confusion, really. Gale's gone, too, and I don't need him. When silence is what follows, I finally furtively glance over at Peeta and am relieved when I realize he hasn't become angry. Instead, I see him nod if only to himself and then shift to get back up to his feet.

“Okay,” he agrees as he offers me a hand I don't need to help me up. I get up on my own anyway, dusting my hands off on my pants and glancing at the water as I consider what I need to do. Again I've volunteered for something without thinking it through, without letting myself think it through because I can't stand the alternative. Now I've put Peeta's life in my hands again without any hesitation. For a moment all I can see in the water is the potential for him to sink beneath into the shadows provided by the trees. Even if I could get him back to shore, I don't know how to do the pressing on his chest, the kissing him that Finnick had known how to do to breathe air and life back into him. I simply can't let that happen. I can't let Peeta drown, can't let him die.

“You've got to do everything I tell you,” I insist when I face back to him, cementing my demand with a stern expression.

“Yeah,” Peeta agrees with some kind of dismissive reassurance, widening his eyes at me a little. “I know... I've got no idea what to do in water much deeper than a bathtub.”

I catch my breath and nod, first at him and then toward the water.

“Take off your clothes,” I tell him, not making eye contact as my hands go down to the bottom hem of my shirt. I realize too late that I hadn't really thought through the idea of distracting Peeta from looking at me. The only way I can get myself to proceed with taking off my shirt is steeling myself with as many layers of defiance as I can to remind myself why it shouldn't matter. As the fabric catches on my fingers and drags up across my stomach, I remember how I'd once tried everything to insist that I not take off Peeta's pants to examine and clean an almost certainly fatal wound. Now my body is scarred, lines running across it where surgeons have left marks where once different doctors had removed all traces of everything I'd ever touched, but Peeta has scars, too.

“What?” Peeta asks, breaking my resolve with a single syllable and causing me to quickly lower my shirt back down just as it had made its way midway up my abdomen. I look at him, nearly glaring but then realize that it's pointless. He hasn't suddenly grown shy or reprimanding or squeamish I gradually realize. He's just surprised, confused.

“... So the water won't drag. You're less likely to get hurt if you're not all weighed down.”

Peeta considers and smiles wryly.

“Just never thought I'd hear you say that to anyone.”

“You can leave your underwear on if you want,” I say calmly, having resolutely decided to keep mine on. There had been no secrets about my body between my stylists and me, but Peeta is different. He's seen me nearly naked quite a number of times and I think of the way my last arena outfit had torn. Only then does it occur to me that I've brought Peeta back to another shore, another beach, but even as I narrow my eyes at him I cannot imagine being the girl, him being the boy that had lost themselves to something I still can't name in one another's kisses. It just makes my skin flush and a lump of regret weigh on my chest and then my throat.

“Deal,” Peeta agrees and then he's pulling off his shirt and I decide to let mine join his at the same time. I get mine over my head just seconds after he's dropped his to the ground and then I'm glad I am wearing a real bra rather than simply wrapping my chest the way I had done before I'd ever gone to the Capitol. I'd owned one bra before then. When I hear my shirt fall down against his I look up for a second and catch him doing the same. I'm not sure if it makes it easier or harder, to have our knowledge of the state of one another's bodies become experience and reality. We don't approach each other and there's nothing said about it, but scarred we are but he's remarkably the same. I just momentarily let myself wonder if he thinks the same about me. Then under some silent agreement we look away from each other again, not quite making full turns toward the water as we both remove our shoes—it takes Peeta a little longer with his artificial left leg but not much anymore—and then our trousers join our shirts on the ground in a mingled pile.

The next time our eyes meet, I hurry over to the edge of the water, feeling the more coarse soil beneath my bare feet. I kneel down and brace myself for the feeling of water completely surrounding my body for the first time since the last arena and am helplessly reminded of Annie for a second. It won't be abrupt, though, or terrifying, to wade out into the water until it's deep enough to lose my footing. I look up when Peeta joins me and my eyes run along the complex artificial limb that he hardly seems to notice at all now.

“What do we do first?” he asks.

“Are you afraid of the water?” I ask, getting back up as I feel less compelled to curl my body in against itself.

“I'm afraid of drowning,” Peeta quips but he doesn't seem very nervous. He trusts me now. He's always trusted me, even when he shouldn't have, as long as he could remember that he wanted to.

“Don't be,” I demand, then let my expression soften, looking over at him less intensely as I swallow down the anger I feel at the suggestion. “I'm not going to let you,” I say more quietly. I reach for his hand again, a little less reluctantly than back in town, taking it gradually with my fingers. “First we need to get you used to the water. We can wade out for a little while, but let me keep a step ahead so I can feel for where it drops off,” I explain, taking the first two steps out into the water. I take a deeper breath, surprised at how cool it is on the warm day. Peeta follows me and I glance back and see his jaw tighten a little once we're deep enough for him to feel the water up to his right knee.

“Colder than you'd think,” he comments.

I look up at the canopy of trees that almost completely surrounds us and nod in that direction as I look back down to meet his eyes.

“Lots of shade and it's not really into the summer yet. We can go in a little faster,” I suggest with a bit more of a smile that I feel tightening my cheeks, almost instantly making them ache. “If you think it'll help.”

“You're the mentor,” he replies easily and for a second I wonder if I should give into the stinging the word causes. Haymitch isn't a mentor anymore and the word doesn't hold the same meaning it did in the world before. I guide Peeta a little further into the water, focusing on its rippling surface to keep him from noticing how my brow has furrowed. I catch our reflections anyway in the part of the water that's illuminated by our gap in the trees and I remember the way Finnick would joke about dying so easily with a rope, how it made us laugh. Laughing then might be one reason I'm alive, we're alive, today even though Finnick is gone. I frown a little more tightly and then all at once I'm letting myself smile again and nodding as I look back up. “Don't let yourself tense up. Your muscles cramping is one of the easiest ways to drown if you can't stand up,” I warn patiently.

Peeta nods and looks apprehensively further out into the lake, but he just tightens his grip on my hand. He trusts me.

He trusts me, so I take his other hand and feel my feet backward along into the lake, letting myself trust him a little, too. Sometimes I feel a tiny plant snap beneath my feet but my feet are tough enough for it to not cause me any real pain and when I'm confident about how far we can go back I try and get a little momentum to draw us both into the water about chest deep. The sound that's drawn abruptly from my mouth is a shrill gasp as the sensation of unexpected cold overwhelms me for a moment. I know I'm breaking the rule I just gave Peeta, my body tense as I try not to shiver, but we're both still firmly on foot. I open my eyes, letting them refocus on Peeta's face and he's grinning but his breath has quickened, too, and I think one of the reasons his teeth show with his smile if that he's trying not to chatter them.

“Try kneeling down,” I get out, leaning a little until I've bent at my knees and feel them knock his, the water rising higher against my body. Peeta follows my instruction and I can feel his body heat and then a faint indication of his heartbeat as I move my cautious grip up from his hand along his arm until I feel the firm muscles just beneath his shoulders. We search each other's eyes and then Peeta's teeth do chatter once and I'm breathing fast, but this time it's that same thing I had recognized earlier as an attempt to laugh. This time I try letting myself and a faint sound comes out and it's unfamiliar, foreign even, but it catches Peeta's attention as much as mine and he smiles in return. “It gets easier after a few minutes,” I try telling him, reminding myself as I find myself wishing that the rest of the water were as warm as I feel where my skin almost touches Peeta's.

He moves abruptly in the water and I flinch, but then he's just reaching for my hair, catching some of it that has come loose on the side opposite my braid that falls along the side of my face. He draws it out a little and examines it quietly before tucking it behind my ear, his hands a little less steady than they usually are. He's still trying not to shiver and so am I. I feel my eyelids closing when his damp fingertips brush against the dry skin of my ear, but I quickly try to just move past it and swallow down what I'm afraid might be sadness coming back again.

“The next thing you need to do is get out where your toes barely touch, and--”

“Katniss,” Peeta interjects, a soft plea. It catches me off guard so I stop and purse my lips to listen. “It's too cold,” he explains without delay, laughing softly without that broken hesitation.

“No, it's--” I try to persuade him gently but then my words catch because I'm breathing deeply again against the cool water. It's not warm enough to just get used to comfortably. Then I'm laughing too and run my hand up to his shoulder on his right only to lightly push. I don't push hard enough to let him go, though. Even though there's no danger, I'm not about to let him think there's any either. I don't want to frighten him and that's also when it's the worst for him, more likely that he'll forget for a while again and have to find some focus, some kind of pain to hang onto what's real. “Okay. We'll try again in June.”

Then I let go of him and wait long enough to make sure he's headed out of the water too and make my way back to the shore. At the edge, we both sit down and I still stubbornly try letting my toes dip into the water. I know that I could swim in it if I needed to, but the season hasn't warmed enough yet to teach Peeta. Peeta must read my expression as disappointment or something because he immediately tries to reassure me.

“I don't think I really need to know how to swim anyway,” he says.

“You should know if you ever--” I start to snap in reply but then I stop arguing and won't even let myself follow that thought through to conclusion. Peeta looks over at me expectantly but doesn't demand completion. Suddenly weary, I look behind us and move a little closer to the pile of our clothes and decide to let my skin dry a little before I put mine back on. I lie back against the ground, feeling grass against my back and the sun warming my skin. Peeta's eyes follow my movements and this time I don't try covering the network of scars on my skin or anything else, deciding that it really doesn't matter.

“Thanks for letting me come with you,” he says, taking a deep breath that isn't quite a sigh before he follows suit and lies down on his back. I wonder if he's disappointed somehow and about what before I realize that I am. There's an emptiness that settles into my chest again and I'm thinking of being back on shore, back on the edge of something I can't have anymore. I look across the space between us, the full width of the pile of our clothes. I've lain beside Peeta so many times now, shielded from nightmares and darkness by his arms, but the light of day somehow chases away his regained freedom to hold me and all at once I hate it.

“Peeta--” I start, not quite sure what I want to say. I'm not very good at saying something, not even when I need to desperately. His name gets his attention, though, and I lock eye contact with him and try and let it invite me in the way I'm certain he'd been trying too so many times before we lost so much, back when I couldn't see. I crawl the short space over to him and inch by inch settle into my place at his side, easing into the feeling of his skin's warmth the way I'd tried to ease into the water's cold.

“Katniss,” I'm answered when I feel him tensing again.

“Shh,” I try to insist, but then I realize that I'm in his space as much as I'm drawing him into mine. I lean against my arm and look down into his eyes and glance down his chest for a moment before I manage to ask. “Is this okay?”

Peeta nods and shifts to tentatively put out his arm for me and I lower myself down, even more drawn to lying beside him now that I have started to feel some sense of relief now that I've begun the slow, arduous process of working through countless seemingly impossible questions so painlessly. For the first time in a while, I'm too tired to resist a feeling so good as relief and I try tucking my head down against Peeta's damp chest, my ear pressed to the place were I can hear his heartbeat. He moves, though and grabs his shirt from the pile of clothes.

“Wait a second,” he instructs quietly, placing the soft fabric over his shoulder and one side of his chest. “It's dry,” he explains when I look at him with a slight frown. Agreeing to what I feel deeply, almost viscerally is a compromise, I nod and finally find the place against him where the old Katniss would have fit with the old Peeta, more than she ever knew. I can't get comfortable against the shirt, though. I let my arm extend over him, feeling his body heat move through me at each place where I can find contact. A breeze blows across the lake and I roll over slightly toward Peeta and he wraps his arm protectively around me. The real Peeta still wants to protect me. I look down at the color of his shirt and take a deep breath, smelling Peeta's skin on it and deciding that I'd rather see it, too, scars and all.

“Peeta, it's okay,” I tell him. Then I look up at his face and catch him looking quizzically at me. “It's okay,” I repeat. “We can still--” But then I stop talking, face flushing as I realize at least in part what I'm asking for and feel ashamed.

“... Katniss, what's wrong?” Peeta prompts, reaching up and touching the bottom of my damp braid, the way he had touched me before. “What are you talking about?”

I don't want to talk about it because I don't know what to say, so I pull back and think about moving away from him again but then remember something that had worked a long time ago. My lips press to his and I can't quite remember what to do. I'm not the girl who simply, clumsily did back on the beach. Instead, it's so unnaturally still for a moment that I'm not sure it counts as a kiss and that it might even be worse than the first time I'd tried for the cameras.

Then Peeta's hand moves from where he'd pinched the very bottom of my braid to the side of my neck where he steadies me gently and his lips move against mine in turn. His movements are tight, halting as my own, unfamiliar and learning how to do it again, even though it'd always come more naturally to him. After just a moment he tilts his chin down and breaks the contact. I can feel my breath mingling warm and damp with his but he doesn't try for my lips again and I don't know if I should start feeling an even deeper ache of regret. I don't know if we've lost everything as much as I thought he had.

“It's okay,” I plead this time. I'm answered with a light peck of a kiss against my lips that doesn't last at all and a nod that I can feel brushing against my own forehead.

“Yeah, Katniss. Of course it's... okay,” he says, once again taking for granted something that terrifies me a little. I nod and pull back enough to meet his eyes and he smiles at me and I do too. “... I just... don't know what you want, sometimes,” he apologizes, glancing down.

“Neither do I,” I say quickly, a little bitterly but then I realize this isn't the place, the moment for that. There actually is a time now for something else, something a little better. “... Stay with me,” I supply after a moment's searching my mind, the threatening hollow in my chest for the words. I grip at the fabric of his shirt with my fingertips but then realize that he can't feel the tugging and instead pull it back down to the ground beneath us. “Not just... when I have nightmares. When we walk through town or... anytime you need to, it's okay. Stay with me.”

Peeta examines my face so intensely that for a moment I wonder if he recognizes me at all and I have to look away.

“... Always,” he says, an echo and a reminder that he does remember. Then I can't look at him because I know my eyes are wet again but this time not because I'm sad or angry. Instead I press a kiss to his bared shoulder and another a little lower, water from the lake touching my lips. Another breeze blows across the water and over us and I hide from the cold against his body's warmth and feel his hand against the skin between my shoulder blades. When my eyes have stopped stinging, I press my cheek down against his chest, my ear down over his heart again, this time without the shirt between us.

“I'll teach you how to swim when it's warmer,” I insist.

“Yeah?” he prompts, sounding almost amused.

“Well I can't teach you to hunt,” I reply and realize I'm teasing. He laughs again, though I know it's not very funny.

“I'll teach you how to bake when we get back,” he offers, bartering.

“I know how to bake,” I argue, rolling toward him a little firmly and then back since I can't push him but he's undeterred.

“Knowing how to make bread isn't the same,” he teases and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Fine,” I agree. “I'll let you teach me how to bake, or try. Later,” I try to appease him because I want him to be quiet. I hear him start to reply but I quickly hush him and turn my lips down to kiss lightly against his chest again. He starts to speak again and I sigh wearily and press another slightly more sure kiss to his mouth which he returns and I can feel him smiling against my lips. I wonder if he'd lured me into the kiss on purpose, but I decide I don't care as I break it again and feel my nose brush against the side of his. After a few more tentative, shared kisses I finally lie back down against his chest and he's content to be quiet so I close my eyes and let his heartbeat lull me half to sleep, not hidden away, cold in a cave but warm against his skin in the sunlight.

[awonderlandsystem]

Eva's Thoughts

Switching when close is far different from switching from deeper within. Zoe was weeping when Brittany and I found her.

I sat beside her and whispered that we were here now and that it was okay to let go. In a few moments she drifted from front control and I could feel myself sliding into it. Those tears were instantly gone, along with any emotion on the face.

Some have compared it to a light switch before, oftentimes that idiot comparing us to a sociopath. Which is quite hurtful as I don't feel we fit that criteria at all.

I feel the sadness. The front is always heavy with emotion. However, it's quite difficult for me to cry. Not impossible, but unlikely in most cases. Outside my bouts of anger, I mastered completely shutting down emotionally. I try not to anymore, as I've learned it's plenty okay to feel.

At times like tonight I know it's for the best to deprive him of any response. I did get one quip in, but one he couldn't argue against and so he fled off to his man cave. It's almost over. The end is in sight. Perhaps I shouldn't say the end, as with children, that is far from sight.

A new beginning, it's there and I can nearly taste it. The days leading up have been filled with tension. He's angry and bitter, both spilling from his every action and word.

The goal has been to avoid and deflect as best as possible. To pull away the moment it becomes too difficult. It feels as if we can't catch a break before needing to face the front again. Ikelos has tried to be a cheerleader, as have I. Pushing for positive thoughts and lists of things we plan for the future. The future without being under his thumb. Of making plans and experiencing the world, instead of hiding behind screens inside these walls.

I look forward to the beach. To the sand between my toes and the waves brushing against my ankles as I tip-toe into the water. I wish to take the children hiking in the fall and sledding in the winter.

Tonight I'm not going to go to bed thinking about his awful words and the pain in my arm that Zoe wouldn't disclose the cause of. Although I will address that tomorrow if Brittany doesn't find out first. No, tonight with my dear Amara close with me, I'm going to dream about the future and how much it holds for us.

[starryhyuck]

limit. (m)

pairing: gryffindor!mark x reader

words: 3.4k+

summary: with gryffindor on a continuous losing streak, you have no choice but to push your quidditch player boyfriend to his breaking point.

genre: smut

warnings: public sex, overstimulation, squirting, oral sex, degradation, daddy kink, face slapping

“If you keep pushing him, he’ll snap.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

You observe Mark across the Great Hall, fingers clenched tightly around his spoon. The other Gryffindor seated beside him are eyeing him warily, afraid the resident happy Head Boy was slowly losing his mind.

This, of course, is partly due to you.

You’ve refused to give Mark an orgasm until Gryffindor wins a Quidditch match, which has effectively been very hard since the team has been on a losing streak. You and Mark aren’t animals, per se, but the two of you fucked regularly and the fact that he hasn’t gotten the chance to touch you in weeks is taking a toll on him.

Lucas swings an arm around his shoulder and whispers something to him, but Mark’s eyes are locked in on you. You could almost feel the magic radiating off of his form. You smile deviously, arm reaching to wrap around Donghyuck’s, who gladly accepts your touch. Luckily, Donghyuck enjoys pushing Mark’s buttons almost as much as you do.

Donghyuck’s in the middle of feeding you a bite of his chicken when all of the glasses in the Great Hall shatter. A jumbled murmur of shrieks and gasps of surprise echo at the performance of wandless magic. Students whip their heads around, frantically trying to find the source of the fiasco. You already know who the culprit is, watching as Mark stomps out of the Great Hall, fists clenched tightly.

—

Donghyuck snickers beside you.

“You’re really asking for it. Wearing Slytherin gear and sitting with the snakes? He’s going to ruin you.”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his comment and adjusting the green tie wrapped around your neck. You briefly lock eyes with your irate boyfriend, who is currently on the Quidditch pitch, waiting for the match to begin. You smile and wave at him innocently, only to receive the nastiest look in return.

Donghyuck laughs again at the exchange. “I’ve never seen Mark look like that. Are you sure you’re ready for the consequences?”

You grin as the game begins, the cheering sounds from the Slytherin stands almost drowning out your voice.

“He needs a little push. Gryffindor has lost three games in a row already.”

You prove Donghyuck right a hour into the game. Mark has been scoring goal after goal since the match started. Slytherin’s Keeper tries to block every single throw, but Mark is clearly on a mission, showing no mercy to the Slytherin house. He almost looks like he would Avada someone on the spot just to win.

Every time he scores, he makes a point to look straight at you before zooming off. You smirk to yourself, already feeling your panties dampen at the sight. One part of you is slightly afraid of what Mark will do to you once Gryffindor wins. The other part of you is unabashedly excited.

The Slytherins around you groan and complain as Mark continuously scores. Donghyuck is enjoying the show, knowing you’re truly in for it later after seeing the murderous look painted on Mark’s face.

The game ends after two hours, with the Gryffindor Seeker securing the Snitch and winning the match. The sea of red erupts in a roar of applause and cheers, while the Slytherins grumble and curse their luck. It was the first loss of the season for the Slytherins, and they could all thank your boyfriend for that.

Usually, when Mark wins a game, you would wait outside the locker rooms and congratulate him with a kiss. This time, you want to make him work for it a little more.

Donghyuck chuckles when he sees you turn the opposite direction of the locker rooms.

