#but it often drags on or takes a weird direction and i drop it

[capsules-rot-box]

interlocked under the sun

vash x gn!reader

☆ oneshot - reader makes a small mistake with room bookings. left to share a bed they can’t help but indulge themselves when vash is just so close by.

“C’mon almost there now!”

Vash had lightly tapped at your shoulder as you both dragged yourselves up the stairs of the inn you had booked. You were so excited to sleep in a bed after spending so many nights out in the desert, the sweet call of a mattress only a few steps away.

Reaching the door it didn’t take you long to insert its designated key and swing it open. Heaving out in relief as you took a step inside.

“Finally! I can’t wait to,,,”

Trailing off your eyes wandered around the room. It was smaller than you thought it would be. Yeah it still had all the usual things you’d expect. A dresser, bedside table, things like that but there was something just a little off.

“Vash. Why is there only one bed?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one that booked the room.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Dropping your bag to the floor you turned to Vash to apologise, not realising that in your exhaustive state you had accidentally booked one bed instead of your usual two.

“My bad Vash, I had no idea.”

“Hey it’s fine! Really!”

He was quick to reassure you. He always was.

“If it’s that big of a deal I can take the floor.”

You just looked at him confused, there was no way he was really willing to take the floor. Not after you’d both spent days idolising the moment of sleeping in a real bed again.

“You don’t really want to sleep on the floor. Do you?”

“No,,,”

At that point you were both far too tired to care, deciding to bite the bullet and share what limited space the bed had to offer.

Backs turned you both changed into your sleepwear and got under the covers. You moved to lay on your back, opting to stare at the ceiling.

Thinking about it, despite travelling together for so long, you’d never shared a bed with Vash. Sure you’d slept next to each other in separate sleeping blankets or cooped up in less than ideal spaces.

Yet you hadn’t shared a bed. The full reality of that made your hands clammy.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Vash looking at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

He seemed to relax a little at your answer, closing his eyes and bringing the blanket to cover his face. He sighed out and whispered a goodnight to you.

Finding sleep wasn’t too difficult, having the comfort of freshly washed sheets and a decent mattress helped you succumb quicker than you thought.

Most of your night had been spent dreaming of nothing, no memories or weird situations brought about by your brain. Just nothing.

It wasn’t until your eyes began to flutter back open had you realised where you were. It was still dark out and you were still laying on your back.

It seemed like your body clock had different plans and wanted to wake you before the sun had even risen.

Sighing you closed your eyes again, hoping for just a few more hours of serenity. You began to drift off again when you felt shuffling beside you.

Turning your head to the side you saw Vash flop around in his sleep, he had turned onto his stomach, spreading the arm closest to you out onto the mattress.

He was so peaceful looking. His hair spewed out in all kinds of different directions, the way his lips parted ever so slightly. It’s not often you get to see him like this, so unbothered by the world.

You moved your hand next to his, looking at how his fingers pressed into the blanket. You’d never spoken to Vash about how you felt, you didn’t plan to either.

No matter how many times you wanted to blurt out how much you cared, or how badly you wanted to hold him. You kept it to yourself, but maybe this time, just once, it would be okay.

Holding your breath you gently hooked your pinky finger with his. Scared that even the slightest touch would wake him, he would see and he would leave.

Just that small gesture sent such a warm feeling through you. His skin was a little rough, as to be expected but you’d give anything to keep doing this.

Looking at his face again he had scrunched his nose up, burying his face more into the pillow. It made you chuckle a little but it wasn’t too loud. Then you saw him smiling to himself.

He smiled. Vash was smiling in his sleep. It made your stomach flip, a heavy weight in your chest as your heart swelled with such simple love.

As the sun began to rise its rays hit the shutters of the window, basking the room in a deep golden light. How long had you been awake? How long had you spent with your pinky fingers hooked around each other?

You thought about getting up to shower until you felt Vash’s hand twitch. He stretched out a little, breaking the contact you had to move his whole hand over yours.

The pads of his fingers resting delicately over your palm, the sun warming them. That got you, that had definitely got you.

Laying there as the morning rolled on, you had never felt so peaceful. Clinging to the chance that maybe one day you’d be able to do this again.