“You’re in for it now.”

—

You’re laughing at something Doyeon’s telling you when you feel the abrupt tug on your arm. You hiss at the contact, ready to hex whoever it is. Realization seeps within you when you see the look of fury on Mark’s face as he tugs you away from your friends.

“I’ll see you guys later!” You call out, already feeling the slick of your wetness coating your thighs.

“Okay! Great game, Mark!”

The Gryffindor boy doesn’t even thank them, pulling open the door to the empty Potions classroom and shoving you inside. You put on your innocent persona.

“That wasn’t very nice. I was having an interesting conversation with Doyeon, if you must know.”

“On the desk. Now.”

The anger laced in his tone has your body vibrating. You decide to push him even further, frowning and clutching your books tighter to your chest. You still have Donghyuck’s Slytherin scarf wrapped around you, which Mark is heavily glaring at.

“I don’t even get a please? Where are your manners, Mark?”

You gasp when he steps forward, fingers bunching around the locks of your hair and pulling. Hard.

“You think this is so funny, don’t you? Watching me fall apart, breaking all the glasses in the Great Hall and receiving detention for it? How about wanting to injure someone on the field just so we could win? Just so I can come back to you, fuck you so hard your tight cunt stretches out.” His fingers grip the fabric of your skirt and he growls. You swear you can feel your juices start running down the inside of your thigh with how wet you are. “And what about this? This stupid fucking little skirt. You think you could get away with that too?”

You placed a charm on your clothing early this morning, making your button-up shirt just a little tighter around your chest and your skirt a little shorter than normal. You smile and try to raise your chin as much as possible, struggling as Mark continues to pull your hair.

“Daddy likes it? I did it just for you. Just so Daddy could win today.”

Mark’s eyes are the darkest they have ever been, and you try not to glance down at his trousers, which are probably straining from his growing erection. You only play the Daddy card once or twice, mainly because once it’s out in the open, Mark fucks you until you can’t feel your legs. And most days, you would prefer not to limp from class to class.

Another gasp rips out of your throat when he discards your clothing with the flick of his wand. He casts a silencing charm on the room, and you know you’re done for.

He leaves you in your undergarments, and today, you have chosen to wear a nice lacy number in Slytherin green. The sight makes him hiss in frustration, and it isn’t long before he slams you down on a nearby desk. You whimper at the contact, but Mark hardly cares about your well-being at this point.

He snickers at the sight of your ruined underwear, snapping the garter you’re wearing against your skin as you yelp.

“Look at you. Greedy little slut. Who got you this wet?”

“D-Donghyuck,” you manage to say, gathering enough courage.

The answer earns you a slap across the face and you cry at the pain.

“Wrong answer. Try again.”

“Y-You, Daddy. Just y-you.”

He hums in contentment. You shudder when you feel a finger run up and down your slit. “I’m going to make the rules very clear today. You’ll do your best to obey them, or else I’ll use your body how I please without letting you cum. Understood?” At your timid nod, he continues. “I’m going to fuck your tight little cunt raw. I’m going to cum as much as I like, and make you cum as much as I like. If I hear any protests, I’ll add an extra orgasm to the list. I don’t care if you’ve reached your limit. I don’t care if you can’t handle any more. I’ll do whatever I like, and there will be no arguments about it.”

You chew on your bottom lip. Mark has never fucked you raw before — you both always use Muggle condoms or contraceptive charms.

“But, Mark-“

He slaps your clothed slit and you gasp loudly. “That’s another orgasm added to the list. Do you want another one? We’re already at five.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve never been able to take more than three orgasms from him without passing out. You immediately shake your head, sealing your lips tight.

“Good. Bend over.”

You scramble to follow his orders, shakily positioning yourself over the desk. Another flick of his wand and you’re completely naked. You whimper at the vulnerability, wondering if he also cast locking charms on the doors too. Anyone could walk in and see you bent over like this.

Mark usually likes to see your face when he fucks you so you’ve never really tried this position with him. Goosebumps rise on your skin when you feel his hands exploring your backside.

“Wish everyone could see you like this for me. Bent over during dinner while I fuck you into the table. They always tease me about you. Gryffindor Head Boy could never satisfy his partner. They think I’m such a goody-two-shoes.” You almost scream when a finger unexpectedly pushes into you. “I wonder what everyone would think now — having you bent over the Potions desk like this, eager to be fucked like a little whore. Waiting for my cock to split you apart, isn’t that right?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy,” you garble.

He adds another finger, the squelch of your wetness causing you to grow even warmer. He thrusts his fingers inside of you, skillfully digging them into the spot you love.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about your cunt? Ever since you made that ridiculous bet with me, I knew I was done for. I had to excuse myself so many times from class just to rub one out in the bathroom. Seeing you in this cute little skirt, so eager to earn House Points, so willing to please the professor. I imagined how tight your pussy would feel when I wrapped a hand around myself, how many of those sweet moans I could bring out of you.”

When he pushes a third finger in, you shriek as you cum without warning. You were probably moaning without any sense, writhing on top of the desk as Mark fingers you through your orgasm. He drank up every single one of your sounds, gazing down at you with a feral look in his eyes.

Even as your orgasm subsides, Mark doesn’t stop fucking you. You almost request for him to give you a break, but you know it’ll just earn you another orgasm.

He watches you, waiting for you to beg for him to stop. He smiles when you obey, continuing to thrash and whine as his digits pump into you.

“So pretty, perfect for me. You’re always so tight, it’s not fair to me, you know? I could fuck you every single day and you would still need to be stretched out regardless.” He leans over your frame, mouth beginning to press open mouthed kisses at your throat. The sensation has you jolting, his fingers grinding down to rub at your clit. “But you would like that, wouldn’t you? So hungry for my cock.”

This was true — you couldn’t seem to get enough of Mark on a daily basis. Even if you didn’t fuck every single day, you always had the urge to get on your knees for him and suck his cock. It calmed you in a way. Before exams, Mark would pull you into a nearby alcove and let you suck him off until your worries disappeared.

You could feel your high approaching again. “P-P-Please,” you stutter, gasping and pushing yourself further down his fingers. “Please, Daddy.”

At the sound of your begging, Mark sinks to his ground. He jerks your body until you’re halfway off the desk, pushing your thighs apart so he can see you fully. He takes a moment to marvel at how pretty you are before licking a stripe up your cunt. You groan, fingers tangling into his hair, which is still slightly damp from his after-game shower.

He hums against your folds, exploring them with his tongue. Mark could eat you out for days and remain unbothered by the outside world. There have been multiple times where you’ve woken up to his head in between your legs as he snuck into your dormitory room early in the morning to get a taste of you. There’s also been a few occasions when he would convince you to sneak out while he runs patrol in the hallways, just so he could prop you against a wall and eat you out until you cry.

Your eyes flutter closed as you revel in the feeling of Mark’s mouth on your cunt. He’s groaning with you, hands cupping your thighs and bringing you closer to him. His nose continuously nudges your clit as he licks you, slurping on the remnants of your orgasm.

It doesn’t register for a few seconds that he’s still talking to you.

“This is mine. My cunt for fucking. I’m the only one who’s allowed to see you like this, understand? The only one who gets to make you cum.”

He is, indeed. You topple headfirst into your second orgasm, juices spilling into Mark’s waiting mouth. He cleans you up as your body attempts to recover. You’re lucky he remembered to place a silencing charm, your voice almost giving out with the amount of screams you’ve emitted. He decides to spare you this time, rising from the ground and licking his lips.

“Tastes so good.” He smirks down at you, watching as your chest rises and falls from heavy panting. You feel like you’ve run a marathon, but he looks like he’s only just started. His fingers brush stray hairs away from your face. “Poor baby. All fucked out already? I haven’t even given you my cock yet.”

You blink deliriously in response and he laughs. His fingers dig into your hips once more as he adjusts you on your back again.

“How about you answer a question for me? If you answer correctly, I’ll give you my cock. If you fail, I’ll add another orgasm to the list.” You blink again in response, brain fuzzy. He grins. “Why don’t you tell me what a bad girl you’ve been these past few weeks?”

He slaps the inside of your thigh to jolt you out of your reverie. “I-I was a b-bad girl, Daddy.”

“Hm? And why’s that?”

“I ignored y-you,” you whisper as his hand cups your breast, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “I cheered for S-Slytherin when I-I should have b-been c-c-cheering for Gryffindor.”

Your breath grows more shaky as Mark’s other hand inches towards your entrance again.

“And?”

“And I f-f-flirted with D-Donghyuck when I’m o-only s-s-supposed to have e-eyes for y-you, Daddy.”

“And?”

“And I charmed m-my clothes t-to tempt you.”

“Because?”

“Because I’m a whore.”

He smiles in contentment. “That’s right.”

Instead of pushing his fingers inside of you, you’re taken aback when the tip of his cock sinks into you. You moan loudly, not even noticing he had taken off his trousers.

“Fuck,” he curses, watching himself push into you. “Such a tight little cunt. Only for Daddy’s eyes, right?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy.”

His fingers find their way to your throat, curling and gripping your windpipe. You gasp and hear his sinister chuckle.

“There’s my little whore. Back in her place.”

He almost pushes you off the desk with the force of his thrusts. You have another small orgasm when Mark fully bottoms out, and he laughs when he realizes.

“Already? Looks like you’ve been just as desperate as me, baby.”

You’ve never taken more than three orgasms before. Since Hogwarts was a big school with many prying eyes, it was hard to get alone time with Mark like this. You often had to face the judgmental glares from the portraits whenever Mark fingered you behind one of the tapestries. Now that he has you all to himself, however, he intends to make the most out of it.

You’re pushing on the border of exhaustion, watching as your boyfriend continues to furiously push into you. He moves his hand from your throat to your cheek, slapping you once more to wake you up.

“Have to stay awake, baby. We still have two more to go.”

You mumble incoherently in response, past the point of comprehension. Once the tip of his cock rubs against your sweet spot, you cry out in pleasure. He grunts, angling himself so that he keeps hitting that spot inside of you. Over and over.

“M-Mark, I-“

“I know. Let me feel you, baby. Want to feel your cunt cum all over Daddy’s cock.”

You can’t begin to explain the tightening feeling in your stomach. You feel like you’re flying up to your peak at an unsteady rate. It almost feels like you need to use the bathroom, but before you can warn Mark, you fall apart.

You think you black out for a bit. You blink dazedly, body twitching and nervously moving on top of the desk. You get the strength to lift your head and check on Mark. His cock has slipped out of you, his gaze locked on your pussy.

“M-Mark?” You ask softly.

“Fuck, baby. You just squirted all over me.”

You gasp. You’ve never been able to squirt before and you eye the mess you’ve made all over Mark’s chest. He grunts, fingers pumping up and down his cock.

“Fuck fuck fuck. How can you be so perfect?”

And then he’s pushing back into you. You scream loudly, still trying to recover from such an intense orgasm. You realize that you’ve started crying, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Perfect girl for me,” he hisses, hand returning to paw at your breast. “Cunt is so so sweet. Can never get enough of you. Just give me one more, baby. One more.”

You want to tell him you can’t, you’ve reached your limit and can’t push it any farther. You squeal when he pinches your clit.

“Daddy, please-“

“Daddy wants another, baby. One more for me.”

His thumb circles your clit while his cock pistons in and out of you. When he finds your sweet spot again, he doesn’t rest. He’s on a mission to get you to orgasm again, the same expression painted on his face from the Quidditch game just a hour ago. He’s determined to see you fall apart, filth spewing from his mouth.

“I wish I could take you like this every time. Push you up in the hallways, fuck you until you’re a sobbing mess for me. Having everyone watch while I make you squirt, showing them I can fuck you better than anyone else can. I bet they would all be jealous. They could never have you falling apart for them, begging for them to fill you up with their seed.”

It dawns on you that Mark still hasn’t cast a contraceptive charm of any kind. He seems to be on the same wavelength as you, digging his heels to the floor and thrusting harder at the thought of cumming inside you. The lewd sound of your wetness fills the room, along with his grunts and your whimpers from oversensitivity.

“I want to fuck you everywhere before we leave this place. Want you to ride me in the middle of the Quidditch pitch for everyone to see. Want all the Gryffindors to watch as their Head Boy plows into his girlfriend in the common room. Want you to bounce on my cock during every meal. Fuck, I want you so badly, baby.”

When you squirt this time, you’re coherent enough to watch it happen. Drops of your slick pour out of you, gushing onto Mark’s cock and the floor. The sound of his thighs slapping against yours only grows louder and wetter with your orgasm.

Mark hisses. “Want my cum, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you echo back to him, barely staying awake.

He groans when he reaches his high, pushing deep inside of you to empty his load. He cums more than you expected, but you suppose he’s been holding it in for weeks. He finally finishes a minute later, collapsing on top of you. He subconsciously places kisses on your neck.

“Never act up like that again. I don’t think I have the stamina to do another round.”

You giggle, about to respond when the booming voice of your Potions professor echoes throughout the room.

“Mark Lee! What on earth do you children think you’re doing? Fifty points from Gryffindor!”

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (4)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), voyeurism, exhibitionism, authority kink, praise kink, spanking, slight dom themes, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint, 

A/N: Slowing it down just a bit to move plot along. Freaking out on the reblogs and comments are encouraged and will be rewarded with cookies. Seriously though, I love hearing what you guys think and use some of it to make the next chapters better. I adore you all! Have at it!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:4 Apple Crumble

Steve Rogers had kindly offered for you and your team to stay at the Compound. For however long this mission would take, you were all going to start running straight at it early tomorrow. In terms of the mission, he was relieved to have your help. The sooner the serum was out of circulation the better and they truthfully did need your help. This underground world was more your scene now and you could better navigate it.

On a personal level, he was glad that you were sticking around even if it was on a contract. He would take whatever opportunity he can and make the best of it. That's how he's always been and he wasn't going to change that now.

He told himself that it was because he was the Captain that he was at your door this late after you all had agreed to part for the night. It was out of consideration that he carried with him some of his own clothes to offer you in case you needed something to change into. It was out of a need to clear the tension with you now that you were going to work as a team again that he was knocking on your door.

That was all.

You opened the door a moment later wrapped only in a short towel and with your hair still dripping wet from the shower. The smile that rose on your face was sly as you leaned on the doorframe with your arms crossed and your hip cocked to one side. He swallowed.

Maybe that wasn't all.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was far too distracted by the little droplet that rolled down from your temple to the valley of your breasts. He shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus only on your eyes and not the inappropriate answers that sprung to mind at your question.

"I brought you a change of clothes in case you need it," he managed to say. "And I wanted to talk to you if you're not too tired."

You opened the door wider and took the clothes from him without a word, turning into the room toward the bathroom. You casually dropped your towel to the floor and Steve choked at the sight of your bare back, a small set of black panties the only stitch you wore. The breath in his chest released only when you disappeared into the bathroom, the door cracked open offering him enticing glimpses as you moved around.

Steve hurriedly closed the door behind him and as he made his way further in, he caught sight of an open go bag beside your bed with clothes clearly visible. There was also a shirt and sweats beside it, the design he knew belonged to Pietro. He felt a little embarrassed. Of course Pietro would have already beaten him to it and that your team always came prepared. Still there was a satisfaction that bloomed in him when you stepped out clad in his shirt, the hem barely reaching mid thigh and bare feet soundlessly crossing the carpeted floor until you came to sit with him on the sofa. You tucked your legs under you and rested your head on your hand over the back of the seat.

"Gotta say I like this look, Steve," you grinned at him.

He chuckled, self-consciously rubbing at his beard and pulling at the hair at the back of his collar. The light dusting of red on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What? You don't like the all American apple pie look?"

You hummed and took a leisurely look at him from head to toe. Rugged and imposing as he appeared, the heat on his face intensified at your obvious appreciation and the way you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip. You were biting your lip when your eyes met his again, trying to stop yourself from laughing at how flustered he was getting and how much you were enjoying it. You've always found Steve handsome and he made apple pie look damn good, but this look on him was just so dangerously delicious.

You had a type.

"I'm more of an apple crumble kind of girl. I like the texture better," you winked. "And I don't mind a little beard burn."

"Will your team mind that I'm talking to you without one of them here?"

You raised an eyebrow and held his unsteady gaze, clearly understanding he meant more than just your professional relationship with the three men.

"You're curious."

"It's none of my business. That's not what I came to talk to you about," he stammered, unaccustomed to how forward you were.

"What did you want to talk about then?"

"I wanted to apologize properly and thank you for agreeing to help."

You groaned and threw your whole body back on the seat, causing Steve's shirt to ride up just shy of completely flashing him. You sat back up and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. It was only the fact that it was Steve that you were even entertaining this conversation.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Steve," you firmly dismissed.

"I do, Nem. We all do."

"Fine. List down what you're sorry about. Let's go through it one by one or we can draw lots to make it interesting."

"Nem," he said, low and clear with warning yet imploring you to listen. "Can you take this seriously for one second?"

The ever present smirk on your face dropped as you sighed heavily and ran a hand through your hair. For the first time since he's seen you, your expression softened a fraction and a shadow of the person he used to know passed across your features.

"Listen to me, Steve. I don't blame any of you. I'm not angry at any of you. I honestly have no room for more anger even if I wanted to be."

In the beginning you were. There were days while you were getting tortured that you hated them while you pleaded to the heavens for them to rescue you. It had taken a decade and three incredible men for that inferno of fury to turn into a manageable bitterness.

"Do you know how tiring it is to be so fucking angry all the time?" you chuckled darkly. "It took a while, but I learned to prioritize what I choose to be angry about."

"Salvacion," he muttered and you nodded, your eyes staring blankly forward.

"I've carried that name for a decade, Steve. That asshole has to die by my hands."

Steve saw now how selfish he was for forcing the conversation with the purpose of earning your forgiveness. It was for easing his own guilt that he was doing it when instead he should have just been thanking you for what you did and had to endure.

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"I tried, Steve. When I was recovered enough I tried to go back. Did you know my sister had a girlfriend?"

He shook his head, throat suddenly closing at the sight of absolute misery in your eyes. He regretted starting this conversation even more.

"Jill. She was amazing to Lily and she was like a sister to me too," you smiled a little, not in your usual sarcastic way but with a hint of gentle fondness before your expression hardened once more.

"I saw her and I just couldn't bring myself to face her. I'm the reason the love of her life is dead. I couldn't, Steve"

It started off with the fear that they might have killed Jill too. You told yourself you had to know, but truthfully you were trying desperately to find a connection to Lily. You found her visiting the graveyard, laying flowers on two stones and spending the afternoon sitting on the ground tearfully talking to the dead. The shame burned through you and from then on you made it your sole purpose to destroy the man who took Lily from you both. Until then you had no right to face her. You had no right to return to the life you once knew.

Steve noticed that you weren't crying although the look in your eyes was swimming with grief. He expected you to cry, but somehow seeing you with dry eyes only made you look more in pain. You only clenched your fists, your shoulders tense and your jaw stiff. Steve decided he would tell the others instead of having you go through this conversation again.

He would do that for you.

You woke up surprisingly refreshed the following morning, strangely lighter than you have felt in the past decade. You didn't expect for that talk with Steve to have such an impact on you. You smiled ruefully, remembering your many counseling sessions with Curtis before and that maybe you were finally seeing his point.

FRIDAY had directed you to the larger conference room for today's briefing session with the rest of the team. You were wearing another one of Steve's shirts paired with your usual cargo pants, a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smiles. Billy in particular was leaning in to whisper to Matt what was going on.

"You don't have to tell me. I can smell it," Matt chuckles, crinkles visible at the edges of his dark sunglasses. "His cologne is quite distinct."

You smacked Billy on the arm, but laughed with them as well before throwing a wink at Steve who proceeded to blush a deep red. As you took your seat, a cup of coffee suddenly materialized in front of you accompanied by Pietro's ever bright smile. You smiled gratefully and took a sip, eyes slightly rounding in surprise at the taste.

"You remembered how I took my coffee."

"I've forgotten nothing about you, little star."

You haven't taken your coffee that way in so long. It's been just strong plain black coffee lately, the lack of sugar and cream where you lived with the boys being a factor. It had seemed pointless to eat something sweet when there was a permanent sour taste in your mouth from life. Now though you couldn't seem to help taking one sip after another, licking your lips before going in for more.

Right now this tasted right.

You didn't notice that Billy was smiling adoringly at you and sharing a look of approval with Frank as the briefing began, happy that someone aside from him was spoiling you. You certainly didn't know that Matt was smirking because he heard your heart literally skip a beat at the sweet gesture.

It took hours for the meeting to wrap up, but there was still more to do before you could actually take action. A number of the Avengers were sent out to gather more intel while the rest would stay to make further preparations.

"I only really need to talk to Frank a bit more," Steve said as he approached your group. "Why don't we have Pietro show you guys around the Compound? There are some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Your tour guide for the afternoon appeared beside you, taking your hand in his and bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He was just too cute that you couldn't help but let out a small smile. The effect he had on you remained it seems.

"A tour would be really helpful for me," Matt easily agreed.

"And I go wherever the pretty girl goes," Billy added, slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"Great. Surrender your weapons and you should be good to go," Steve asked with a pointed look at both you and Billy who groaned in answer.

Billy was ready with a string of complaints and counter arguments when the clang of metal on the glass conference table stunned him into silence. He watched in complete disbelief as you removed every gun and blade attached to your body, efficiently dismantling them and lining them up on the table.

"Is she?" Matt murmured, leaning closer to Billy.

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

By the time you stepped back, there was practically a decent sized armory on the table. How and where you managed to fit all of it on your person was a mystery to them.

"You missed one," Billy said, snapping out of his daze.

He stepped in front of you and casually slipped his arm up the front of your shirt and under your sports bra. His fingers grazed unnecessarily close to your now hardened nipples and he simply winked when you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy pulled out two small throwing daggers soon after and placed them alongside your other weapons.

"Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about those," you chuckled.

"Do you always come armed to the teeth?" Bucky snapped, clearly bothered by the display.

"She doesn't want her team to carry extra ammo for her, Sergeant," Billy scowled at him, the obvious animosity surprising Bucky. When he turned back to Pietro, his expression was back to his usual playful one. "So how about that tour?"

Frank turned to Steve when you had exited the room. "You gotta teach me that trick, Cap."

"What trick?"

"First time in 10 years I've seen her take any kind of order without a knife fight first," he said, cracking a smile and shaking his head.

It turns out that coming back was doing some good for you and this made him more comfortable around the Avengers. He wasn't about to braid them friendship bracelets but he was less inclined to pop a cap in their ass. At least for the time being.

Walking around the Compound brought back some of that wonder you felt when you first stepped in, but it recalled everything you had lost. Sensing the sudden tension in you, Billy gripped you by the waist and pulled you into his side. He kissed your temple, a silent reminder of what you had gained.

Pietro had been an absolute sweetheart, specifically describing what was in the area for Matt's benefit and pointing out the changes to you. The training area was your last stop, the place you had spent the most time in during your short stint here. There were loud sounds coming from the area and walking in you saw fresh-faced recruits in paired off sparring sessions.

Your full attention was on Pietro as he happily listed off the new features and answered questions from Matt and Billy, the latter now in businessman mode as he thought of what he could implement for Anvil. You were having an unusually pleasant time until a familiar shrill voice demanded your attention.

"Well look what the street cat dragged in. Y/N?"

You knew that voice. A decade with torture and trauma included apparently couldn't change how much her voice grated at you. The cold smirk made a reappearance on your face as you slowly turned to face her, the three men with you were instantly alarmed at the change in your demeanor.

"Kim," you nodded.

"Thought you were dead."

"Thanks. Can't say I thought about you at all though."

"I see you're still pathetically clinging to Pietro."

"What can I say? He's really cute," you said with a wink at Pietro who seemed to enjoy the compliment.

She sneered at you, her irritation rising when you weren't backing down like you used to do. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed about you, but you seemed rougher around the edges and far too cocky for her liking. Luckily, she still remembered a sure-fire way to take you down a few pegs.

"I'm teaching a class on hand to hand combat. How about we show them a demonstration on what a real fight looks like?"

You giggled as your smile grew, a disturbing sight that made even Kim doubt herself for a moment. You nodded your head in easy acceptance and she looked like she was pleased at herself for getting this opportunity. Before you could step forward though, you found Matt's walking stick blocking your path.

"What? It's not assault if it's provoked," you grinned at the frown on his face.

He hated it when you found loopholes, but he relented with a heavy sigh. He was too used to this. He leaned toward Pietro and told him that he should inform the Captain.

"Get some snacks too, roadrunner," Billy chuckled, delightedly watching you strip off your shirt and walking confidently towards Kim on the sparring mats.

Pietro had returned a moment later after completing his task, actually handing Billy a bag of fresh popcorn. The smile on his face froze when he caught sight of your bare skin. So far all he had seen as evidence of your torture was what was visible on your neck and face. He had stupidly brushed that fact aside, too excited to have found you again. Now the vicious marring on your beautiful skin was a cruel reminder of their failure as your team. They had failed you.

He had failed you.

Back in the conference room, the same feelings were shared by two super soldiers. They had pulled up surveillance on the training area after Pietro's message, just in time to see you take off that shirt.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs at the horrific sight. He was alive and you had paid a heavy price for saving him. He could barely keep his eyes on you, the shame burning through him. He didn't want to imagine the amount of pain you had to endure to sustain those injuries.

"Don't you people dare look at her with pity," Frank warned. "Those scars are a testament to her strength. She's damn beautiful."

Steve agreed. He'd caught a glimpse of your scars last night and jarring as they were, your complete lack of self consciousness to them just made you more alluring. Looking back at the screen though he was concerned that you could hurt yourself. Kim was a top agent now, high enough in the ranks to be training recruits and leading missions. She had proven herself deadly in combat, but the way you were grinning was chilling in itself.

"One question before we start," you said.

"What?" Kim scoffed, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder.

"When's your next mission?"

"2 weeks. Why?" she answered, perfect brow raised in confusion.

"Just calculating your recovery time," you shrugged. "I'm nice that way."

Kim predictably charged at you then, growling and cursing at you under her breath. You smirked, standard SHIELD movements were easy to read for you. You stayed completely still and relaxed in your stance as she lunged at you with her fist. You timed your movement precisely, sidestepping at the absolute last moment. One hand grabbed at the back of her head, forcing it down to ram against your oncoming fist with a sickening crack.

Broken nose.

Kim shrieked in pain as the blood gushed from her nose and she tried to pull away from you. You didn't let her. You pulled her down by the shoulder to bend her over before driving your knee up her midsection. She wheezed at the impact, the mat below her smattered with her blood.

Bruised ribs. Maybe slightly broken.

You unceremoniously threw her aside, letting her fall groaning on her side. You clicked your tongue, watching her struggle and turning to the class she was supposed to be teaching.

"Lesson 1, kids," you waved your hands in Kim's general direction. "Don't end up like that."

Broken ego.

You turned to go back to your boys when the glint of metal caught your eye. You tilted your head just in time for the dagger to zip past your eye line, only thinly scratching at your cheek. Your hands reacted on instinct, reaching for the small hidden pocket along the waistband of you pants. You flicked the thin blade with deft fingers, embedding on the mat and landing it purposely close to Kim's eyes that it cut through her fake lashes.

"Nem!" Steve's unmistakable voice boomed through the speakers. You had forgotten that they had FRIDAY everywhere. "We said no weapons."

You rolled your eyes and smiled cheekily at the cameras. "It's just a nail file. I don't like keeping blood under my nails."

"You call that training?" Steve groaned rubbing his eyes and turning to Frank.

"I call that anger management," Frank said, amused at how unpredictable to handle they already found you when they've barely scratched the surface. He noticed how Bucky looked furious, his metal hand clutching a little too hard onto the table. "Don't like what you see, Sarge?"

Bucky didn't answer. He didn't tell them that he didn't like what he saw because he knew he was a major contributor in what caused it. If only he had been kinder, gentler, more honest. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

He walked down the hallways much later gripping a first aid kit in his metal hand and nervously running the other through his cropped hair. The cut on your face was barely anything, but he needed an excuse to talk to you. He was afraid you would turn him away, but he was terrified that you wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to you. He didn't know how to begin to apologize for everything he's done. His palm grew sweaty and beads were beginning to form on his brow.

He was only a few steps away from your bedroom door and he was sorely tempted to turn back around when he noticed that it was cracked open and he could hear voices from inside. He should have followed his instinct to keep his distance but a high whine that definitely came from you pushed him to peak through the small opening.

What he saw made his already thumping heartbeat grow quicker. His eyes grew wide and his throat went dry. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

You. Stark naked. Grinding your mound on someone's face.

You looked absolutely glorious as you wound your hips in your chase for release; head thrown, back arched, and lips in a dreamy smile. The view he had of you, facing him and deep into your pleasure, was enough to cause his pants to tighten. He couldn't see which one of your teammates was beneath you, the bedframe blocking his view. Whoever they were, Bucky was jealous. He wanted to taste you too.

He felt that stirring of longing again now as he watched you in the throes of passion with another man. He felt it the moment you stepped back into their lives. He felt it during the 10 years they thought you were dead. And he felt it when you were still in training as a recruit every time you smiled at Pietro and Steve.

You picked up your pace and he could see muscular arms reach up to grip your waist and pull you down harder. You were panting curses, your breathing turning erratic and Bucky could see your thighs begin to shake. The sight of you coming undone has to be the most entrancing thing he's ever seen.

Movement from you and your partner pulled him from the hypnosis caused by your erotic display. His face heated up, deeply embarrassed at having watched you for so long and finding enjoyment in basically violating your privacy. He was about to leave when the man whose face you had been riding, came up to kneel behind you.

He pulled your hips back against his own, sliding his hard length easily into your dripping cunt causing you to moan so deliciously that Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine. You reached your hand up to grip the back of his head, letting him bury his own in your neck as he set a languid pace with his thrusts.

Your head rolled to the side and your eyes opened, locking directly with Bucky's. You smirked and reached down to circle your swollen bud, pressing your back further against the hard body rutting behind you and purposely putting on a show. You winked at him.

He bolted out of there.

"That wasn't very nice, honey," the low voice was thick with lust in your ear. His breathing was growing labored too, finding your heat wrapping around him overwhelming.

"I don't see you stopping, Captain."

"How can I when you're gripping me so tight?" He snapped his hips earning a sharp moan from you. "Did you like that? Torturing my best pal with me balls deep inside you?"

You sighed and closed your eyes. Apple pie Steve wouldn't have whispered such sinful things to you, but this Steve could make you cum with just filthy words alone.

"Yeah, you did. Look at you clenching and soaking my cock from having Bucky watch you. You like being bad to him, honey?"

A sudden smack to your ass had you snapping your eyes open. He chuckled into your neck, biting down hard on the juncture as he felt you gripping him even tighter.

"Answer," he growled, landing a harsher smack to your bottom.

"Yes! Yes, Captain, I did."

"Good. Will you be good for me now, honey? You caused a bit of trouble today." His thrusting was still slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein with each stroke as he drove you into a stupor. "Will you be a good girl for your Captain now?"

"Yes, Captain."

He smirked against your skin, pleased at your compliance. He was reveling in the power he had over you. Frank had said that you never took orders without a fight, but here you were being so good for him. Pliable. Yielding. He was enjoying it.

He gathered your hair in one hand and pulled, your back arching beautifully and emphasizing where his cock was buried deep inside you. With each thrust his cock came out glistening with your slick. The image made him lose control, abruptly escalating his pace to rail feverishly into you.

He had you gasping and clutching at the sheets instantly, begging for him to go harder and push you over the edge. He bent over you and reached around to rub furiously at your throbbing clit.

"Cum like a good girl, honey. Cum around my cock," he commanded. "I wanna feel you fucking drown me."

You came, lights dancing in your eyes and your head empty of all thoughts aside from the pleasure that racked your body. He followed soon after with a loud grunt, the sensation of you fluttering around him too much to resist.

He fell on top of you, spent and satisfied. Your sweat and heavy breaths mingling together as you both tried to return back to the world. You liked the heavy feel of him on top of you, strangely finding comfort in the weight.

He dragged you with him when he rolled off you, spooning you and planting kisses on the back of your shoulders that had your skin tingling from his beard.

"When are you going to put him out of his misery?"

"When it stops being fun?" you chuckled.

Steve wasn't going to push the issue. He knew that it was up to you whether you forgave Bucky or not and when that would be. It would be on your own terms how things moved. Just like what happened between you two. He wasn't expecting it, but the heated argument about the injuries you inflicted on one of his best agents had somehow escalated into him spanking you and you growing wet from it.

Not that either of you were complaining.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a taunting smirk. "You sure your old heart can take being in a polyamorous relationship?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips before going back in for a much deeper kiss that had you swooning. When he pulled back, he was looking at you lovingly.

"I'm known for waiting too long about things like this. I lost my shot at you 10 years ago. I'm not missing out on you again."

His words were firm and genuine. He honestly thought that he would mind having to share you with several other men. He thought that he would feel jealous and possessive. Instead, he felt reassured. He knew that wherever and whenever he lacked, someone else would pick it up and he would be the same. There was a sense of relief knowing that you would always be taken cared of by people who felt the same for you as he did.

"Well then you have some making up to do for waiting so long," you said nibbling at his lower lip.

He groaned and grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg up on his hip. Your thighs and core were still sticky and slippery from both your releases. His tongue dove into your mouth and he could feel you moan against his lips as he ran the tip of his cock against your still sensitive core. Your nails dug into his back as he sunk in, fitting perfectly inside you.

"You're running with a super soldier now, honey," he said, eyes burning with want. "I can do this all day."

------------------------------------------------

A/N: Some asked about Jill and Kim so here you go, lovelies. Come freak out with me in the comments and reblogs. Thank you all for the support! More coming soon. 

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[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Stronger Together

"Dreamer!"

Lena's alarm sears across Nia's senses. She registers the danger at the corner of her eye-- a Brevakk ripping off his sleeves to expose the keratinized spurs protruding from his arms. One sweep of his arm and she'll be dead, skewered in a spray of thick quills sharp enough to penetrate her suit and lacerate any organ they could reach. But she's locked in battle with a K'hund attacking from the front, so all she can do is brace for the inevitable impact.

Suddenly, Nia's view of the Brevakk is eclipsed by the shadow of Lena's back.

"NO!"

The force of the thorns' impact knocks Lena fron her feet, slamming into Nia and causing them both to go down with a cry. Lena's gauntlet fires once, stunning the Brevakk with a glancing blow. Nia throws her own arm out towards her opponent in a desperate bid to gain some ground. The blast of dream energy sends him flying, and when Nia doesn't notice that he doesn't rise again. Her attention is locked on Lena, and the half dozen quills that have found a home in her chest.

"Lena, Lena, oh my god." Nia's hands shake as she climbs out from under Lena and kneels beside her on the pavement. "No, no, no..."

Lena's eyes are glassy and dazed. She looks down at the horns, reaching drunkenly towards them only for Nia to pull her hands away.

"Why did you do that?"

Nia's suit wouldn't have helped much, but it was better than Lena's blouse-- a silly silken thing now ripped and torn, digging into the edges of the wounds around the quills. Lena had no protection beside her gauntlet, and still she had jumped between them.

"N-nia..." Lena's voice crackles in her throat. She coughs, and blood spatters across her chin, staining her berry-red lips a color far more sinister.

Nia's heart lurches with panic. Her head whips up in search of Kara, but Supergirl isn't here. She's on the other side of the city with J'onn, fighting further unrest there. Her eyes lock on another figure, black leather instead of blue.

"ALEX!!"

Nia's shriek cuts through the din, and Sentinel's head whips towards her. In an instant, the pistol in her hand shifts into a warhammer, and Alex slams it down on her opponent, all thoughts of mitigating casualties forgotten. She skids to her knees beside Nia, nearly elbowing her out of the way to crouch over Lena.

"Lena? Jesus... Lena! Can you hear me? Look at me, look at me--"

Lena's eyes track to Alex, and Nia chokes on a sob when she sees the fear in them. But Alex only calms.

"Good, you're okay," Alex tells her, stroking Lena's hair once with a gentle hand. "You're going to be okay."

With her free hand, Alex fumbles for the watch on Lena's wrist, flipping open its face and silently pressing the symbol embossed there. She doesn't take her eyes off Lena for a moment, and when the signal is active Alex slides her palm into Lena's, which curls tightly around hers.

"H-hurts--"

Lena's breath begins to quicken, and the corners of her eyes pinch with the onset of pain. The shock is quickly wearing off, leaving nothing to dull the pain. Alex nods, giving Lena's hand a squeeze.

"I know, but it's going to be okay," she promises. "We're going to get you somewhere safe--"

Supergirl touches down at the moment, pavement cracking beneath the force of her panic. "Lena!!"

Kara kneels opposite her sister, taking in the damage with wide eyes. She grips Lena's free hand tightly, even as she looks to Alex for instructions.

"Hospital," Alex says simply, urgency clipping her tone. "Now."

Kara nods, and gently maneuvers Lena into her arms. Lena cries out, the sound sharp in Nia's ears. When Nia blinks, tears dampen the fabric of her mask.

"I'm sorry," Kara murmurs, pressing her nose to the side of Lena's head. "I'm sorry."

"K-kar--" Lena gasps for breath, coughing up more blood. Her back now visible, Nia sees that one of the thorns has penetrated so deeply that it tents the back of Lena's shirt.

"It's okay," Kara echoes the well-meaning lie of her sister. "I've got you."

In a burst of wind, Kara takes off, and Nia sits dazed in her wake. It's long moments before she registers Alex's insistent hands tugging her up.

"It was supposed to be me," Nia intones, flat with shock. "She--"

"I know," Alex cuts her off, not unkindly. She tugs Nia to her feet then shoves her into a run. "But we need to go. Now!"

Together, they make their retreat, leaving the alley and the unconscious aliens behind just as the distant wail of approaching sirens cuts through the air.

---

Nia wastes no time in stripping off her costume and changing back into her civvies. But before she can reach the exit, Alex cuts her off. "You can't go to the hospital."

Surprise jolts through Nia, before its quickly replaced with anger. "Are you insane?"

"Nia--"

"I can't just wait here-- she-- those barbs were meant for me, Alex! She's hurt because of me. I can't not be there!"

"Kara just called."

Time seems to freeze. Nia feels ice pool in her veins as a lump climbs to her throat and lodges there. "No..."

Alex rushes to reassure her. "No! That's not-- no, Lena's still in surgery. But-- the police are there."

Nia's relief that Lena is alive cuts short with confusion. "What? Why?"

"They're there to take Lena into custody."

"They can't do that!"

"She's aided and abetted known vigilantes," Alex explains. "With everything that's been happening lately--"

"It's not right!"

"Lena will be fine. Truly. Kara is going to CatCo to get Andrea to make the arrest as public as possible. Between that and the Luthor reputation, my guess is that they'll question her about our identities and then let her go."

"That's-- that's--" Nia struggles to find words through her growing rage. The helplessness of the past few months, the rising anti-alien sentiments, the crackdown on Supergirl on her friends... it all comes to a head, and Nia can barely breathe.

Alex reaches for Nia's hand. "If you go now, you'll only risk exposing yourself. Lena wouldn't want that."

Nia sucks in a breath, but it comes in a sob. The next thing she knows, Alex's arms are around her and she's crying into her shoulder, huge lurching sobs that feel like the world is quaking around her.

"It's okay," Alex promises.

"It's my fault," Nia gasps. "It's all my fault..."

"Lena's going to be okay."

---

Nia may not be able to go to the hospital, but she can't stay in the Tower either. In the end she goes to CatCo, ready to throw her weight behind Kara's pitch to fry the police in the press. Luckily, Andrea doesn't need the convincing.

"I want both of you on this," their boss delivers with a coolness sharpened to a razors edge by the glint of rage in her eyes. "William too. I want you to dig up anything you can find about the arresting officers. Any whisper of corruption within the NCPD that you might have been sitting on, now is your time to air it. CatCo won't stand for this."

Nia and Kara both nod solemnly before retreating to their desks. But instead of diverting to her own desk, Kara follows Nia to hers.

"How are you holding up?"

The gentle question threatens a resurgence of tears. Nia looks away, only for her eyes to catch on the photo of her and Lena on her desk, taken at one of their sister nights the year before. Nia can't remember the last time they've hung out, just the two of them.

Blinking furiously, Nia flips the picture down and opens up her laptop. "Fine."