[oddballwriter]

Dwelling in the Night

Series Masterlist

Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Summary: There's a new vigilante figure out on the streets at night. And there's also a new neighbor on the same floor as Steven and the rest of the boys.  

Warnings: Mentions of blood, dead bodies, crime, all that. Reader is a vampire so it's implied that they consume blood and all that. Also, Y/N kills, but the act is never actually written or depicted. Steven being dumb and clueless for reasons of the plot. This is mostly Steven-centric and Marc-centric but Jake's here too but doesn't really do anything for the plot other than simply have some lines that progress the plot. Gender-neutral reader with they/them being used for them. Heads up, it does get a bit confusing in one part but I think it's fine.  

Author’s Snip: I wrote this in one sitting and it's currently 1:30 am. Honestly, anything to stall my studying for an exam for one of my classes. I wrote this fucking unit of a shot involving my love for vampire Y/N's just to do it.

Notes: Please appreciate vampire reader. We need more of that in the x reader community. I as a reader would love for that to happen more often. Thank you.

Word count: 2,600~

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy!

The system took pride in their patrolling. Even if it was still doing work for Khonshu, they were still free in what they did when coming across a criminal rather than being yapped at. It brought a sort of satisfaction of taking, or at least scaring, another threat off the street. But things were getting weird, and slightly disturbing.

Criminals had started to drop like flies with a theme of them being found in dark alleys with bitten throats, but there was never any blood to be found that made sense with their wounds. Just their pale corpses with looks of fear or shock in their glazed-over eyes.

Jake admired the simple tactic of scaring off would be scum by the fear of being the next person in the obituaries, but he had to admit that the method of doing that was unsettling. He just killed them and let whoever came across the scene be shucked with cleaning the mess.

Marc worried that this other party wasn't actually someone necessarily on "the right side" and this was an actual threat to the public that just so happened to have a streak going with having their victims coincidentally being criminals.

It wasn't until they came across two cases that proved that worry otherwise.

The first was a girl they found running around the alleys in a panic. When they went to her and asked if she was okay, she was babbling about something in her panting. "There was this guy! He dragged me into the alleys, he held up a knife to me and was threatening me!" she explained pointing in the general direction, but she kept talking "But this... in the shadows, there were these two glowing lights, like eyes! And this person came out from there and grabbed them." she said. "I just ran off I didn't know where to go! They were blocking off the way to the street." she exclaimed.

It was actually Steven who was fronting then. He helped her calm down and led her out of the alley system and back in to get the perp and maybe help whoever got him away from the poor woman. But when he found the guy, he was like all the others he and the system had heard about.

Dead with a bitten throat, fear on their face, and hardly any blood in the pool for it to make sense.

The second was with Marc himself. He dropped in on a duo of muggers who cornered a young man, getting a left hook in on one of them. But his buddy ran off into the dark and dank alleys to get away. Marc needed to do a few more punches to get the first down and out before chasing after the second, but he swore he could've seen a figure follow after them in the corner of his vision.

He heard the sound of what must have been the guy's scream as soon as Marc moved on.

But when Marc got there, he was already on the wet brick floor writhing and grabbing at his neck. He saw them. A figure in the shadows where the backlights couldn't reach to show them in all say for a silhouette, had ducked into another alley. "Hey!" Marc called to them before chasing after them. But when he turned the corner, they were gone, only seeing a complete dead end.

When Marc came back to the guy, he found him trying to breathe through a gargled, and bitten, throat. He tried his best to help the guy since he was still alive. Unfortunately, bites to the jugular weren't kind injuries to those who are dealt them.

🩸🩸🩸

"I don't understand," Steven mutters as Marc slides back into their flat after patrolling and finding a few more crooks who came across this other person. "Why the injuries to the neck? And how is there hardly any blood?" he questions, "There's nowhere for it to go. There's nowhere for them to go. They just come out of nowhere and pick these blokes off and leave in such a short moment.".

"I don't know. And I don't think I want to know. This freak's keeping the load easier for us by doing whatever they're doing with these guys." Marc says, emphasizing the word 'freak'. "Hey, watch who you're calling a freak, amigo. We aren't exactly normal either." Jake says, mostly joking. "Yeah, sure. But we're not the one who's having our guys come up without a drop of blood left in them." Marc defends.