"It's okay to not be fine..."

"Do you want to know if I'm angry that my friend is alone in the hospital because of me? Fine! I'm angry!"

Kara's features soften. "Nia..."

"It's my fault she's there in the first place!" Nia hisses. The lump returns to her throat, and her eyes burn with unshed tears. "She just, just... she just jumped between us! I should've--"

"Hey." Kara calms her with a hand on her shoulder. Nia sucks in a breath, then another, trying to steady herself. Finally, Kara's features pinch into a bemused smile. "You know Lena... There's no line she won't cross, for the people she cares about."

Instead of comforting her, Kara's words only makes Nia grit her teeth. She turns back to the computer. They better be willing to do the same for her.

"Let's get to work."

----

The first article runs the following morning, skewering the police department for rampant anti-alien abuses while highlighting Lena's charity and outreach. While it's not quite enough to banish the police presence from the hospital, it does get a single visitor in to see Lena. Nia expects Kara to take it, but to her surprise Kara simply nods her towards the door.

"Go," Kara says softly. "Give her our love."

Nia doesn't stop to ask twice. She's ushered into Lena's hospital room by a kindly looking nurse, glaring at the officer posted outside the door on her way in. The second her eyes land on Lena, rage swells in her chest at the side of the handcuffs tethering Lena to the bed.

"Is that really necessary?" she demands, balling her hands into fists. "Where is she going to go?"

"Nia..." Lena's soft voice from the bed interrupts her before she can gather much steam. "It's okay."

Nia huffs, eyeing the way the officer slowly moves his hand from his sidearm when Nia turns back to the room. But then all she can see is Lena, hair limp and torso bulky with bandages under her hospital gown.

"It's not okay," Nia says, sitting in the chair thats been placed next to Lena's bed.

"It's just a misunderstanding," Lena insists, her gaze sliding towards the door. The door itself remains open, denying them any sense of privacy. But Lena doesn't seem to mind when her gaze returns to Nia. "You okay?"

Nia chokes on her own tongue. "Am I--? Lena, you're in the hospital..."

"And I'm okay." Lifting her cuffed wrist, Lena silently reaches for Nia's hand, which Nia offers without hesitation. "Promise."

All of a sudden, the tears come back, pressing against her eyelids as she squeezes her eyes shut. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry--"

"It's okay," Lena assures her. "I'm okay."

"You shouldn't have--"

"Been there in the alley? When that guy tried to mug me?" Lena asks pointedly. Clearly, she's already established her cover story. "You're right, I should have known better." She pitches her voice loud enough to carry to the door. "I'm just lucky Sentinel and Dreamer were there to help me."

They wait a moment to listen for a response, but when none comes, they devolve into a fit of giggles.

"Ow," Lena grimaces with a cough. "No laughing for a while."

Nia tightens her grip on Lena's hand. "I... Lena, I'm so sorry--"

"I'd do it again," Lena returns, softly this time. Her words are for Nia alone. "That's what friends do."

---

Alex turns out to be right. As soon as Lena is well enough to leave the hospital, she's taken to the precinct for interrogation, but between CatCo's articles stirring up enough local support that a crowd forms around the precinct to protest the arrest, and the kind of lawyers a Luthor can acquire even after abandoning the family legacy, Lena is released without charge in a matter of hours.

Nia stays at the Tower hoping to see her, but Lena doesn't come.

"She's guessed she's probably being watched," Alex tells her. "She'll being laying low for a while til the heat dies down. All the better, honestly. It'll give her time to heal."

Nia swallows thickly. "Where is she?"

"Home. Kara's with her, but I'm sure she'd love to see you."

Nia approaches Lena's condo without much of a plan. She's armed with snacks and movies, but she knows that having Kara there won't give Nia the time with Lena she needs. She misses Lena, all more the more since she realized how long it had been since they'd just been... friends. More than allies, more than teammates, just... friends.

It feels like Maeve all over again.

But she swallows her nerves and takes the elevator up. Kara opens the door just as Nia lifts her hand to knock.

"Hey," Kara says quietly. She steps aside to let Nia in, and though she can hear the tv from the next room, they linger in the foyer.

"Is everything okay?" Kara asks.

Nia nods. "Yeah. Um. I just--"

She doesn't have an explanation either. Nia stares at her feet, until Kara breaks the silence.

"Look, I have a favor to ask..."

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind staying with Lena for a few hours?"

When Nia looks up, she finds Kara scrubbing the back of her head with one hand, looking sheepish.

"Yeah," she continues, "I've been kind of... hovering? And I think it's getting on her nerves a little. So I figured I could get some stuff done at CatCo--"

"Yes," Nia blurts. "Yes, of course. I'll stay."

Kara grins. "Thanks. She's in the living room now, if you want to..."

"Right. Yeah, I've got this. Go."

Kara thanks her with another smile that makes her whole face shine. "Call if you need anything."

She slips out the door with a wink, and locks it behind her. Nia walks to the living room on wooden legs, and finds Lena laying on the couch against a pile of pillows, propping her up to take the pressure off her wounds.

She looks up when Nia enters, and though her eyes are tired, her features crease into a smile. "Hey..."

"Hey."

Lena struggles to sit up, prompting Nia to close the distance swiftly. "No, no, no, stay comfy."

Relenting with a sigh, Lena groans. "Not like I have much choice these days."

"It'll get better."

Silence follows. Nia stands awkwardly, hands gripping her bag of candy tightly until Lena regards it with curiosity.

"What's all this?"

Nia starts. "Oh. Uhm... I thought-- well, I was wondering..." She trails off, shoulders slumping. "It's been a while since we've had sister's night."

When Lena doesn't answer, Nia risks a glance up to find Lena blinking in astonishment, before her features soften to warmth. She smiles.

"Well, there's no time like the present."

Lena lifts her arms, making playful grabby motions with her hands.

"What'd you bring me?"

----

Hours later, Kara returns home to find Nia seated on the couch with Lena's legs across her lap. It's as close to cuddling as Lena can get, with her injuries, and the way Nia's hands are spread over Lena's shins tells Kara that the contacr was very much needed.

Lena sleeps peacefully, the tv low in the background. Nia looks up at Kara from the shadows, the light reflecting in the tear tracks painted on her cheeks. Without a word, Kara slips in next to Nia, working her way under Lena's ankles to wrap one arm around the younger girl's shoulders.

Nia hugs her back, shaking quietly with the effort to keep her crying silent.

"It's okay," Kara whispers. Nia nods against her. So long as they were all together, they could get through anything.

"We're going to be okay."

[inkandpen22]

Dazed and Confused ( S1: 3/?)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader

Warnings: mild language and violence 

Word Count: 3.1k

Part Summary: At Tina’s party, Y/N wants to forget all of her problems. Things take a turn when Billy makes a move on her, angering Steve

Masterlist

Arriving at Tina’s after dropping Dustin at Mike’s, I am in much need of some good old spiked punch. I yank down my gray oversized sweatshirt some more so that it hangs low off my shoulder. As I cross the threshold into the house, the heat of the crowded living room slaps me in the face. Directly to my left, the kitchen AKA the alcohol hub. I slip between bodies and end up at the counter covered with semi-empty bottles and old plastic cups. Most importantly, a bowl of maroon punch sits in the corner. I grab a cup and make my way over. A boy stands in front of it but I reach around him and scoop up some of the mystery substance.

“What’s in this?” I hear a voice holler behind me.

I turn around to answer but freeze when I realize it’s Nancy. She stares at me equally stunned. My face falls, this is awkward. Seriously universe? I couldn’t have at least one drink before bumping into her?

Steve appears behind her looking slick as ever in his black sunglasses and matching blazer.

“Everclear is my guess,” I answer, acting civil.

She nods timidly, “thanks…”

I step out of her way so she can get some of her own. Steve’s head travels up and down slowly with a blank expression. I can’t see his eyes but I assume he’s studying my costume. A gray oversized sweatshirt that hangs off the shoulder, red heels, matching earrings, and some shorts, though they’re unnoticeable. I can feel him starring me down through those stupid Ray-Bans. Silently, I beg for him to not bring up our encounter in the parking lot. All I wish for tonight is to drown out reality and try to forget. He’s a human ticking time bomb. The tension between us could be cut with a knife.

“Are you finally going to tell me what you are?” Nancy jumps in, forcing me to break my staring contest with her boyfriend.

I open my mouth to answer but Steve beats him to it.

“Flashdance,” he answers for me. “It’s one of her favorites.”

He acts distant, unattached, distracted by the party but I see right through it. There’s something he’s not saying. He says things like this as if it’s common knowledge. A random person wouldn’t describe my eyes as Y/E/C but gray depending on the lighting. One minute, he calls my eyes beautiful and the next he’s starring me down like a disapproving parent. The hell Harrington?!

Nancy gushes, apparently she and I are okay all of a sudden, despite early today with the whole Barb thing. Plus, I think she’s already been drinking for awhile so buzzed Nancy is fun Nancy.

“That’s so cute! You look hot!” She pulls me into a hug.

Over her shoulder, I glimpse up at Steve as he lifts his glasses to rest of his head. His brown eyes threaten to expose my upset from earlier. I get that he’s pissed about my neglect for my feelings. He wants to talk about what was wrong but right now we’re at a party and parties aren’t meant for depressing conversations.

“Let’s go dance!” Nancy suggests, already tugging me into the living room.

Steve calls after her but she ignores him. He follows behind us through the crowd with a groan. In the center of the living room, Nancy stops and turns to me with a bright grin. She cheers as she tosses her head back.

“Woohoo!” She laughs.

This is what I wanted, normalcy. We’re surrounded by our friends, drinking, dancing, being stupid! We did this before everything so why can’t we do it now? Perhaps after tonight, everything will fall back into place.

_______________________________________

On my third game of flip-cup, I’m beyond buzzed. In fact, when I walk I float. I’m on cloud nine. Here, this carefree and lively state is exactly where I wanted to be. Naturally, I’m competitive and amazing at drinking games so I finish my third game with yet another win. I cheer as Tommy from algebra hands me a cup of who knows what as my reward.

“Hey there beautiful,” a husky voice greets from behind me.

I spin around and kind of become dizzy from the action but catch myself.

It’s Billy.

“Hey hottie,” I smirk.

He snickers and closes the space between us to whisper in my ear. “How about you and I go somewhere a little more private?”

That’s a nice thought. He is cute. His ass could have its own zip code. Plus, he has no shirt on under that leather jacket, hello washboard like abs. His California tanned skin glistens under a thin layer of sweat. Damn, he’s a human Ken doll.

He’s no Steve though. Wait… what? I don’t think of Steve like that. Why would I think that? Um, yeah, that’s a no! Then again, Steve is always there for me. Sometimes it can be annoying how he’s always there. It means he cares but I don’t want to dump all of my drama on him. Then, he gets upset when I don’t open up. I hate it when I hurt him. I love him so much that when he’s in pain so am I.

“Okay,” I blurt out without truly thinking.

“Cool,” I hear him whisper as he takes my hand and starts pulling me toward the stairs across the room.

Wait, what? What am I doing? This isn’t me. I don’t like Billy. He treats Steve like shit. If anything I should kick his pretty ass. Though if I tried he’d probably murder me.

I glance down at his hand engulfing mine. It’s all rough and twice the size of my own. If we make it upstairs, it’ll be just him and I. I’ll be defenseless. I may be drunk but I’m not oblivious. My intuition is still working and it’s screaming for me to pull my shit together.

“Hey Billy? I don’t think…” I press my heels into the floor, slowing him down just as we reach the bottom of the stairs.

Aggressively, he whips around and purposefully towers over me to act intimidating. “What? Now, you’re saying no? Are you messing me? Playing with me!” He accuses.

I shake my head dramatically, “no! No, that’s not what-”

“Oh, so you still want to do this,” he presses.

Too impatient for an answer, he continues up the stairs. The grip he has on me has shifted up to my wrist. I attempt to tug myself free but fear dislocating it, his strength is too great. I stumble up the stairs behind me and I startle to feel dizzy. I think it’s safe to say I’ve had too much.

“No,” I whine, “I don’t want to! Stop! Please! I don’t want to! No!”

“Hey!” A booming voice echoes from the bottom of the stairs.

Rapid footsteps approach from behind me and a rush of relief consumes me when Steve appears beside me. He places a protective hand on my back.

“What the hell is going here?” He directs at Billy, taking note of his fist wrapped around my wrist.

“Nothing that concerns you, Harrington. Y/N and I were just heading upstairs.” He jolts his hand forward, causing me to traveling with it.

Steve instantly pries Billy’s hand from my body. Then, shoves him in the back, flying him forward to land with his ass on the stairs. “Don’t you ever touch her again! You hear me?!” He sneers. His face turns this deep red as he pants angrily.

The two start bickering but I can’t keep up. I see three Steves and a couple Billys shouting in each other’s faces. I lean against the railing unsteadily and slide down to sit on the steps. My eyes suddenly feel very heavy.

“I’m going to go to bed now,” I announce to no one in particular.

I decide to get some rest and shut my eyes. It’s okay, Steve’s here. He’ll protect me.

I’m not sure how much time has past when I hear Tommy and some of the other basketball boys come to break up the fight.

“Come on Y/N,” I hear Steve whisper to me, “let’s get you home.”

Feeling as light as a feather, I’m picked up like a sleepy child off the ground. For a moment, I fall asleep again. I rest my head on his chest and ponder the rare opportunity to sleep without being afraid of being eaten by a monster.

“Y/N?” I hear someone repeatedly call my name. “Y/N, wake up!”

I ease open my eyes and at first my vision is blurry but then they eventually adjust. Steve glances down at me as he we cross the threshold hold to the front yard.

“You smell like sunshine and all things exquisite,” I mumble to myself, adjusting myself in his arms to curl closer to his warmth.

“Even when hammered you still manage to be a walking thesaurus,” he teases.

Opps, he heard me. Oh well, I wasn’t lying. He smells like vanilla, the ocean, sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Goosebumps course over my skin as a brisk October breeze hits me. I shiver slightly and Steve holds me closer.

“We’re almost to my car. I’ll turn on the heat high. You’re okay,” he promises calmly.

Playing the hero, Steve places me into the passenger seat gently and straps me in. I toss my head to the side and rest my eyes again. He shuts the door for me before jogging to the driver’s side. The car drowns out the sound of chaos coming from the party and creates a sense of security. Steve slides behind the wheel and for some reason I choose now to act reasonable.

“Have you been drinking? If so, you shouldn’t drive,” I state like a health textbook.

He chuckles, popping in the keys. “I’m sober. Promise.”

“That’s nice. Good to know,” I yawn.

The last thing I can remember of the ride home is Steve turning on the car.

______________________________________

I wake up silently as Steve pulls up in front of my house. He’s unaware of my stare as he finishes parking and turning off the car.

“Hazel,” I tell him, announcing my woken state.

He looks to me with scrunched eyebrows, all confused. It’s cute when he does that. He’s cute. Geez, what the heck am I saying? He’s dating my best friend! Steve is Steve and Katherine, we don’t mix, at least that way.

“What?” He questions, turning to face me.

“Your eyes… they’re hazel…” I repeat softly with a yawn. “But, it really depends on the lighting.”

He snickers, and astonished expression blesses his features. The subtle blush forming on his cheeks makes me smile to see him all bashful because of my comment. He has no idea how gorgeous we truly is, inside and out. He glances down at his lap, at his hands fidgeting with a button on his jacket, then back up at me with hooded eyes.

“See, right now!” I point out, “they’re a dark brown like a burnt caramel, basically black. When you’re really focused on a task or upset about something, they go dark. Then, when you’re really happy or excited, they turn to a light hazel… like seaglass. It’s how I can tell if something’s bothering you. You don’t even have to tell me half the time. All I have to do is look into your eyes and I know,” I state a matter-of-factly with a light snicker.

I shift you see him directly and tuck a few strands of my hair away from my face. He watches my every move patiently, eagerly, for me to say something more, anything. I can’t speak for him but my heart won’t stop racing. Is it possible to have stage fright in a conversation? I feel like a mannequin, on display. Nervously, I twirl my hair at the ends and find myself unable to meet his gaze anymore.

“Your pupils are rarely small,” I add quietly. “They’re usually really big and take up most of your eye giving off the illusion they’re black. One thing that never changes is…”  I make a circle with my finger in front of my eye to demonstrate, “is the gold rim around each of them.” I lower my hand into my lap and play with the end of my sweatshirt. “That’s my favorite part… ” I confess timidly.

I wouldn’t be saying these things if I were sober. I wish he would say something, anything. He must think I’m crazy. He finds me with Billy heading up stairs. I can only imagine what he must think of me now. Embarrassed beyond belief and sobering up, I excuse myself.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say as I unbuckle myself. “See you Monday!”

Swiftly, I climb out of the car. As I walk toward my front door, I curse myself for acting so stupid! Geez, what was I thinking? ‘The gold rim around each of them, that’s my favorite part!’ What kind of mushy, guhsy, marshmallow fluff is that? Ew! If he never spoke to me again I would judge that as completely reasonable! He has a girlfriend! He’s taken! Completely off limits! Why did I spew out this creepy nonsense to him like a total idiot? I’m not some lovesick teenage girl! I’m going to go to my room, put in some Guns N’ Roses, and just scream into my pillow all weekend! It sounds like an excellent plan to me because I just ruined my friendship with Steve forever! Add Nancy to that list because once he fills her in on what I said I’ll lose both of them!

“Y/N!” He calls after me.

I ignore it as I march faster toward the door. He’s only going to call me crazy because I was acting crazy!

“Y/N, wait!” He repeats as I hear him shut the car door and run toward me.

“Goodnight, Steve!” I urge him away without turning around.

His footsteps speed up until they come to a halt directly behind me. I reach for the door handle, my freedom. Desperately, he grips my forearm and steps in front of me, blocking the front door.

“Look, could you just slow down for a sec?” He yells at me as he pants to catch his breath.

“No! I can’t slow down! I just want to go inside, get in my pajamas, and forget tonight ever happened! Alright? Now, excuse me,” I gesture for him to get out of the way.

Reluctantly, paired with an overly dramatic eye roll, he steps aside. Despite wanting his to leave, I thank him quietly for cracking open the front door slowly, making sure not to wake anyone.

“Nance and I broke up…” Steve drops on me.

My heart leaps and I stop dead in my tracks. Unsure of what to do or say, I remain still in the doorway and wait for him to say more.

“She never loved me,” he explains with a heartbroken tone. “At least… I don’t think she did…”

Shit. Please don’t tell me that, Harrington. It only makes me want you more. He’s always so close but too far out of reach. I care about him more than anything but he’ll never mine. I’m just the friend.

I spin on my heels and offer him a sympathetic smile, “would you like to come in?”

He nods, clearly miserable. I step aside, allowing him in. After shutting the door behind us, I warn him to be quiet so we don’t wake my parents. He nods slowly and slips his hand into mine. Never breaking eye contact with me, he leads the way through the moonlit house toward my room. His platonic touch is so blissful, I can only imagine what it feels like otherwise.

_________________________________

Steve and I sit on my bed in our usual positions with my record player going quietly. He lounges like a patient in therapy and me, acting as his therapist, criss-cross beside him. He explains everything. He describes how drunk Nancy got and how he followed her to the bathroom. It was there they got into a fight. She admitted feeling guilty for the loss of Barb. Then, she called all of it bullshit. Us acting like carefree teenagers, never telling Barb’s parents the truth, her love for Steve, all of it is bullshit. He asked Jonathan to take her home and that’s when he stumbled upon me and Billy.

Watching Steve relive it all and hearing the pain in his voice breaks my heart. How could Nance do this to him? I get that she’s going through something, we all are. I’m by no means normal. I’m hiding everything for Pete’s sake! I haven’t been myself for over a year. Steve was just now becoming truly happy again! He was putting on a brave face for Nancy for so long! Now, she crushed it. She crushed him.

I reach and place my hand over his as they rest intertwined on his stomach. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

“I really loved her. At least, I think I did. I don’t know anymore. I thought she loved me too.”

“I did too,” I tell him honestly.

He glances away from the ceiling down to me, “what can I do?”

I wish I knew the answer. I wish there was a way I could take away his pain. Yet, I have nothing. I shrug, “I’m not entirely sure. I think you should at least talk to her.

Tomorrow, of course, when she’s sobered up. Perhaps, she was just drunk and didn’t mean what she said. She wasn’t in the proper mindset.”

“So I shouldn’t take what she said to heart?”

“Well, there’s also the argument that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Does the same go for you?” He snickers.

I laugh, “sometimes.”

“So you don’t like the gold in my eyes? I thought it was your favorite part?” He smirks, turning to lay on his side and face me. My hand would’ve fallen off his hadn’t he flipped his over to catch it.

Ugh, he’s such a sneaky jerk! His cheeky smirk only grows with my silence. Warmth rushes to my cheeks as I bashfully hide my face.

“Yeah… about that…” I laugh nervously, “let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Should I forget that you also said I smell like sunshine and everything exquisite?” He adds to the torment.

I groan, tossing my head back. This must count as torture. “Preferably, yes,” I request shortly.

We share a laugh at my annoyed reaction. He’s impossible! Even he should be mopping he still manages to tease me!

A comfortable silence fills the air and I stare down at the pillow in my lap as I play with the lettering on it.

________________________________

Masterlist

[favefandomimagines]

A Little Too Late (b.b.)

Summary: bucky tries to come back into your life after leaving you alone.

AN: i’m in the mood for some ANGST

You hadn’t known anything was wrong until you got back home and Bucky was packing his things.

After the blip, things became difficult. Bucky tried his best to settle into a normal routine and a normal life with you. But it wasn’t as easy as he had hoped.

His mind was riddled with nightmares every night and though you did your best to calm him down, he felt like nothing was helping. So Bucky decided he needed to go back and help Sam with missions. To try and find some sort of purpose and maybe Sam could give him the kick in the ass he needed to be better for you.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” You asked him as you walked into the bedroom. “I’m uh, going on a mission with Sam.” He answered. “A mission that requires all of your stuff?” You questioned. “Y/N, I think it’s best if I go off and figure some stuff out.” He said.

You looked at him with furrowed brows before you scoffed and tossed your keys on the dresser. “Figure stuff out? I thought we were supposed to do that together.” You said. “Everything‘s just so complicated right now.” Bucky replied.

“Why don’t you want to fight for us?” You questioned. “Because maybe there’s nothing left to fight for.” Bucky snapped, but he didn’t mean it. He just needed you to let him go and he knew you loved him so much you wouldn’t let that happen.

Bucky saw the hurt wash over your face as you looked at him. “Fine. Then leave. I hope I never see you again.” You sneered, slamming the bedroom door in the process. He waited for a moment until he heard the front door slam shortly after.

It was your apartment technically but you couldn’t watch as Bucky seemingly walked out of your life and do it so easily. You didn’t know what to do or where to go from there. You were planning a whole life with Bucky and in one instant all of that was gone.

—

It had been four and a half years since you saw Bucky Barnes. And in that time, you found out you were pregnant. You and Bucky hadn’t necessarily been careful when it came to that.

The last thing you wanted was to raise a baby without him but you persisted. And you have birth to Henry Stephen Barnes, who was the spitting image of his father.

Being a single mother was no easy feat but given that you were raised by a single mother, you learned from the best. You didn’t tell anyone about Henry at first, in fear of it getting to Bucky. You knew your son needed his father but Bucky was the one who walked out on you and your relationship. You didn’t know how to contact him anyways.

The only person you told besides Sarah was Wanda. She helped as best she could but she herself was going through some hard times and you understood that.

You gave Henry the best life you could and though it wasn’t much, he was still a very happy and bubbly toddler.

Sam and Bucky landed in DC after a rather successful mission and were met with a call from Sarah.

“Hey, Sarah.” Sam greeted her and put the phone on speaker. “Hey, what is Y/N’s new address? I want to send her some stuff for Henry.” Sarah asked.

Bucky and Sam exchanged a glance, Sam’s more guilty than Bucky’s. “Uh, Sarah can I call you back?” Sam questioned before hanging up the phone soon after that.

“What was she talking about?” Bucky asked. “Buck,” Sam started. “What was Sarah talking about, Sam?” Bucky questioned. Sam sighed, knowing he was going to get an earful from you and his sister.

Sarah had accidentally let it slip to her brother that you had Bucky’s baby. He had overhead a conversation between the two of you and she told him everything.

“Y/N had a baby. He’s four, his name is Henry. Looks just like you.” Sam answered. “Y/N was pregnant? And she didn’t tell me?” Bucky asked. “She didn’t know and would that have made you stay? You weren’t all the way there with her Bucky, and you wouldn’t have been all the way there with a baby.” Sam said.

“I have to talk to her.” Bucky said. “Whoa, whoa you can’t just show up to her place.” Sam told him. “Then give me her number. She’s changed it since I left.” Bucky pleaded.

Sam sighed but gave him your number anyways. Bucky dialed it into his phone and stepped off to the side as it rang.

“Hello?” You answered. Bucky froze at the sound of your voice. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long and it took his breath away. “Hello?” You asked again. “Um, hey Y/N.” Bucky said.

It was then your turn to freeze. The man you had held so much resentment and anger for had contacted you after three years.

Before you replied, Bucky heard the sound of a small child’s voice in the background. “Mommy, mommy!” He heard before it become just muffled sounds and you shushing someone on the other end.

“How did you get this number?” You asked. “Sam gave it to me. I heard about the baby and I felt like we should talk.” Bucky explained. “No. No, we don’t get to talk, Bucky. Because you didn’t want to do any talking before you decided to just up and leave.” You said. “That’s fair and I understand you’re upset with me, I’m upset with myself. But we have a son, Y/N.” He said.

“I have a son. There is no we anymore. You hurt me and I will not let you hurt him like that.” You snapped. “Y/N, please.” Bucky begged, this conversation not going the way he expected. “Don’t call this number again.” You said and then Bucky heard nothing but a dial tone.

Bucky didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting from you but he understood. He left you and for four years you had to raise your son your own. It wasn’t fair to you or Henry.

“I need her address, Sam.” He said. “She doesn’t want to see you, Buck. She’s made that very clear to everyone.” Sam replied. “I have a son. Something I never thought I could have after what happened to me. I need to make this right with her.” Bucky said.

Sam hesitated for a moment, knowing that either way he was going to face someone’s wrath. “I will go. I will talk to her, see if I can convince her.” He said.

Bucky wanted to argue but he knew that Sam going was probably the safer option. When Sam left, all Bucky could think about was Henry.

Did he look like him? Act like you? Did he inherit your powers? He missed a large chunk of his son’s life and now it was eating him alive.

You and Henry were sitting in the living room and you were helping him with his pre-school show and tell project. A knock on the door caused the both of you to look from the door to each other.

“Stay here, kiddo.” You told him. You walked towards the door and saw Sam on the other side when you opened it.

“Uncle Sam!” Henry cheered, running to the man. “Sup buddy? How’s my second in command?” Sam asked, scooping him up. “Great! Mommy said I could take you to show and tell if it was okay with you.” Henry answered. “Of course it’s okay with me. You’d be the coolest kid in that place.” Sam said.

You looked at him, giving him a look that only showed that you were a little upset with him.

“Henry, baby, why don’t you go clean up for dinner? Then you can show Uncle Sam your new toy.” You told him. “Okay, mommy.” The little boy said.

Sam set him down and he ran off down the hallway. “You gave Bucky my number?” You asked. “Sarah called, I put it on speaker and she let it slip. He asked for your number, I’m sorry.” He explained.

You sighed, running your hand through your hair. “He wants to see you. You and Henry.” Sam added. “No, no, absolutely not. I won’t put Henry in the situation of getting close to him then Bucky just leaves when it gets hard. He’s just starting to develop his powers, I can’t have anything set him off.” You said quickly.

“Then don’t do it for Bucky. Do it for you. You need the closure for you to finally move on.” Sam said. “No, Sam. Bucky made his choice. I wasn’t enough for him to stay and that won’t change because he has a kid. I still won’t be enough.” You said. 

Sam sighed, not liking your answer but respecting it anyways. No one knew the full extent of what happened between you and Bucky, just that he left. You and him didn’t bother telling everyone why. 

“You know he’s just going to find a way here eventually.” He said. “Let him try. I’ll say the same thing to him that I told you. He made his choice, now he has to live with it.” You said.

Henry came running out of his room with his new toy in hand, practically climbing on Sam to show him.

The little boy was talking the man’s head off about it and you just smiled at him. Henry wasn’t given the easiest life but that never let him dull his sparkle.

When Henry went to go play with said new toy, Sam leaned against the counter.

“You did such a good job with him, Y/N.” He said. “Really?” You asked. “Yes, really. Not only does that kid have the coolest mom in the world, you gave him the best life you knew how.” Sam told you.

Bucky stood outside your door overhearing your conversation with Sam, a pained expression on his face. He wanted to storm into your apartment and tell you that you were more than enough.

He’s wanted to make things right long before he found out about Henry. But you were right. Bucky made his choice and now he had to live with it.

[harrystyleseditsx]

If you need me

SUMMARY: A one shot of where y/n experiences something that reminds her of her traumatic past and Harry’s 5000 miles away

based on the song If you need by julia micheals

WARNING: Angst with fluff :) 

pairing: Harry Styles x uni y/n 

wordcount: 2.3k

A/N: Welcome to my first fic, I needed to write something to get in the flow to write my 2000 word story so here it is :)) ily guys <3 (also would you prefer y/n or an oc, please let me know!!)

Y/N was very happy about how her morning had been going.

She had woken up early, worked out and made her favorite breakfast. She had also gotten herself some flowers to celebrate the fact that she had submitted her 10 page essay early. The only thing that would make her morning better would be face timing harry but she knew it was 1 pm here meaning it would be 9 pm in London where Harry was and he had a concert to perform. She threw on one of Harry’s treat people with kindness hoodies over her sundress as she headed to the library that would often get chilly or she was just always cold as harry often teased her. She smiled as she remembered harry telling she would overheat if she continued to wear zip ups and pile blankets on herself even during summers. 

She had by now almost reached the library when she suddenly bumped into someone causing the other person to drop some of their stuff. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I should have paid more attention-” it felt as if the words were stuck in her throat as she glanced at who she bumped into. 

“Oh hi Y/N” Asher taunted, her ex. She hadn’t seen him since the break up when he told her that he needed space and took off to France only to send her the infamous break up text. And, here he was 6 months later, looking the every bit same. She felt a feeling of anxiety creeping up on her as she started playing with her fingers trying to stop when she saw Asher’s eyes drop to her hands. 

“Are you nervous y/n? Always played with your fingers when you were” he said with a hint of smugness, as he reached his hand forward trying to grasp hers. She immediately pulled back, crossing them against her chest as she took a deep breath. 

“What are you doing here Asher? Aren’t you supposed to be in France?” she snapped at him, her nervousness quickly turning into anger. Asher raised an eyebrow as if surprised at her response. 

“Been keeping tabs on me?” he smirked. “Well forgive me if I wanted to know where my boyfriend, sorry, ex-boyfriend ran off too on our 1 year anniversary” she scoffed.

“Finally grew a backbone y/n?” he drawled looking her up and down. Y/N had never felt the urge to pull someone’s eyeballs out more than she did now. She found herself thinking what she ever saw in this piece of shit. She snapped back to reality as she heard him droning about something.

“..you need me, so I’ll take you back-” he was in interrupted as y/n threw her head back laughing. When she looked at him again, he had an annoyed look on his face. “I need you? Well, I’d like to inform you that you’re wrong again. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. I managed myself when you left and I’m doing so now too. So, you can see yourself out of my life again” she reiterated. Asher now looked furious, he lunged forward and grabbed her by her wrists as she tried to free herself from his grip.

“Is all this attitude because of her famous singer boyfriend? Yes, I know all about him. Is he telling you that you’re beautiful? or that you’re important? because news flash, you’re not y/n. You’re worthless, stupid, ugly and you’ll be nothing without me. You’re a whore” he growled. Y/N felt herself flinch as she heard his words before she composed herself and kicked him in the balls. His grip on her wrists loosened giving her the perfect opportunity to attack. She grabbed him by the back of his neck and jerked it forward, raising her knee and smashed his face against it and then shoved him backwards. She heard Asher yelp in pain as blood gushed out of his. One of his hands was on his dick while other on his nose. She felt a sense of pride and satisfaction rush through her as she looked at him. 

"You bitch, you broke my nose. You'll pay for this" Asher yelled at her. She decided it was best to kick him one more time for good measure and she did, smiling as he groaned in pain. "No, you listen to me. If you ever come near me again or try to hurt me I will fuck up your life and I'll get my famous singer boyfriend to help too" y/n taunted as she turned out to head back to her apartment, she had never been more glad to have her apartment be a 5 minute walk from campus. The whole incident had taken a huge toll on her.

She locked her room as soon as she entered it, leaning against the door as she slowly sank to the floor. She took a deep breath before the sobs broke out. Her entire body was shaking as she wrapped her arms around herself trying to feel as if she wasn't alone in the world. Y/N picked up her phone to send a text to harry but she try made her feel even more shitty. What if he realized she wasn't worth it, what if he had enough of her breakdowns. She pressed her nails into her palm, hitting herself to try to stop herself from feeling too much. She had come so far and now all it took was one interaction for everything to come crumbling down.

//

She didn't know how long she had been sitting like that but her phone rang, she looked at the clock to see it flashing 5 pm. Realizing that it must be harry on the phone, she got up and rushed to the bathroom, quickly washing her face, she laid down on the bed so he could only see half of her face and then accepted his call.

Harry appeared on the screen all smiley and sweaty. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. All she wanted to do was hug him. "Finally picked up, huh? I thought y'were gonna leave me hangin' lovie" he teased her. "I'm sorry, my phone was on silent" she said softly.

Harry realised the change in her demeanor, his smile turning into a frown. "Y'alright honey? Not even showin' me y'pretty face" he said to her. She tried to smile as she moved the camera a bit so he could see more of her face. "I'm just tired H" she whispered. Harry had been moving around, probably trying to find a quieter area. He shut the door behind him as he entered what looked like his dressing room.

"Have y'been cryin' y/n?" he questioned as he saw her red nose and faint traces of year marks on her cheeks. y/n knew there was no point in lying because it was pretty obvious. "Yeah, I didn't do very well in one of the assignments my economics professor had assigned but I'm fine now" she told him adding a smile in the end to make it more believable and maybe Harry would have believed her had he not caught a glimpse of the nasty bruise on wrist as the sleeve of her (his) hoodie slipped down when she was pulled the hood up. Harry was furious and the visible anger on his face made y/n want to curl up.

"What the fuck is that y/n?" he questioned furiously. "What are you talking about? "y/n replied looking genuinely confused. "The fucking bruise on your wrist” harry snapped, by now he had lost all his patience. No one gets to hurt his lovie. 

Y/N was at a loss, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want him to worry about her but she couldn’t come up with anything to say. “Asher came back, he cornered me and when I tried to go, he grabbed my wrists” she mumbled, playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. She dare not glance his way, afraid of his reaction. After a minute of silence, Y/N glanced at her phone only to find the screen to be blank. Had he hung up on her? She stared at the blank screen of her phone in disbelief. She felt as if she was having an out of body experience. Opening her gallery, she started scrolling through the numerous photos and videos of her and harry. It was at this time that she was grateful with her obsession of taking pictures and photos. A few tears escaped her eyes as she realized how much she missed him and how he probably didn’t want to talk to her ever. Was he going to break up with her? Y/N’s heart clenched at that thought, she put on harry’s playlist on her spotify and laid there. 

//

She must have fallen asleep because she woke up to the sound of pots clanging. Her heart sped up, no one besides her and harry had the key to her apartment and harry wouldn’t- 

She threw the blanket covering her aside (which had not been there before) and rushed to the kitchen. And sure enough there he was, her boyfriend, with his back facing her. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes, he came here for her. Harry  turned around to see her standing in the entryway of the kitchen, crying. He reached her in three quick strides, pulling her in a hug. She tightly wrapped her arms around him, fearing he might disappear. Harry pulled back after a few minutes, cupping her face in his hands he gently brushed his thumb over her cheek. 

“Gonna properly tell m’what happened now bubs?” he urged. Unable to say anything at that moment Y/N just nodded. Grabbing her hand, Harry led her to the sofa, grabbing her by the waist and seating her on his lap. He patiently waited her to start talking. For a while Y/n just played with his hair, then she took a deep breath and told him everything that happened. She could feel Harry’s grip tightening on her hips, not to the extent that it was painful, when she told him what Asher had said to her. 

“M’gonna fuckin’ kill him” Harry cursed when she had finished. “I already did some damage” Y/N told him, smirking as she remembered Asher’s face. Harry looked at her questioningly, “I might have kicked him in the balls and broken his nose and added another kick for good measure” she admitted. Harry grinned, “that’s m’girl” he said proudly, pulling her in for a kiss. They sat like that for a while with Harry telling her about tour and she filled him in with other things that she had forgotten when they had their facetime sessions.

Y/N told him that she wanted to report Asher, in case he ever tried to pull shit like this again. Harry not only told her but also showed her how proud he was of her, how brave she’d been and how much he loved her in multiple ways. 

//

The next day they headed to the dean’s office, where Y/N saw two officers sitting outside. Luckily there were several camera’s in the hallway where Asher had cornered Y/N, so by noon, with all the available proof, she’d gotten a restraining order against Asher. If her were to come within a distance of 6ft with her, he’d serve jail time. As they left the dean’s office, Y/N saw Asher standing , she could feel harry tensing up, so when Asher looked Y/N up and down and smirked, Harry lunged forward punching him in his already swollen nose. Asher yelped in pain, he tried to fight Harry back but by now the officers had restrained him, taking him away. 

Back at the apartment, Y/N tended to Harry’s bruised knuckles as she felt a hollowness knowing he’d be leaving soon. By the look on her face, Harry knew what she was thinking about, he took the cotton swab from her hands, placing it on the table before he kissed her. 

“I’ll be back soon, it’s only a matter of two months now and by then you’ll  graduate and I’ll be done with tour and we can  have everyday to ourselves” harry told her, wiggling his eyebrows. She lightly smacked his chest, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “I know, It’s just that sometimes I miss you” she commented. “Only sometimes?” Harry pretended to be offended, “Well a bit more than sometimes” she retorted. “Just a bit more? I miss you so much, it hurts” he admitted. Her shoulders slumped a bit as she pulled him in a hug. “I love you Harry” she whispered and heard him softly whisper I love you too sweetheart. 

That evening Y/n drove him to the airport, they knew they couldn’t outside for long so Harry pulled her in a kiss before he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “Promise me you’ll tell me anything that happens, I don’t care if it’s just a paper cut or not. Just don’t hide things from me, If when you need me I'll be there" he blurted. “I promise” she said firmly, showing him she was serious. She didn’t want him to worry but he’d eventually know something was up and it was better to sort things out. He kissed her again before he went in the airport. She stood there until he was no longer in her sight before she sat in her car and started driving off. 

Her phone chimed, picking it up she saw that Harry had sent her a image. It was a very poorly drawn graphic of a guy lying on the floor with a crooked nose and blood around him that she assumed was Asher and a girl stood over him wearing a superhero cape. He had written, ‘my hero’. She smiled fondly before sending him a picture of her reaction as she increased the volume of her radio and driving off. Soon. 

. 

This is my first time writing a harry fic/blurb. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Also, I’ve turned on the asks (I didn’t know they were off) so you can send in your requests!! Thank you :))

[sukirichi]

earned it [06]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. attempted murder and suicide, angst ig i feel nothing at this point because NAOYA 😭

notes. i’m rolling with the earned it jokes that reader is shippable with everyone so HAH enjoy this chapter because I didn’t enjoy the last LMAO (IM SO EXCITED FOR TOJI TO APPEAR!)

series masterlist

Your muscles throbbed, the pounding of your heart felt even through your skin. You’ve spent hours in the training room, taking punch by punch, landing blow by blow – yet no matter how hard you tried, you kept falling on your ass. At this point, your backside was beyond sore, skin drenched with sweat and clothes sticking uncomfortably to the surface. Meanwhile, your ‘savior’ barely felt the need to catch his breath, instead gazing down at you with disappointment written all over his face.

“Why do you expect so much from me?” you panted, fists clenched on the mat. “Didn’t you tell me you just needed me to get your money back and that’s it? I didn’t ask for you to do anything so stop telling me I’m indebted to you all the time.”