A crash is heard from nearby, in the flat next door.

"The hell's going on over there?" Marc muttered to himself as a reaction to the sound, but Steven said a name almost instantly.

"Who?" Marc asked.

"It's Y/N. They're our neighbor. They moved in a few months ago." Steven answered. "I've never heard of them." Marc comments before Steven quips back with "That's because you two hardly meet anybody.".

"Give me the body for a bit. I want to check on them. That sounded like something big fell over." Steven requests. Marc shrugs and switches out after briefly instructing "Put the body to sleep when you're done.".

Steven un-summons the suit, steps out into the hallway, steps towards your door, and knocks. After a beat, the door opens enough to have your head pop through, but not enough to show the rest of your flat like a fully opened door would. Which he didn't really mind, you always did this whenever he or anyone would knock. "Hello." Steven greets you with a little smile.

You look worried at seeing him in front of you. "I heard a pretty loud noise come from your flat. Is everything okay?" Steven asked. "Yeah. I'm so sorry. I knocked over a shelf." you answer. Steven is shocked for a bit, "A shelf? My word. Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to help you lift it back up?" Steven stresses as he moves to the side to peak into your flat to see how bad the damage is. But you quickly pull back in and tighten the width of the open door to a sliver , making him unable to see the inside with a "No!".

He pulls away, startled at the sudden reaction.

You open the door back up to step out again. "I'm sorry about that." you timidly apologize. "It's fine. I can pick it back up on my own. Thank you for offering to help and for your concern." you say. "There's some blood on your hand." Steven notices. You pull your hand behind your back at the realization. "It's fine. I'll clean it up myself." you blurt out as you go back into your flat with a quick "Good night, Steven." before closing and re-locking the door behind you, all before he can properly react.

"Good night?" Steven repeats back in confusion.

"That was weird." Marc comments, exposing that he had watched the whole thing go down. "Yeah. They... are a bit strange. They don't really come out most of the day." Steven explains. "Why were they up this late?" Jake buds in, having seen it all too. "It's nearly four in the morning and they look wide awake and aren't in any pajamas." Jake adds.

The next time Steven saw you, you were bringing a huge box into your apartment a few days after that night.

"Need help?" he asked. "Sure. It's actually really hard to drag around." you admit. As he picked up the other end of the large, and heavy, box and walked with your pace into your flat you spoke. "I'm sorry about the noise and acting weird a few nights ago. I was just embarrassed from having woken you up." you explain. Steven gently huffs, "No need to apologize. I wasn't asleep anyways. I was pulling an all-nighter like you were." Steven reassures. You look at him for a moment, "Oh right. Yeah. I do that a lot. I do better with work at night." you remark.

You two manage to get the box past some things it would have bumped, into and into the space between the space of your bedroom and living room. That's when he sees that there's no bed there in your bedroom area, glancing at the box to see a depiction of a bed frame.

"Changing furniture?" Steven asks. "Yeah. I already sold my old one." you say. Steven quarks a brow, "When? Have you had to sleep on your sofa-?" he asks as he turns towards your living room area before interrupting himself with a "Woah!".

There in the area, where a coffee table should be, was an authentic-looking coffin. "Quite the decor there." Steven comments with a breathy little chuckle. "Yeah. I like the look it had." you claim.

Looking around your flat for the first time, Steven could see it. It wasn't exactly goth per se, but there was a weirdly somber and antique look to your decor. It had that same attic look that Steven's did, but you had an attic feel of that of an abandoned house that was left for the dust bunnies to call home. Almost haunted house-esk with the draw curtains adding to it all.

"Is someone in there?" Steven jokes, mostly to himself. "No." you stutter out, "But it does still open." you mention as you walk towards it to show him by lifting the lid.

And, wow. It was real. It still had the pale pink padding and even the pillow inside of it, still pristine as ever, ignoring a couple of scratches on the outside wood.

"Impressive. How'd you even get your hands on this?" Steven asked. You thought for a moment, most likely trying to recall the answer to that question. "Some funeral places have spares that never got sold. So they sell them for a much cheaper price." you say.