Naoya clicked his tongue, clearly disappointed by your lack of resolve. Above you, he swept up his cane and finally balanced himself. You previously thought he didn’t struggle because he looked so calm and composed, easily overpowering you even with his injury, but his lips were strained, jaw clenched tight that perhaps he was just good at concealing his pain. It made you shut up and watch his every move; his back faced you – probably to hide whatever fleeting moment of vulnerability he had.

“I won’t always be there to save your sorry life,” he said calmly, “You need to learn how to be strong on your own no matter how tough it gets. Now if you’ll keep complaining instead of finishing your training, I could happily lock you up and force you to do my dirty work for me.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead?!”

“I don’t want to,” Naoya responded without missing a beat. He easily closed the distance with a few staggered steps, his head tilted to the side as he surveyed you.

You wondered what went through his mind. Did he see a weak woman? A woman who must be so helpless, so useless that you stayed there, legs too tired and muscles aching too much you couldn’t move? There was no telling with Naoya, and his guarded gaze didn’t help either. Satoru had always been difficult to read at most, but with Naoya – it was practically impossible.

Even as he cupped your chin and twisted it sideways, his eyes narrowed over all your features like he saw something you didn’t, he was too guarded.

“I need you in taking down Gojo Satoru. In order to accomplish that, I have to use his weakness against him. You showing up won’t be enough. No, I want to hurt him…and what better way than to take what was once his, right? Dangle right in front of his eyes what he let go of, make him regret his actions?” his smile turned dark, and for the first time since you’ve met him, you got a glance of what his heart really looked like.

It wasn’t true that Naoya was heartless – no, he just had a dark, sinister heart that didn’t beat the same tune as others. He played his own music with the bones of his enemies, drinking their lifeline from a gold cup and drowning in them, his ominous laughter the perfect antithetical melody of what could’ve been angelic hums.

“Don’t you want that?”

His question made your heart skipped a beat. This whole time, you’ve been so hell bent on achieving something, but what you wanted to reach had never been clear. You were too driven by emotions, by the pain Satoru’s absence had caused, and now that the opportunity was presented before you, you faltered.

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Well, if you ask me what I want…” he tilts your chin up with his finger “It would be to see you strong enough that even you would be capable of taking me down. So be strong, keep fighting – I’ll be there with you every step of the way. You only have one job, and that is to live. I am not allowing you to give up at the slightest of minor inconveniences.”

“And if I get weak?” you questioned with an oscillating tremor, the bite of his cold skin against your heated ones spiking. “If I want to give up? Would I fail you then?”

“I don’t think you’re someone who cares about failing others, so don’t fret whether you’d please me or not,” Just like that, Naoya’s scornful tone had risen again. He let go of you until you dropped down to your palms, blinking back at the sudden change of atmosphere. “Like I said, just do what you need to do, keep going. Don’t look back or be afraid to take the next big step because I’ll always be there right beside you.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not asking you to, princess,” he snickered, already half way to the door that only he was allowed to go in. Even though you’ve been staying in his manor for quite some time, there were still some things Naoya didn’t trust you with, leaving you only more curious to find out the secrets within.

“Only time will tell. But once you’ve made your decision, know that my ring is always waiting beside your table,” his voice echoed through the large room, stopping in his tracks to look at you once more. This time, he had no haunting features, only the cold emptiness likened to staring back to an infinite void of nothingness.

“I expect an answer when I get home.”

You still remembered the day you decided to wear his ring. Naoya had come then, tired and aggravated from matters he didn’t bother explaining. You stood on his doorway, lips shut tight as you nervously fiddled with your ring, unsure if whether you should tell him or allow him to piece the puzzle himself.

Thankfully, Naoya was a lot more observant than you gave him credit for.

His eyes slid over your face before he followed the motion of your fingers, smirking as the jewel glinted under the bright lights of his home. Wise choice, he’d once told you, and you believed it.

Your life hadn’t been the same ever since. Your spontaneous marriage equated to hellish training of perfecting your image as his trophy wife, spending hours in his secret laboratory and discussing business plans through a glass of wine. Naoya wasn’t around much to teach you everything and it pained him to be your own trainer too so you had to ask help from his guards, refusing to give up and fall down even as your muscles screamed at you to take a break. For Naoya, with Naoya, giving up and running away felt like a myth; a buried solution in the past that should never be brought up again. But now that he was gone, you did exactly that.

You’d given up. Satoru had made you run away.

“Miss,” a deep voice cut you from your thoughts. You tore your gaze away from the  glowing night city of Milan to turn to Satoru’s right hand man, the tall figure looming rather shyly instead of imposingly. “You haven’t eaten since we got here. Would you like anything? Mr. Gojo will cover your expenses.”

“I want to go home.”

He froze at your deadpan statement. Finally meeting your gaze under his lashes, Geto pursed his lips. “You know we can’t do that, Miss. It’s unsafe back in Japan.”

“And who’s to say Toji won’t follow us here?” you snapped, pushing your weight off the Cleopatra set and uncrossing your legs. “Why can’t your stupid boss just activate the account and give it back to us? I think we’ve made it clear we’re more than capable of handling our finances, and I’m pretty sure Satoru doesn’t need any more money when he can afford all this.”

“Mr. Gojo…has his reasons for everything he does.”

You laughed bitterly. Maybe it was the fact that Satoru had left this morning for whatever business he had that you didn’t have anyone else to let your anger out to that you’d swiped your gun under your thigh holster and dashed his way.

Geto’s back slammed against the wall, the cool barrel of your gun pressed to his jaw. He swallowed nervously, eyes darting to your weapon, and you laughed heartlessly. “Oh, please, do tell because nothing makes sense,” you crooned, flipping the safety off and letting your heated gaze meet his rather docile ones. You almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“I could easily put a bullet through your head and hijack his plane. I’ll be gone before you know it and who’s to stop me from doing that? Why should I stay here any longer with you?”

“Because your husband asked you to,” Geto responded softly. You stepped back with wide eyes, yesterday’s event crashing all over you once again. He must’ve sensed you no longer held any hostility because he used his pointer finger to move the barrel away from him, gently peeling your hands off his suit. “Because you know, if you go back to Japan, there will be nothing waiting for you there.”

You balled your fists. “I will kill Fushiguro Toji myself. Then I’ll kill Satoru.”

“Even if he used to be your lover?”

“Especially because he used to be my lover.”

Okay…maybe your plan of escaping and returning to Japan hadn’t worked out that well. Exhaustion finally crept up to your senses that you passed out not long after attacking Geto – who reassured you to no end he wasn’t mad you tried to kill him – and days have passed ever since. You hated to admit it, but being stuck in an overseas hotel wasn’t so bad. Geto’s presence was a lot more comforting than his master’s that you didn’t mind having him watch your every move. Plus, he was really nice to immediately follow your every whim. You wanted hot chocolate? Extra pillows? A really expensive wine that you refused to pay for because you were petty and dramatic? He provided it all without question.

Except he probably should have, because you’d stripped off to your underwear, head tipped back to take one final swig of the nearly empty bottle as you slid deeper into the tub.

Your fiery nature of rolling your eyes at Satoru every time he came around (which was rare, for some reason) couldn’t fool anyone – not even yourself. The moment Geto retired to the living room, you would bite the pillows to muffle your cries, thinking back to when Naoya was still alive. It was an endless torment of what if you had stayed, what if you had pushed the rubble off him, what if you just saved him?

Would he still be alive? Would he have survived? Would you be back with him in the Zen’in Estate instead of holding your breath under the tub in a desperate attempt to conceal your tears?

It hurt so bad. It hurt everywhere.

Your lungs begged you to rise up and breathe, but you stayed still under the water, eyes shut tight and hands clenched around the tub’s edges so hard your knuckles turned white. Soon, you grew dizzy and your grip slipped away. Finally, fucking finally, you were falling, falling way too deep that your legs bent inside the tub. Bubbles erupted from your lips in one last breath. At the back of your mind, you let out a sincere laugh for you’d meet your husband soon. He’d be disappointed, probably scold you all the way to the afterlife – until strong arms pulled you out of the tub and into someone’s chest instead.

“Shit, what are you doing?! You could’ve drowned!”

You coughed out water and fisted Satoru’s button-up shirt that had now clung to his skin from the water. Looking around you, you were still very much alive, the uncomfortable twisting of your heart a painful reminder of that. Above you, Satoru sat you in his lap while he remained cross-legged on the floor, muttering curses under his breath as he wrapped a towel around you.

Scoffing, you pushed his hands away, though you kept the towel anyway to lessen your shivering. Why the fuck was the AC so damn strong here?

“Dying seems like a better option, don’t you think?” you snarled at him, teeth chattering from the chill that had begin to seep in.

Momentarily, you worried on how much of a hot mess you probably looked like. Smudged eyeliner, wine-stained lips, unbrushed hair and remnants of the wine mixing with the once clear bath water – you shook your head at the thought and glared at Satoru.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“I was out contacting friends to ask for help. We’re going to need a hundred pairs of eyes watching anywhere that Toji could possibly come through.”

“Is this your pathetic idea of ‘keeping me safe’? Locking me up in this stupid hotel and having your man watch me all the time?” you pushed yourself off him, the sudden motion of standing up giving you wobbly legs. Satoru reached over to steady you but you slapped his hand away, your glare warning him to not take another step.

Seeing his face, seeing him worried as if he didn’t just cause your life to turn into absolute hell, you wanted to grab the wine bottle and smash it right at his pretty face. He had no right to look at you with pity.

You hated him, utterly and terribly despised this man with your entire being.

“What are you really planning, Satoru? Why can’t we just come back home and attack Toji with all we’ve got? Why don’t you just give back our fucking money so we can end all this for once and for all and I can leave?!”

“Because I don’t have the money!”

“What?”

“The money…” Satoru’s back slid off the wall, his palm coming up to thread through his hair. He sounded weak, defeated. “I don’t have it.”

“Gojo,” you snatched him by the collar, teeth bared as you demanded, “What do you mean you don’t have it?”

Satoru paled. “When I stole the money from the Zen’ins, the figures were all fake. They’re not real, there’s no actual money hidden behind their accounts and it was too late before I realized that,” his lips trembled as he continued, “Whatever Toji placed in there, it’s not his actual account where he hides everything and it would make sense too because I stole it too easily – almost as if they wanted me to take it. A few hacks here and there and it was immediately wired to me but after meeting you…” Satoru shook his head, chin dropped down low. “I checked again and the account never existed. It’s a fake one. The digits are just there for show.”

“So then why would Toji want it? Why did my husband have to die for nothing?!”

“I don’t know, okay, I don’t know anything!” he argued back until your faces grew closer, his nose brushing with yours.

Somehow, you couldn’t pull away. His knees had drawn up, forcing you to rest on his thighs as you both breathed heavily, your grip on his collar almost havered.

“Whatever the Zen’ins are hiding, that’s beyond me. I may be in the business for far longer than they have, but they have always been notorious with their possessions that I’m not surprised even I can’t find where it really leads back to. Whatever Toji is hiding there, your husband must’ve known something about it. Why else would they fight tooth and bone over it?”

“If there was, Naoya would’ve told me about it.”

“He would if he trusted you,” Satoru suddenly grabbed your wrist and shook it until you stared at your ring. “How are you even so sure he could trust you with that information? Have you forgotten you’re just a pawn to his game and you’re nothing but a bed warmer?”

“Don’t you ever speak about us that way. You don’t know how much he cared for me.”

“If he really did, then why didn’t he tell you why his cousin is after you? He’s using you as bait, Y/N. I’m not the bad guy here. That man you’re so deeply in love with? I can’t guarantee he’s better than me. We’re all men in the mafia, love is the last thing we would care about.”

You pushed yourself off him.

His words stung too much, not because it was a lie, but because you know there was some sort of truth ringing behind it. You trudged out of the bathroom and sat on the bed, unstirred by the fact you dripped all over the carpeted floor. From behind you, Satoru’s rushed footsteps echoed, but you didn’t care. You simply threw on a robe with your back turned to him.

“And you’d know that better than everyone right? Considering how easy it was for you to leave me?” When Satoru didn’t respond, you chuckled humorlessly and sat on the bed. “What Naoya and I had…it was a friendship that healed my soul. I don’t…I don’t know what to do without him.”

“Friendship?”

You smiled sadly. “I wasn’t actually in love with him, idiot. Men like Naoya don’t know what love is, but he sure does know how to protect family.”

The notion of talking about him, of accepting that maybe he really was gone…somewhat reliving.

Satoru was the last person you wanted to talk to your late husband about, but Geto – which is the much better company – wasn’t around, and you hugged your knees to yourself, refusing to let Satoru see through your vulnerability.

“You know, I trusted him more than I did myself. He was always there for me, no matter what. His soul was dark, angry, corrupted – he’s not the man I would fall for, but despite all that, he was the friend I needed,” you buried your face in your knees, voice muffled as you cried, your heart shattering again and again and again.

The ring on your finger had never felt so heavy ever since you wore it.

“I loved him as much as I hated you.”

Satoru was silent, so much so that you wondered if he was even in the same room at all. You sat there crying, too hopeless to even try to conceal it anymore. Shivering, you close your eyes and forced the image of Naoya’s last moments away from your memories, desperately praying to whoever had mercy that you could just forget all about it.

“Geto told me you tried to kill him,” Satoru murmured after a beat, “You could’ve easily escaped and went back to Japan if you wanted to, so why didn’t you? Was it because of me?”

You remembered what you tried to do today.

Just like that, Naoya was alive once more. You were brought back to the day of your wedding when he’d clasped your sweaty, clammy hands in his, rubbing some warmth in them before pressing a kiss at the top of your knuckles. He’d asked you to promise him something then – an entire contrast from his constants orders over your well-being – and it was a promise you’d momentarily forgotten; a promise you’d broken out of mourning.

“Naoya once told me,” you reminisced through dry, cracked lips and even more shattered heart, the picture of his disappointment as clear as day. “Death was the only place he can go where he would never allow me to follow.”

It took a lot, but it somehow got better. After allowing yourself a faint moment of weakness where Naoya resurfaced in your mind to remind you of our promise and your purpose, you felt stronger, somewhat steadier with each step you took. You were still wary around Satoru, although that was a given.

His friend, Geto, was really nice, on the other hand, and you couldn’t explain why you always lowered your guard around the formal dark-haired assistant.

You and Geto were playing chess when Satoru barged in out of nowhere, a plate and a syrup condenser on his hand. “So I got you breakfast,” was his greeting, nodding at Geto once as a silent order to give you two privacy. You pouted as the latter left, but soon your attention had been diverted to the heavenly aroma filling in your senses. Seeing your approval, Satoru hid a smile behind his dark sunglasses. “Still like pancakes?”

“Trying to get into my good graces now?”

“I’m just trying to cheer you up.”

You rolled your eyes but snatched the plate from him anyway. “So I talked to my lawyer,” you begun, pouring syrup all over the fluffy bread until it was almost spilling to the sides. Beside you, Satoru’s snickers were barely muffled, to which you ignored wholeheartedly. “They’ve already processed my inheritance over Naoya’s possessions and assets. Once we return to Japan, I’ll be the next leader of the Zen’in Clan, much to the disappointment of his elders, of course, but they can’t do anything about it,” you informed him with your fork hanging in mid-air, the words falling thickly. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

“That we’re back to being enemies?”

You offered him a sarcastic smile. “Naoya lied about strengthening his alliance with your family. He doesn’t actually give a fuck about you.”

“I figured that much,” he snickered to himself, shifting his weight until his elbows rested on his thighs. “Listen…a friend of mine is flying to Milan tonight to meet us. They have strong connections with banks all over the world and they brought in some information about that hidden Zen’in account. I think we’re finally getting off to somewhere and finding out what really is in there,” Satoru gauged for your reaction, but you kept eating – more like stuffing the pancakes inside your mouth for you were finally free of having to act perfect without your husband.

Satoru’s hand landed on top of yours. “I promise…I’ll give it back to right where it belongs. As soon as it’s wired back to you, I’m setting you free.”

You stared at the unwanted figure over you, and you snatched your hand back, waving a bread knife below his lashes. “You can’t set me free when I was never yours,” you sang breathily, the tip of the blade hovered right at his lips. Satoru raised a brow at you, but you quickly retrieved the knife back with widened eyes. “Now that you mention it…I think Naoya told me something about his family stashing secret weapons and even heirlooms through offshore accounts and buried under islands. He was a little sleepy during that time but I remember it,” pushing the plate away from you as you lost your appetite, you clutched your palms under your chin in thought. “He said he was looking for something he lost as a child, possibly an heirloom.”

“He’s doing all this for heirlooms?” Satoru immediately coughed his words back when you glared at him, raising his hands in surrender. “I mean, I was just saying. I didn’t think he was a sentimental type of guy.”

“The question here is what both Toji and Naoya could’ve both wanted from that account. It’s not just an heirloom, obviously there’s something there worth more than money,” You argued and slapped your knees, heading straight to your (unfortunately) shared room. “Whatever. I’ll get this over with as soon as I get the money back.”

Satoru, as always, was hot on your heels. It annoyed you how he trailed over you like some sort of puppy or shadow – Naoya had always been too classy to not give you space.

The difference between them just kept getting more and more uncannily obvious.

“Whoa there, stop. Did you really think I’d give back the money to you and that’s it? Are you forgetting the fact Toji is out there to kill you just so he can have his hands on it?”

“He can have the money for all I fucking care,” you shrugged and sat on your bed, scrolling through numerous piles of emails and records that Naoya entrusted you to keep. Surely you could find something. “I just need to find whatever Naoya’s spent his whole life killing for.”

“Why don’t you care about the money? Didn’t Naoya expect you to take over his business?”

Your thumb froze over a file. Suddenly, your throat grew dry, and you quickly flashed Satoru a stinky eye. “I-it’s not my main concern.”

“It’s not safe for you. If Toji finds out—”

Got it. You bookmarked an email Naoya had forwarded you around three years ago and resent it to an old friend, pocketing the phone back to your pyjamas before Satoru could see. “I’ll handle it. I’ve been doing well so far before you came into our lives again,” you finalized, stopping for a bit as you waited for that all-too familiar footfall matching with yours, only for the room to be coated in silence.

Satoru stood there on the other side of the room, eyes deep in thought before he sighed. “I’ll meet you at the hotel restaurant tonight. We have a lot to discuss on what our next move should be,” nodding once, Satoru left the room.

The hotel room was eerily silent.

Dinner came around faster than you expected. With Geto out to run some errands for Satoru, something about ‘establishing bases’ or whatever, you were locked in your room, using Naoya’s black card to get enough amount of clothing to last you for your stay here. Even though Satoru had promised he’d take care of everything, you didn’t want to be in his debt for any longer. You weren’t his, you were Naoya’s, and you shot down his curious looks when heaps of shopping bags had been delivered to your door.

An hour later, you left the room, struggling to zipper the back of your dress. Satoru was already in the living room buttoning up his suit jacket, just as handsome as ever (though you’d never tell him that.)

His hands froze in the last button once his eyes landed on you, and you huffed at him, too distressed to even act cute or bothered while pointing to your dress. Satoru strode to you in three long steps, his cold fingers brushing against the dip of your spine when he clutched on the zipper.

You had to bite your lip down to prevent the shivers from spilling through, his lips dangerously close to your ear as he whispered, “You look great.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

If Satoru was bothered by the lack of sincerity in your voice, he didn’t comment on it. He removed his hands from you and watched as you slipped black velvet gloves through your arms – just in case you had to end up killing someone; leaving fingerprints was a risk you couldn’t take.

“Did you really get dressed to kill?”

“I came here to negotiate,” you corrected, “I’ll do everything I can to find out whatever’s behind that offshore account. And you, sir,” Frowning at him, you pulled Satoru closer by the tie, perhaps a little too harshly since he nearly knocked his head with yours. He was quick to steady himself as you fixed his tie, flattening it down with your fingers. “You need to know where you should stick your nose in. This is more my business than yours so don’t get in my way acting all hero and shit. I assure you I can handle myself.”

“You’re really going to berate me for worrying about you?”

“You can no longer worry about me,” you disclosed, snatching your black purse from the counter before doing the come hither motion at his shock-still figure. “Now let’s go. We have a case to crack.”

“Case to crack? You sure sound like a detective.”

You snickered, but made no further comment. The elevators dinged and you arrived at the restaurant, which you really regretted not visiting soon enough because the place was grand. Red carpeted floors, golden chandeliers, soft jazz music playing in the background as the lights dimmed down low, the faint clinking of utensils against plates and light chatter of the guests so heartbreakingly nostalgic.

It seemed that even after his death, Naoya had every intention to never leave your side. The setting reminded you too much of your never-ending late night fancy dinners.

Naoya being Naoya, he didn’t blink twice in flaunting his money and renting out entire restaurants all for himself, claiming that he just ‘wanted to have an intimate moment with his wife.’ Sure, it mostly consisted of you discussing what move you should make next, but it was the most affectionate gesture you’ve received after spending years in the quiet and cold environment of the Zen’in Estate.

The outside world wasn’t any better when you and Naoya were marked as targets by the entire government, so it made sense, that only with him that you’d find comfort in.

You must be so out of it you never even noticed Satoru leading you to your seat, a warm meal that should’ve been comforting right under your nose. It was too much – too similar that you headed straight for the wine, ignoring Satoru’s questioning gaze. You noticed from the corner of his eye that he opened his mouth too many times in an attempt to make light conversation, but this dinner wasn’t for you to rekindle your old flame.

No, you were here to wait for his ‘friend’ and review important matters. You were determined to fulfill that purpose alone and only that alone that you never once made eye contact with him, even standing up to reach the salt shaker near him instead of asking him to pass it.

Just as you leaned back to your seat, the music grew louder. A foreign man walked to the stage where he was basked in the spotlight, all heads turning to him when he tapped the microphone, sending little echoes all over the hall. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s loosen up tonight with a drink and bring our lovers out here on the dance floor,” he sang while swaying side to side, snapping his fingers to the beat that had turned into calming to sensual. “It is a fine evening, isn’t it? Come on, don’t be shy, the night is still so young!”

You dropped your fork beside the plate. “Did you know about this?”

“I swear, I had no idea.”

“Those two attractive lovers in table 42, the dance floor is still much too spacious!”

“Pretty vulgar for a five star hotel,” you commented under your breath and dabbed the pasta sauce off your lips with a napkin, slapping it down the table as you stood up – much to Satoru’s surprise who’d tried to make himself invisible from the host’s eyes. Stupid him; did he really think he could blend in with his sunglasses and snow white hair?

If you were to be honest, you’d rather choke on shrimp than dance with him, but you had an image to upkeep. If you couldn’t gather with the crowd and pretend to be one with others, both your true natures would be fished out even with innocent eyes. You were left with no choice but to be comfortable in the dance floor, sighing deeply as you placed your hands down on Satoru’s wide shoulders. He furrowed his brows at you but said nothing else; strong, cautious hands sliding down from your back before they settled at the curve of your hips.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mister. I won’t hesitate to stab a fork through your jugular right here.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know you’re not my little angel anymore.”

Angel. It was what he used to call you back then – when you were still but an innocent, naïve being who never believed in monsters until you fell for one.

He was right; you were no longer his angel. The woman he loved had been left abandoned in the street, the purity of her soul tainted with anger and heartbreak that soon bathed in blood and the need for revenge. His angel was no more – the woman he danced with was nothing but a replica of the face and body he adored the most. Now, you danced with him, not as his angel and neither as his rival’s wife, but simply as a woman whose kindness had long vanished into thin air.

Satoru danced with the devil.

And he should be disgusted just as you should be repulsed with how sickeningly smooth and graceful he was in everything he did, but the wine – yes, it was the fucking wine – messed with you that you actually enjoyed it. Your bodies moved in rhythm and syncopated with the beat, the romantic high notes of the violin and the tender embrace of deep trebles like a classical painting coming to life and you were its subjects to be expressed.

Perhaps…you were just sad. You grieved and mourned too much you’d momentarily forgot what love was, in turn making you forget what it felt like to be constantly unsafe and peeking over your shoulder in case someone tried to kill you.

Satoru just felt so warm, so safe and alive that you found your head dipping lower, your muscles relaxing around his soothing and undeniably tender touch, the space between your bodies diminishing until you surrendered to the power of your desire. You were so close, your ear about to press on his chest to listen to the blissful sound of someone’s reassuring heartbeat along with the music, and then you saw him.

A tuft of blonde hair, a chiseled face, a nude cream suit and a deep blue shirt beneath – what the fuck was he doing here?

The spell was broken in an instant.

Satoru must’ve been under the same trance for his hand trailed lower to pull you closer, your chests grazing with one another before you placed your palm flat on his body, lips thinned into a grim look that resonated with the sick, twisting feeling in your guts.

“I,” you croaked out, clearing your throat when it went dry. “I need to go to the ladies.”

You left Satoru without another word, bunching your dress up to run to where he had disappeared. He was still walking coolly and inspecting the paintings hung in the empty lobby with faux interest – although knowing him, the bastard probably did enjoy classical pieces and studied about them in his free time; which he didn’t have much to begin with.

As if sensing your presence, he stopped right in front of a replica of The Sleeping Venus, his hands dug deep in his pockets. “The shape of being is the visual demonstration of a state of being in which idealized existence is suspended in immutable slow-breathing harmony. All the sensuality has been distilled off from this sensuous presence, and all incitement; Venus denotes not the act of love but the recollection of it. The perfect embodiment of Giorgione’s dream, she dreams his dream herself,” he narrates in his baritone voice, “A little cordial, is it not?”

You took your gun out from your thigh holster and lowered it right at the back of his skull. “Don’t move another inch.”

“No need to be so hostile in a public setting, Y/N. I’m only here to look out for you and making sure you’re not forgetting who you are. Killing me isn’t part of the plan.”

“Neither was murdering my husband,” you growled, pushing the barrel harder against him, though the man didn’t budge before you. “I know that it wasn’t Toji who set off the bomb, Kento, you did.”

“We simply saw an opportunity that couldn’t be wasted. Two notorious mafia leaders in an unsuspecting supposed safe environment?” The fact he didn’t even deny it left you speechless. Kento spun around until your gun rested between his eyes, and he languidly pushed his glasses up his high nose as he looked down on you. “We could’ve killed two birds with one stone had you not been in the way.”

“You guys are out to kill me too now?”

“Don’t act too surprised. The Organization isn’t patient enough to wait for both leaders to die.”

“So you killed my husband?!” you argued, “He was my friend, I told you not to touch him!”

“Only in the exchange that you hand him to us,” Kento echoed, jogging your memory until you were kept up to date. “But it’s been five years and what has happened so far? You’re fraternizing with the enemy and even manufacturing drugs for your so-called husband. Now that he’s dead, you’re here in Italy, looking as stunning as ever as you wine and dine with a former lover,” Kento tilted his head to the side to study your appearance – smiling at how you seemed too bright and fashionable for a woman in supposed mourning.

“I hardly believe you’re actually affected by this at all.”

“How dare you! I’ve proven to no end my loyalty of the higher-ups!”

Kento didn’t bat an eye at your outburst. If anything, he stepped closer to your weapon. “Kill me if you wish, Y/N, but know the moment you put a bullet in my head, the Organization will place you on the same pedestal as Naoya’s and Gojo’s. I wouldn’t recommend such methods considering we’re already at unease on whose side you’re really on. If you do this, you will be our enemy.”

“I did everything for the Organization. What else would you want from me?”

“The contract was easy. We want both leaders – whether dead or alive – in our custody. If you don’t hold your side of the deal, it’s not only your life that we’ll take from you,” Kento pulled out a red coin that made your heart sink deep into your stomach for it served as a threat over the consequences of your actions.

He lowered your gun with the coin and smirked at you, his lips right beside the shell of your ear as he purred, “I suggest you be careful with what step of action you take next.”

“Oi, Nanami, you’re here!” Satoru’s voice suddenly boomed in the hallway. Nanami was as unbothered as ever from taking a step away from you, nodding to your gun which you quickly concealed right before Satoru arrived. You were frozen – rendered immobile with the flashing red metal from his palm – that you couldn’t even protest against Satoru wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I see you’ve met Mrs. Zen’in already.”

“Hmm, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam,” taking your hand in his, Kento’s eyes were nothing but eerie as he kissed your knuckles. “Shall we start our discussion?”

SUKI RANTS! Nanami quoted Sydney Joseph Friedberg (an art critic) in one of his dialogues. A little backstory on the painting was that the portrait was originally made by Giorgone, who had a student and also his lover (if I’m not mistaken) called Titian. Giorgone never finished the portrait because he died from the plague but Titiane finished it for him, symbolizing that Y/N still has a mission that connected her from Naoya even after his death and she has to finish something he started. The portrait is of a nude woman that symbolized oneness of nature and that the woman isn’t posed for the gaze of men, but rather they are dreaming, hence the quote: “Venus denotes not the act of love but the recollection of it. The perfect embodiment of Giorgione’s dream, she dreams his dream herself.” Nanami said the painting’s meaning resonated with Y/N’s situation too much since she wasn’t in love with Naoya, but she had a recollection of their moments that still represented their relationship, and that Naoya’s dream (goals) are also shared by Reader. I was gonna ask you guys what your theories are on that scene but I think this makes me sound cooler if I explain it so *lip bite emoji because I’m still broken over Naoya’s death*

taglist open (lmk if you want to be added/removed):

@sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @asshxcm @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap @yumeneji @dora-the-grownup @jotazinha @themrsgojo @d34r-s4t4n @marai-t @toji-bee @hai-cool @badsadbby @stesphy @peach-buns-unicorns @misslezah @gracefullyfallinglikeanime @iwaplant​ @mikiminaccch​ @riri-marley​ | bolded users cannot be tagged

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

calculated ii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You pride yourself in being cool, calm, and collected... and then Jeon Jungkook knocks you down a peg. Well, you’re still the head Calculus I TA. The noona. The responsible one. The one who would definitely not misunderstand a situation and then end up fucking in a stairwell... right?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, nipple play, tit slapping, fingering, wall fucking, dirty talk); jealousy; fluff; non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft instigator Jimin again, lol

--

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

-

You weren't a jealous person by nature. 

Mostly because you had no tolerance for lying, dishonesty, or deceit. In the off chance an ex cheated on you, you dropped them like hot coal and moved on, easily, without so much as a text. Was that the best way to end a relationship? Definitely not, but you did it anyway. 

It got you a notorious reputation, to say the least. 

So, why, as you're collecting the latest Calculus I exam and students are rushing down the steps to run to their next class, were you absolutely fuming as you spy Jeon Jungkook, tongue between his teeth, talking to a girl who looked like she was going to pass out from arousal by being in his vicinity? Why was your blood boiling, knuckles turning white as you clutch the obscenely thick stack of paper, your only thought being, I'm going to fail this fucking punk ass bitch, just you fucking wait–

"Do you need help?"

You turned your head sharply, missing Jungkook's teasing gaze as Kim Namjoon held his hands out, giving you a sheepish smile. Namjoon was the head Calculus III TA, but he was helping out today since the other Calculus I TAs couldn't make it. 

"No."

Namjoon's smile faltered. 

"Last time I let you carry these, you dropped them all."

Namjoon laughed sheepishly. "Ahahaha, yeah that did happen, huh?"

You felt bad for snapping at him. It wasn't Namjoon's fault Jungkook was an asshole. It was not Namjoon's fault Jungkook was looking like a goddamn meal in his untucked black dress shirt, ripped black jeans and heavy black boots, his long dark hair half-pinned back with a wispy curtain of black partly obscuring the right side of his face. Not that you cared. At all. You two fucked one time. One, very hot, very intense, very wild time during Calculus I office hours in this very math department building, a few floors above, just last week.

Did you have dreams about it?

...

You shook your head roughly, breaking out of your thoughts. "Come on. Let's go get some coffee. I'll buy," you said, softening your tone this time, grabbing your bag as you hoisted the stack with one arm. You began to walk out, Namjoon following you with his extra-thick backpack.

"I can help you grade. I have some time before my next class."

You laughed. "You, Kim Namjoon, double Literature and Music major and head TA for Calculus III and Physics II, have time?" you teased, seeing his ears turn red. 

He chuckled awkwardly as you two made your way to the vending machines. "Okay, I don't have the most time, maybe an hour, but there's a key, right? I'd like to help," he added cheerfully. "Since you're carrying it all."

You smiled and stopped in front of the vending machine, struggling to grab your wallet from the back pocket of your black skinny jeans. Your hands kept getting caught in the long sleeves of your cream sweater. You frowned, trying to balance everything. 

"Need help?" Namjoon asked, seeing your brows furrow. He reached for the stack of exams, but you pulled them away from his grasp. 

"No, no, I just can't get my wallet. It's in my back pocket."

"... Uh, I could pa–"

"Namjoon, it's an ass. Just take it out. I won't call the police."

He gave you a hesitant look, but you jerked your head impatiently.

"Fucking do it. You're making it weirder," you muttered.

He shrugged and yanked your black bifold wallet out of your back pocket. 

"Whatchu want?" You looked into the lit-up shelves, scanning. "Get me a green tea."

Namjoon opened your wallet to grab some bills. He raised his eyebrows. 

"I use the same brand myself."

"What?"

You turned your head to see him snickering, pointing to the condom in your wallet. You rolled your eyes at his immature reaction. 

"People get laid; get over it," you remarked coolly, but you were smiling anyway because Namjoon had cute dimples that made you laugh too.

He fed some money into the machine. "You should change it out every once in a while, though. Body heat can cause the latex to break down over time."

"I put it in there last week," you said absentmindedly, watching the green tea and the hot coffee Namjoon ordered plunk down. He raised his eyebrows again, but you gave him a pointed look and turned around, presenting your jean-covered butt.

"Put it back."

"What if I need a condom? Can I have it?" Namjoon sniggered.

"Put it back before I kick your ass," you shot back, turning your head to glare at him. A blur of black rushed past in your peripheral vision. Your eyes flickered to the direction of the movement at the same time Namjoon jammed your wallet in your pocket.

You turned back around, cocking your head into the direction of the offices. Namjoon carried the drinks, laughing behind you. 

"That would have been weird if anyone was around," he remarked to the deserted hallway. 

You shrugged. "Who hangs around the math department besides nerds like you and me?" you muttered, somewhat bitterly.

"Touché."

-

"You said you needed a ride," you muttered, watching Park Jimin stretch his legs out. It was already completely dark outside. Jimin always practiced such long hours that you often wondered if he slept. Did he even know what sleep was? The fine arts building was empty besides you two. 

"I do!" Jimin protested, going into a split that made your own crotch hurt, at least mentally. "But I have to cool down first. It's important!"

You sighed and slid down to the floor as Jimin did his routine. He hummed along as you stared at the bright lights on the ceiling. Your backpack was in the car. You played with the pink bunny keychain on your keys as you waited. 

"How did Jungkook go?" Jimin teased, tone playful.

You scowled in response.

"Ouch, that bad huh?" Jimin's head popped into your vision as he bent over backwards. "Does he have a bent dick or something?"

You rolled your eyes. "He's fine," you mumbled. "Just an asshole."

Jimin sat down, placing the soles of his feet together and pressing on his knees. They went all the way to the floor. You winced as you watched, but he seemed fine. 

"What'd he do?" 

You twisted your mouth to one side. "Doesn't matter. Don't care."

Jimin looked up. He gave you that look mothers give their children when they know they're lying. You relented, grumbling.

"Flirting around right in front of my face."

Jimin blinked at you. "I thought you guys were just fucking?"

You looked away to the mirror of the dance studio. "... We are just fucking. Did, rather."

"Are you jealous?" Jimin gasped in disbelief, scooting over to you gleefully, forgetting about his cool down. "You are!"

"I am not, Jimin. Shut up."

Jimin giggled. "Wow, one fuck and you're in lo–"

You spun around sharply and clapped a hand over his mouth, glaring at him. Jimin's eyes widened at your sudden reaction, blinking at you. You climbed to your knees, towering over him.

"Shut up, Jimin."

"The fuck is going on?"

The clear, silvery voice thundered across the dance studio practice room. You froze, whipping your head around to see Jungkook, in all-black, his pretty features twisted in rage, glaring at you and Jimin on the hardwood floor.

Fight? 

Or flight?

You scrambled to your feet and ran. Straight up bolted, right past Jungkook, not hearing him shout at Jimin, completely forgetting you were supposed to take him home.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Jungkook roared, advancing, shoulders shaking. 

"Nothing," Jimin snapped, getting to his feet. "Just like you, apparently. Look how fucking fast she ran from you!"

Jungkook grabbed Jimin's collar, shaking him forcefully. "The fuck are you talking about?" he growled, nearly spitting in Jimin's face. "She doesn't even like me, you idiot."

"You're the idiot," Jimin spat back, shoving him hard in the chest. "She literally just admitted to liking you right in front of me!"

Jungkook froze. "W-what?"

"She just now told me she was jealous because you were chatting up other girls," Jimin hissed, looking at him disdainfully. "I would have never helped you if you were going to treat her like a piece of meat."

Jungkook's face fell, anger crumbling into sudden comprehension. "I-I didn't..."

He turned away from Jimin, dropping his car keys as he chased after you, steps much faster and lighter than your erratic stumbling though the fine arts building, nearly tripping on the stairs. You were running so fast that you were making yourself winded, chest so tight you couldn't even breathe. 

Jimin sighed and picked up the fallen car keys. 

Jungkook jumped over the stair rail, making you recoil and spin around, running back up the stairs. He took them two at a time, slamming a hand against the wall to cut you off. You turned the other way and he stopped you there too, so you ducked under, trying to run. His strong arms grabbed you by the waist and dragged you back, struggling for dear life, hands clawing at the air. 

"Stop, stop," Jungkook was panting, but you started squirming against him instead, flattening your torso to try to slide out. He forcefully grabbed your shoulders and shoved you into the wall. You hissed in pain, seeing stars from your lack of oxygen and panic. He held you there, wheezing, grip so strong it almost hurt, as if he was afraid you would run away again. 

You felt wetness on your face. You started, touching your cheek. Tears blurred your vision. Jungkook lifted his head, his long black hair tousled and wild from chasing you and, even now, he was handsome. Even now, he made your heart stop. 

And then you realized that he, too, was crying. 

"J-Jimin..." Jungkook gasped. "Asked me to d-drive him home..."

You sobbed, trying to blink your tears away. "M-me too..."

Jungkook chuckled wetly despite the situation. 

"Hah... that bastard..."

You tried to twist away, but Jungkook pushed you into the wall with his chest. 

"D-don't..."

And now you were really crying now, so pathetic, so dumb, so stupid you wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, hide your face and your feelings and pretend they didn't exist. 

"Don't..." 

Jungkook's deep voice vibrated your torso as you furiously wiped your face with the sleeves of your cream sweater, stuffing your eyes with the fluffy material, trying to press them away.

"Don't cry, noona... I can't take it..."

And then he was kissing you, soft kisses on your tears, dripping his own onto your cheeks, and then your lips were on his, so full, so nice, so right, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. Everything way too fucking wet, but it didn't matter because his tongue was against yours and you were sucking on it, shivering, whimpering his name, trying not to be pitiful, but what were you supposed to do when he made you feel this way, like you wanted to die in his arms right now? 

He whispered your name too, so softly, so desperately that you thought it was just a dream, but he had you against the wall, hands sliding up your sweater, onto your skin, so warm, stroking it and pressing his fingers into your waist, so familiar, teeth nipping at your lower lip.

"J-Jungkook..." you choked out. "We're in the middle of the stairway in the fucking f-fine arts building..."

"Don't care," he murmured, unhooking your bra, his dark hair brushing against your face. You gasped as his palms covered your already hard nipples, his moan against your lips. "Have to remind you you're mine."

He kissed your face again, massaging your breasts, resting his cheek against yours, letting you feel his smile. You closed your eyes, trying to even your breathing.

"Hah... I'm so ugly right now," you mumbled, cursing your weakness, frustrated that only a single meeting with Jeon Jungkook could turn you into this. You didn't believe in stars aligning or any of that romantic bullshit. But the instant Jeon Jungkook pressed his body against yours, you fucking knew. You absolutely knew there was no other body for you, no other body you wanted to dream about, no other person you wanted to touch, no one else you wanted but Jeon Jungkook to force you to your knees and make you look at him, pulling on your nipples, whines leaving your throat as he yanked on them, your own hands pushing your sweater and bra up so he could stare at your body and watch how he ruined you, turning your nipples pink with abuse.