Steven nodded as he took another look at the coffin.

"Well, it really is a nice touch." Steven complimented. "Thank you." you reply with a sigh.

🩸🩸🩸

Again.

And again.

One alley crawler dead and paled out after another.

Finding the bodies seemed to become a normal accordance for the boys when they were out doing their rounds around the city. Whoever this was at least started to lean the bodies against the wall after doing the deed now so that there wasn't just some corpse in the middle of the alley's street.

He was still finding the people this person 'saved' too. With them saying the same thing each time. Talking about a person in the shadows with a pair of glowing eyes being the only visible thing about them and then having gotten whatever criminal tried their luck yanked away into the said shadows with a scream echoing as the victim ran to safety.

They never see the actual person though. They don't seem to wear a costume like they do. No mask. No suit. Their only identity keeper they have being that of the shadows that exist beyond any light sources. The only sign of it being them is just the animal-like glow of their eyes. And one brutal calling card for those who came to see where they were.

Tonight was different.

Marc heard the sound of gunshots and rushed to the scene. But he found someone running for their life trying to leave already. He grabs a hold of them, thinking it was a person escaping a forceful mugging till they tried to aim a gun at him. Thankfully, he manages to subdue them.

"That thing tried to get me!" they shouted frantically as they attempted to get loose. "You gotta let me go, man. I don't want to be another body found around here." they beg.

"They tried robbing someone." a voice rings through.

Marc, and also the person he was holding down, looked towards where it came from. He notices the eyes first, with their white pearly glow surrounded by the rest of their shadowy form. The eyes almost looked like the system when they wore their suits, though it was dimmer, just enough to pierce through the darkness, and looked more like the glow was coming from the irises than the whole eye.

"I stopped them before they could pounce. This one was holding more firepower than most. I didn't want to have to risk it." the voice spoke again.

It felt a little haunting. The glow was almost disarming somehow, and their voice was calm and collected as it naturally echoed through the walls of the buildings, and sounding almost familiar. Marc stood there just staring at them till the person he was holding started thrashing harder in his hold, "Let me go, that thing's going to fucking kill me! I swear to god!" they pleaded.

"You're in his court now. You aren't my issue anymore." the silhouette says looking towards the person from where they were before looking back up at Marc.

"Sorry about me leaving my actual catches around." the silhouette apologizes. "I have nowhere to put them." they add as an explanation.

"Why kill them?" Marc questioned, speaking before really thinking. "You kill some of yours don't you, Moonknight? I don't see why you're judging me." the silhouette remarks. "I meant in the way that you do. I just kill them and leave them. You do... something to them." Marc speaks, hesitating for a second at the latter end.

The silhouette stays silent for a second seemingly striking their eyebrow from the way their eyes move. "I have reasons to do it that you probably wouldn't like to hear." they say. "We're doing the same work either way. My method is just more intense than yours tends to be." they comment before slipping back and disappearing into the shadows.

Marc calls out a "Wait!" but gets nothing in return.

He's just left alone with a scared shitless would-have-been mugger and more questions.

🩸🩸🩸

"Hey!" Steven calls out as he does a brief jog over to you in the hallway. "About time I catch you out in the day." Steven jokes. "Oh. Hello, Steven. Yeah. I needed to run some errands." you say, giving an explanation for the rare occurrence. "Good thing you've come back. It's been overcast all day and would rain at any minute." Steven comments.

"Anyways. I knocked on your door yesterday but you didn't come to the door at all." Steven mentions. "Oh. Really? I'm sorry. I'm usually asleep in the day because of my all-nighters." you claim.

"Really? You've got to be the hardest sleeper then. You're like the dead in there. I knocked hard for a while." Steven explains. "So I've been told." you nervously laugh. "You must be real tired if you usually sleep in the day then," he comments. "Yeah. But I have to deal with it." you say.

"What did you need?" you ask.

"Oh. Nothing from me. I was told to tell you, by the landlord, that there would be a check of the fire alarm system next week and that some might go off." Steven explains. "They tried to knock on your door the day before I knocked, but I guess you were asleep." Steven says. "Yeah. I probably was." you reply, "I'll send them an e-mail or something telling them about my sleep schedule." you mutter to yourself.

"Well, nice running into you. Go get yourself some rest." Steven says as he bids you goodbye by patting your shoulder. "Be sure to wrap yourself in something warm too. You're a bit cold." he adds.

[tact-and-impulse]

Narumayo Week 2024 Day 4

Now, we get the other side to the Soulmate AU I wrote last year!

Prompt: Soulmates

The strange sensation had started outside Engarde’s mansion and it wasn’t going away. It felt like something was pulling inside Phoenix’s chest, not painful, but it was hard to resist. It was like his body was being drawn to the cellar door, and the pull strengthened. The odd butler dragged him out with surprising force, a dangerous aura emanating from the scarred face. That was when his mind kicked in and he escaped with Pearl. They had to find Maya.

He didn’t give the weirdness another thought, until he realized she had been in the cellar. He sprinted back, but while the pulling restarted, it was much fainter. Vaguely, he thought he could follow its direction, before he had to go to court. And when she was finally safe, the tension released.

He noticed it more often afterwards. It only happened when Maya was just about to walk in or was on her way out. It seemed to align with her presence, and he could tell where she was, like detecting a blip on radar. Not that he told her, he chalked it up to his subconscious after spending so much time with her. And it wasn’t a bad thing, he actually grew to anticipate it.

A year later, as he watched the flames devour the bridge, he felt the pull at its most intense yet. A connection, directly to Maya. And this time, he followed it with his entire being.

***

To thank them and to catch up after the Hazakura Temple case ended, Larry insisted on taking him and Edgeworth out for drinks. As expected, it became about reassuring a wasted Larry instead.

“I was so sure this time, that we were sharing the same dreams!” He bemoaned.

“Why are you fixated on soulmates anyway?” Edgeworth asked, sipping his glass of wine. “People still have relationships without being soulmates.”

“I want guaranteed love, Edgey! And it’s not just me, soulmate advice is everywheeere. Come on, Nick, back me up! Aren’t ya curious about your soulmate?”

In the past, Phoenix wasn’t interested in discovering what his soul ability was. His parents hadn’t made a big deal out of theirs, and in college, well…his girlfriend at the time didn’t believe in soulmates at all. Anyway, he was then busy with studying law and work. It wasn’t until Pearl mentioned it in front of him and Maya, that the topic came up again.

He deflected. “I don’t think it’s like in the movies, where you instantly know.”

“Huh? How do you…? Wait! You know?!” Larry’s jaw dropped, and even Edgeworth managed to look mildly interested.

He downed the rest of his drink, and the liquid courage loosened his tongue. He spilled the details. “But I’m not totally sure, I mean, I didn’t feel it when she was physically in court but channeling someone else. Or is it different with spirit mediums?”

Edgeworth mused. “Perhaps, it’s because her body is housing the deceased spirit, but her true self is elsewhere?”

“That actually makes sense.”

“Have you discussed this with her? Especially given her thoughts about her soul ability?”

“No, I haven’t.” His voice lowered. In his periphery, Edgeworth gave a very slight nod in understanding.

Larry interjected. “But why not? Soulmates are the ideal relationship, you two could be-” Abruptly, he tipped over in his chair, and the conversation came to a screeching halt.

Truthfully, Phoenix was waiting for her to bring it up. Her side of the soulmate topic was more complicated, and he wanted her to be comfortable talking about it first. There was no rush.

***

And time slipped away, almost a decade before soulmates were mentioned again. It came up at the wedding they attended, that Sorin and Ellen recognized they were meant for each other since her first day at the Sprocket household. Phoenix had glanced at Maya, though she didn’t seem to notice.

The reception lasted well into the night, and Trucy coaxed him to the dance floor, for one of the songs that shouted every move they were supposed to do. When the music changed to a slower song and people began to pair up, he followed the string’s pulling. He caught Maya by her elbows, smiling down at her pink face.

“Hey, Nick. Are you stealing me for a dance?”

“If you’re up for it, I’d like to.” He returned her grin, gently taking her hands and leading her through the steps. They swayed to the rhythm, perfectly synchronized. He remarked. “This is nice.”

“Yes, all of today was. It was a lovely ceremony.” She lapsed into silence. “Soulmates, huh?”

“Yeah. Can you see their strings?”

“Mm-hmm, theirs are strong. And I do see a string from me…to you.” Her gaze locked onto him, her expression now sober. “I think you can feel it.”

His heart slammed in his chest, right where the pulling sensation was. “How’d you know?”

“I thought so, since you crossed the burning bridge for me.” Her smile was strangely bittersweet. “But then, things got crazy with your badge and my training. I thought it’d be worse if I brought it up.”

“And I was waiting for you to mention it, because of your family’s attitude about the strings.”

She let out a short laugh. “Oh, wow. We really do think alike.”

“Guess we’re meant to be.” He casually said, but his mouth ached from smiling. He drew her closer, of his own volition. She was warm and trembling, as her arms encircled his neck.

There was hardly a breath left between them. Her expression was immensely fond. “Aren’t we lucky?”

“Absolutely. And now, nothing will stop me from being wherever you are.” He promised, and he was certain it would be the first of many.

It wasn’t like in the movies. The revelation of discovering a soulmate was like coming home.

[mllemaenad]

The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

Huh. It sounds rather as though Chester has some opinions about barging into other people's space in the workplace.

I must admit, I don't go in for a lot of worrying about whether a piece of information is somehow a red herring and doesn't really mean what I think it means. Mostly because I don't think The Magnus Archives really worked like that.

It had a lot of complex world building that it revealed in pieces, and its central conceit was that its protagonist was a man who had an urgent need to understand the mechanics of the world but, as the villain of the piece was actively denying him access to that information, he had to drag it out of horror stories one weird fact at a time.

I don't mean to say that there was never a misdirect: in season 3 the characters really needed to believe in the threat of the Unknowing, and so for the duration of that story arc it was a threat. It had a reasonably plausible explanation for why the rituals had always failed – that if it wasn't Gertrude Robinson blowing them up it was the servant of some other rival power – and you could just go along with it. But when the story wanted you to think about the rituals, it immediately and clearly started saying that actually, they collapse on their own all the damn time.

By and large, if something seemed weird it probably was. If you heard the same name twice, you'd probably keep on hearing it. The lady infested with bugs you learned about in episode six, and who definitely freaked John out, was in fact going to be a problem. And so on. I don't mean this as a criticism: stories with endless impossible-to-guess twists are often just annoying. Solid world building that makes more and more sense as you go on is a positive.

It's possible that The Magnus Protocol is a different kind of story, and is actively trying to mislead its listeners. But that feels like a problem for a later me, should evidence of that arise.

It does deal quite differently with the way information is distributed across its cast, though. I mean – Jonah Magnus/Elias Bouchard absolutely hoarded information, but otherwise it was fairly well distributed. If another character found out something important, John heard it on the tapes. Martin also listened to the tapes. And honestly, John was reasonably forthcoming if he knew a useful fact the others didn't. I'm not disputing the time everybody forgot to tell Tim about an impending apocalypse for a couple of weeks ... but even that got resolved by Martin realising and telling him about the impending apocalypse.

Here, though ... everyone is following a different thread, and nobody is sharing what they know. That creates a very different atmosphere.

And the story ... I mean, it's mostly about a workplace getting wildly out of control.

It's interesting that Alice seems to like Chester, but dislike Norris. I suspect that there's mostly just a meta joke there, as the episode was penned by Norris's voice actor. But still: it's hard to imagine the sense in which Norris could be a "whiny little toad" when his personality fluctuates with the cases he reads. And Chester's case, here, was definitely someone having a whine. Don't get me wrong: Dianne had a horrible experience. But she is very much here to complain about it.

You could argue, as a starting point, that the whole case reads like a broad summary of how things went in The Magnus Archives:

Got dropped into a managerial role following the long absence and eventual death of my predecessor

Did not receive any reasonable training or oversight during the transition period

Found the place completely empty of staff and had to just deal with that

Completely winged it on actually running the place

Direct line manager was unhelpful and almost gleefully unresponsive to requests for assistance

Several people just ... signed up to work there, with no process whatsoever and nothing that even had a whiff of a related skill set

Then there were monsters everywhere, which was just great

The situation was very much out of control

Was very much in peril of being actually be crushed to both despair and actual death by the sheer number of monsters and other weird crap that had taken over my world

Everything was on fire

Sitting on the floor and screaming does feel like a reasonable response to all of the above

Even Dianne's mild officiousness (she keeps ... listing her bachelor's degree. Why on earth?) is reminiscent of how John could sound when he wanted people to think he knew what he was doing.

That said, it is a relief to encounter a character who had a supernatural experience and reacted by noting that this was some horrible bullshit and leaving.

Of course the primary difference between this and The Magnus Archives is where the threat came from. The archival staff could be a cantankerous bunch, but they were never in themselves the problem.

Dianne's weird volunteers remind me most of the eerie students in Anatomy Class. Which isn't to say that they're the same – just that it has the same kind of feel to it, where the point is that their behaviour is almost recognisably human. And as the working situation spirals out of control in the story, you feel it also deteriorate in the OIAR.

It's all about intruders. Celia is the least obvious intruder – the new hire, who has a much reason to be here as anybody else. But there's the sense that she may have come here from very far away indeed, and like the volunteers in the story, she brings odd things with her:

Celia Is there any way to look up specific files? Alice Like what? Celia Oh I don’t know. Every case about being buried alive or meat or… whatever. – The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

Celia seems to be very much referencing the entity categorisations from The Magnus Archives. So you have to wonder – is that relevant here? She might operate as an audience insert here, with preconceptions about how the world works that ultimately won't help her.

I don't think it is necessary to throw out everything you know from The Magnus Archives to enjoy this story. It's hardly unusual for a sequel to be accessible to a newcomer but provide a richer experience to anyone familiar with the original. Gwen Bouchard likely has some interesting connection to Elias Bouchard that will come up eventually. If you listened to The Magnus Archives you know the name and can anticipate and be curious about what that means. If you didn't – well, they'll tell you when they get there.

But this is more about the nature of reality. Robert Smirke's fourteen was one man's attempt to categorise, explain and control a nebulous collection of supernatural experiences and beings. It continued to be relevant in The Magnus Archives because many of Smirke's associates were still around. They set up cults and organisations around their own personal obsessions, and taught younger people to think as they did. The broken world was largely the fault of an assortment of privileged men from the heyday of the British Empire literally defining the rules of existence.

Here – well, the existence of The Magnus Institute implies the existence of a Somebody Magnus, if not necessarily a Jonah. But the fact that it's located in Manchester makes it quite clear that the early events from The Magnus Archives could not have occurred in the same way. So are there different people involved? Different obsessions? Different rules?

None of the items were fit for sale. I specifically recall two large, soiled Crinoline dresses, a Chaise Longue with cushions filled with some sort of coarse sand, a taxidermied vulture, a rusty antique printing press and a collection of old medical equipment that had seemingly been recently used. There were many, many additional items but I was unable to take a full inventory as the shop floor was overfull. – The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

There's a lot going on, and it's all creepy and wrong. But how do you sort and make sense of it all?

And then there's Sam, who finally pushes his way into Colin's private space. There's the question there about relevance again. Sam has come to ask about a weird email (and as an aside, I am going to amuse myself imagining that Alice has a filter on her inbox to send anything from that address to spam, and every one of the hundreds of affected emails says "stop calling me Chester"). Colin does not care about the weird email, although he cares about being recorded enough to assault Sam and break his phone.

Sam brought something weird and unwanted – the phone with is internal microphone, and the audience can be certain Colin is right: it's listening.

While I have no doubt there are weirder things in the world than internal emails from people who don't work at the OIAR, it does seem like a strange thing to dismiss out of hand. Sam has received mysterious forms from a supposedly "automated" process, and a peculiar email from a "John" who does not exist. Alice has received a security notification regarding Sam's search activities. Gwen has received a recording of Lena attempting a murder, and apparently information from a "source" indicating that Lena hid that information from her superiors.

Someone or something is listening, and someone or something is communicating. It could even