Were you crazy? Probably. 

Jungkook spread his legs, leaning down, dark hair half-obscuring his face, lips parting.

"So beautiful, noona..." he breathed, swallowing hard. "You're the only one for me."

You scoffed at his words, hastily wiping your eyes. He pulled at your nipples hard, twisting them and making you yelp in pain. 

"Look at me when I speak to you," Jungkook commanded, raw and deep. Voice strained from crying, but his eyes remained dark, flint-like, shaded by his long hair. His eyes traveled down your body, to your knees against the floor, to your nipples straining in his fingertips, to your shaking hands holding up your sweater, to your face, your icy glare rippling through your drying tears. He drew in a long breath, making you wait for him. 

"There is no one else," he growled firmly above you, staring into your eyes, right at your soul. "Absolutely no one. I don't care if they're ripping off their clothes and throwing themselves at me, I will always pick you over them. I will always want you over them. I will always, always desire you under me above all others."

You chuckled darkly, feeling his grip tighten. 

"We fucked once, Jungkook. Once," you muttered bitterly. He pinched your nipples sharply and you sucked in a breath, wetness pooling in your panties. 

"Once is enough," he replied firmly. "Once is enough to know there is no other human being on Earth for me."

Maybe you were both crazy. 

He yanked your nipples harder this time. Your body jerked in pain, pressing your thighs together to get some relief. 

"Get up."

You got up shakily, with his gentle pulls in your nipples, wincing. Jungkook removed his hands and you sighed in relief, only to be silenced as he pushed up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, breathless as you saw his shapely forearms, the right covered in tattoos. He pressed his right forearm against your collarbone and you released your sweater as he held it up.

"Hands on the arm."

You placed your hands on his forearm, one on his wrist and the other just under his elbow. 

"Look at me."

Your eyes flickered up at him. Part of his hair covered his right eye. The rest of his forehead was exposed, brows furrowed, brown eyes intensely on you. His chiseled jaw clenched, lips so pink and pretty you wanted them on you. Your chest was completely exposed, your red nipples hard and poking out in the cold air. 

Then he slapped your tits with his own palm. 

You gasped sharply, skin stinging, nails digging into his skin. The sound rang in the empty staircase. Your knees shook, panties wetter than before. 

"Who is he?"

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. Your nipples prickled with pain but all you could think about was wanting more. "Who?" you croaked.

He smacked you again, right on the other nipple, and you bit your tongue, head pushing into the wall behind you, hissing. Fuck. He wasn't hitting you very hard, but he had a huge palm, expanding the surface area of the sting.

"The guy who touched your ass without my permission," Jungkook snarled, flicking your nipple hard. 

Your eyelids fluttered, knees buckling. Fuck. So good. You clutched into Jungkook's arm, panting. His arm was like iron, unmoving. 

"Namjoon?" you replied, confused. "H-he was just getting my wallet."

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. Then he raised an eyebrow and his hand, slowly spanking your tits, making sure to hit your swollen, aching nipples each time, getting you wetter and wetter with each slap. 

"He wants to fuck you," Jungkook hissed into your face. 

You were moaning far too loud, rubbing your knees together, your soaked panties bunching up in your jeans as Jungkook continued, his nails gazing your flesh, leaving red marks and pink skin in his wake. 

"B-but I don't want to fuck h-him..." you managed to get out in between your moans.

Jungkook pressed his palm flat against one of your breasts and rubbed hard. Your eyes rolled back in your head, nipple throbbing with pain as he forced it around and around. 

"Really?" he sneered, putting his face close to yours as he released your breast and moved to the other, placing his nail on it, scratching lightly. Your hips bucked and a desperate whimper fell from your lips. "Who do you want to fuck then?"

Your eyes locked with his, his impossibly dark, reigning eyes. 

"Only you."

He pinched your nipple, hard. You wailed, almost falling, but he held you firm. 

"Say my name."

So deep. So in control. 

"Only you, Jungkook."

He dropped his right arm and roughly pinched both your nipples, silencing your scream with a suffocating kiss, his clothed chest ramming into your torso. You groaned into his mouth as the rough fabric of his dress shirt touched your sensitive nipples, whimpering as he removed his hands to hold yours. Held them tight as he shoved his tongue into your mouth, thrusting into it, fucking it as if it was his cock. You took it all, fingers intertwining with his, whole body shivering. 

He pulled your hands up to his chest, breaking apart for a second. 

"Take it off," he panted impatiently. "Need your skin on mine."

You fumbled with the tiny buttons, far too small with how hazy your head was right now. You were rapidly losing your temper, finally just shoving your fingers into the placket and ripping it apart, causing the black buttons to fling everywhere. You pushed the sides of the dress shirt aside, sucking in a breath seeing his toned chest and abs, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him to you, pressing his hot skin against yours, moaning as your abused nipples touched his chest. Jungkook was chuckling, looking at the fallen buttons.

“Are you going to pick those up later?” he asked, amused.

“No,” you snapped.

“Someone will know.”

“You obviously don’t care.”

Jungkook laughed, rumbling and sexy and so very wonderful. “I most certainly do not.”

He let you press your cheek against his collarbones, hands splayed on his back. Tracing his muscles, chest heaving from too many emotions and too much running. You ran your nails down his back. His breathing hitched and he placed a large hand on your head.

“Were you jealous?” he purred, petting your hair. “Because I was talking to that girl after class? Is that why you ran off with that Namjoon guy? To make me jealous too?”

“No,” was your haughty, tight reply.

He hummed. “Really?”

His hand slid down, down your shoulder and to your bare skin. He dug his nails into the small of your back, raking them up. You whimpered, clinging to him tighter. His head dipped low against your ear, voice dropping several octaves.

“Because I was very, very jealous,” Jungkook growled, teeth snapping, every word rousing your lust. “All I could think about all day was how to punish you. My beautiful, slutty noona.”

You sunk your nails into his back, snarling right back.

“It’s your own fault for being so fucking hot that every single person who encounters you has a full-blown orgasm every time they see you, you punk ass bitch.”

You didn’t have to see his face to know he was grinning. “You didn’t. You told me to leave.”

“You didn’t know what was going on in my pants,” you shot back.

“I found out, didn’t I?”

Was it possible to want to choke someone while also wanting to be choked by them? Because that’s how you felt right now, listening to Jeon Jungkook’s stupid, sexy, smug voice in your ear.

“Shut up.”

You felt Jungkook’s body stiffen. Slowly, slowly, he backed up, out of your grasp, his hands leaving your back. You frowned, narrowing your eyes. There was a darkness in his, glaring down at you through his lashes. His lips were slightly parted, no longer smiling. You didn’t waver. His hand came up and took your chin, grip tightening into your cheeks until it was uncomfortable, tipping your head back into the wall. Lips hovering over yours, so close that he could kiss you, but he wasn’t doing it.

“Okay.”

The affirmation made your blood run cold with his unforgiving tone. He placed his lips on yours, but instead of kissing you, he breathed into your mouth, a hot, erotic stream right into the back of your throat, forcing yours back, making you inhale him. You moaned softly, but he retreated just as fast, hooking one arm around you, arching your back forcefully.

“J-Jungkook, what–”

Then he latched his lips onto one of your nipples, flicking it with his tongue, his hand around you rubbing the other as the other gripped the button of your jeans, popping it open. You cried out, hitting your head on the wall, bruising yourself as he yanked the zipper down, shoving his hand under your panties into your tight-jeans. Your nipples for far too sensitive to take more pain and yet Jungkook gave it to you, sucking and rubbing them simultaneously as he shoved one, two fingers into your slopping wet pussy, your moans echoing in the stairway as you stared up, head throbbing. Shocks of pain and pleasure traveled throughout your body, and still he shoved a third finger into you. Your body jerked, trying to spread your legs to accommodate him but your jeans were too tight and he was fucking you too hard, each thrust raising you to your tiptoes. He didn’t even have to stimulate your nipples anymore – they were just rubbing against his teeth and hand by the sheer force of him fingering you.

“A-ah, J-Jungkook, please…” you groaned, grinding into his hand, biting your lower lip hard to try and be a little quieter. “P-please, it’s t-too much...”

His eyes flickered up to you, glaring. You told me to shut up, they said.

“I’m s-sorry…” you panted out, gritting your teeth. “P-please…”

Jungkook detached his mouth, curling his lip. Hand leaving your nipple, tangling into your hair. “Are you really sorry, noona?” he drawled, yanking your head back and exposing your neck. “Are you?”

You whimpered, nodding tightly, his hand still in your hair, forcing you to tug on your own.

“Y-yes, Jungkook,” you breathed, feeling him release your hair. “I’m sorry…”

He smiled at you, an icy smile.

“That’s good.”

You felt him yank your pants down with his free hand, shoving them down to your knees. You almost tripped, but Jungkook grabbed your ass, fingertips digging into you so hard you were sure they would leave marks. He yanked you up, shoving a knee between yours and forcing your legs open. Your eyes went wide, his three fingers flexing inside you. His dark eyes boring into yours, a slow smirk forming on his lips.

“I’m still going to put another finger in you.”

He shoved a fourth into you, forcefully, and now nearly his entire hand was fucking you, pounding you into the wall. Your arms flew up to wrap around his shoulders, desperately holding on as he filled you, pushing his fingers against your walls. You gasped, clenching around his fingers, and Jungkook grinned, watching your face as he pushed you to the edge, feeling so stretched out, so embarrassingly wet that the sounds of your pussy were louder than your noises.

“Fuck, your pussy sounds so sexy,” Jungkook groaned. “Listen to that dirty pussy suck in my fingers, so fucking desperate for my cock.”

You shoved your head against the wall and squeezed your eyes shut, legs straining as you came, muscles spasming and the moan of his name racking through you, your throat already hoarse. He ripped his hand out of you and slapped your clit. Your knees buckled and you whined loudly as he gripped your ass with one wet and one dry hand, spreading it forcefully, pressing you against the wall.

“Take one leg out of your jeans,” Jungkook snarled.

You winced, pussy throbbing, giving him a what-the-fuck look.

“Do it.” He was not going to repeat himself.

You awkwardly kicked one of your sneakers off, untangling your right leg out of your pants. Now you were mostly naked in the fucking stairway with an almost shirtless Jungkook towering over you. Your poor sock fluttered to the floor, lost due to the tight ankle of your skinny jeans.

Jungkook grabbed your calf and pushed it up and out, effectively forcing you to stand on one leg.

“Jungkook, what–”

He hissed, staring at your glistening, puffy, red pussy lips, your hole opening and closing from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

Jungkook leaned you back into the wall, snaking his hand between your legs, moaning with you as he touched your swollen clit. Slow, languid, deliberate, rubbing your clit in circles, melting you, your eyelids fluttering closed at his sudden sweet movements.

“Wanna fuck you just like this,” Jungkook breathed, inhaling your scent. “Just like this, against the wall, in this fucking stairway, your leg around my waist.” He pressed harder, earning a wretched whimper. “Want someone to find us and see you bouncing on my cock, fucked out and screaming my name.”

Your legs trembled, trying to close, but he held them open, teasing you, drawing your next orgasm out of you, slow this time, building you into a frenzy.

“Just do it,” you gasped. “Just fucking do it.”

“I want to,” he hissed back, rubbing faster. “I didn’t bring a fucking condom.”

You chuckled despite yourself, hips shuddering into his hand. “Didn’t think you were going to fuck Jimin or something?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you and pinched your clit. Instantly you yelped, your standing knee buckling, but his own slammed against yours, locking it in place. You gasped at the pain, your pussy clenching around nothing as he furiously rubbed your clit. Your insides curled and you gulped for air, feeling the pain and pleasure rise into a crescendo.

“What if I stop, noona?” Jungkook barked sharply. “Since you’re being such a fucking brat.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to push back your own orgasm, relishing in his anger.

“I have a condom,” you panted, giving him an open-mouthed smirk. “Keep one in my wallet now, j-just for you, Jungkook.”

You saw something in his eyes change, something between an amused sparkle and an agonizing lust.

“Is that so?” Jungkook purred, bringing his face close to yours. His breath lit your skin on fire, the tense knot closing in on you fast as he rubbed you even faster, so fast that it felt like a vibrator on your aching clit. “So, you can always be prepared for me? So, I can take you wherever, whenever I want?”

You bit your lip, nodding, eyes glazing over as the first wave crashed on you.

“Fuck yeeeeees, Jungkook, whatever you fucking want,” you moaned, back arching, legs shuddering, letting him rub you as your hips jerked. Viscous liquid dripping down your thighs, pussy pulsating wetly, hands flat against the wall. He was going to be the death of you, making you agree to such crazy things in the middle of your fucking orgasm.

Jungkook let go of your leg. You leaned against the wall, trying to catch your breath, pretty sure all this was going to get you expelled. Even if there was no one in the building, someone down the street probably heard you by now with how loud this was becoming. You heard rustling under you, Jungkook going through your pockets on the floor to find your wallet, pulling out the condom.

“You’re actually insane,” you panted, blinking slowly as you watched Jungkook unzip his jeans, shoving them down. “I can’t even stand.”

Fuck, even just him pulling out his half-hard cock was already getting you wet again. Jungkook smirked at you, seeing your eyes on him. He stroked the length slowly, running his large hand over it. You frowned at him, tapping your hand against the wall in annoyance.

“I’m giving you a break,” he murmured, staring at your body as he gripped his cock, pumping once. He gasped, breathing your name.

“At least let me touch it,” you pouted, not even sure how you were still upright. Just pure lust, apparently.

Jungkook looked at you through his lashes, lips parting, tongue darting between them. He thrust his hips into his hand. You stiffened, seeing his wanton, arrogant expression. He wasn’t going to let you touch it. He was going to make you watch, frustrated, as he stroked himself to full hardness.

“Jungkook…”

He cocked an eyebrow at you, rolling his body into his hand, moaning softly.

“Jungkook, please…”

His tongue danced between his lips, moving his hand up and down slowly, rocking his hips into his cock, enjoying your pleading tone, your hands clenching into fists, your body heaving at the loss of him.

“Jungkook, come on,” you whined, spreading your legs, watching the angry red head disappear and reappear in the curve of his fingers. “I want you. Please.”

He took a step towards you, still stroking himself. “Yeah?” he breathed. Another step. And another. He still didn’t tell you that you could touch him yet, so you kept your hands at your sides, switching between his dark, lustful eyes and his rapidly hardening cock thrusting into his hand. “You want me, noona? You want to touch my cock?”

And now Jungkook was right next to you, still jacking himself off, the velvety, thick head rubbing against the smooth skin of your thigh. You moaned as you felt his pre-cum smearing onto your skin, adding to his lubrication.

“Y-yes,” you whispered, eyes glued to his cock rubbing against your fucking leg. Fuck, you wanted it in your mouth so bad. “Let me touch you, Jungkook.”

He leaned forward, lips brushing against your ear, his dark locks brushing against your cheek. His voice was a deep drawl, low and teasing, breath hot against your skin.

“Tell you what,” Jungkook purred. “I’ll let you put the condom on.” You whimpered, disappointed. “And then I’ll fuck you against this wall, nice and hard and fast, not stopping until I cum because of that delicious, sweet, tight pussy of yours.”

If you had any sanity left, it rapidly disappeared as you nodded hastily, wordlessly holding out your hands as Jungkook dropped the condom in your palm. He calmly removed his hand, his thick, fully hard cock erect as you slid the condom down, moaning as you felt the traces of his veins and muscle pulsing under your hands. Once you were done, Jungkook pushed your hands away, not giving you a chance to disobey him.

You pouted. “You’re a jerk.”

He grinned at you, lifting your leg and pinning it to your chest. “And you’re about to get fucked.”

In less than a second, Jungkook thrust his hips up and into you, tearing a gasp from your throat as he rapidly entered you, peeling apart your soaking, abused walls. You bit your tongue, grabbing his dress shirt as he rolled his hips into you again, groaning as he felt you clench around him.

“That’s it, noona,” he exhaled, slamming his hips into you. “You better fucking hold me tight. If I slip out, that’s all the fucking you’ll get from me.”

You whined, feeling him start a bruising pace, hands clamped onto your ass. Whether he was lying or not didn’t matter because you were squeezing your pussy for dear life, crying out as he thrust into you over and over, so full and overstimulated you didn’t know whether to focus on your aching, raw pussy or his cock periodically throbbing inside you, swelling against your walls.

You hooked your leg around his waist, changing the angle, instantly feeling him ram his cock into a deeper, more pleasurable spot. You tipped your head back, eyes rolling up into your head as your mouth opened, tongue sliding out. He pounded you relentlessly, your shoulder blades smacking the wall. Your swollen clit rubbed against the base of his cock repeatedly. Your body was going to ache all over tomorrow, but you still rose your hips to meet his, so drunk on the feeling of his cock stretching you out that nothing else mattered. You came suddenly, wailing Jungkook’s name, pussy spasming and squeezing him but he set his jaw and fucked you even harder, using every ounce of his energy to keep his own orgasm at bay.

“Who owns this body, noona?” he ground out. “Tell me, who owns this fucking body?”

You had to claw for your words, throat so strained your voice was thin. “Y-you do, Jungkook, oh fuck, oh fuck…”

“That’s fucking right,” he growled. “If you cum, it’s for me and only me. No. One. Else.” He punctuated each word by slapping his hips into you, sliding you up into the wall so gravity crashed you back down onto his cock. You moaned, helpless, as he hissed, shoving his face into your tits to moan hotly into your chest as he came, violent, thick jerks of his cock shuddering into you. Quickly, he gripped your hips and pulled up, hissing as half of his cock slid out, cum leaking out of the bottom of the condom and splatting onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck.”

You could barely register anything as he hoisted you onto his shoulder, cursing loudly. Jungkook leaned against the wall with one shoulder, panting, the other half-carrying you, arm wrapped around your waist. The only thing that brought you back to reality was the fact that your bare ass was in the air and your pants were hanging off one leg.

“Jungkook,” you croaked. “Let me down.”

He lowered you, still leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. His hair covered almost his whole face, sweaty and glistening. He wiped some sweat off his chin with the back of his hand, flicking it away carelessly.

You pressed your back flat against the wall, using at as leverage to pull your pants back up, wincing at the now familiar cold feeling of your soaked panties meeting your abused pussy. You crouched to collect your sock and your shoe, wincing as pain radiated up your back.

Jungkook chuckled, watching you struggle with your sneaker. “Want help?”

You grunted, shoving it on. “Can we stop fucking in random ass places at school?”

“You said I could fuck you wherever I want, whenever I want,” he teased, giving you an open-mouthed smirk.

You readjusted your bra, putting it back on. You found the two bits of condom wrapping, shoving it in your pocket. “I did, but I want to see you fully naked for once, you punk.”

Jungkook laughed, rich and full. “I support this idea if you’re also fully naked.”

You made a face as you got up, trying to keep your steps steady so you didn’t seem like a drunk idiot. Or someone who just got railed by Jeon Jungkook.

“Give me the condom.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “I was going to drop it here. Mark my territory.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and took it from him as he extended his hand out. “Your buttons did that for you already,” you remarked, tying it up.

He smirked, zipping up his jeans. “You owe me a new shirt.”

“And you owe me new panties, again,” you shot back. “Where are my replacements?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair to push it back. Fuck. Open shirt, half-exposed forehead, smug-as-fuck Jungkook got you wet just by looking at him.

“Guess we should go shopping sometime.”

He smiled slyly, patting his pockets. His expression abruptly changed to confusion. He pulled out his wallet and phone, frowning. “Where are my car keys?” He furrowed his brow, looking at his phone. You found your keys and wallet still with you, surprised that they didn’t fall out of your pants. You phone was in your backpack, still in your car. He swiped at his phone, reading his messages.

Jungkook groaned. “I dropped them and Jimin took my car. Bastard.”

Fuck, his fucking deliciously toned and tan chest was distracting you. “I still have my keys,” you muttered, staring at his abs. Suddenly you started, realizing he was advancing on you.

“Oh?” Jungkook purred, opening his shirt wider. The fabric tumbled off his right shoulder, exposing his tattoos. His long dark hair covered part of his right eye, brown orbs glimmering with mischief.

“Wanna take me home, noona?”

Welp.

-

part iii

--

masterpost

[legguk]

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )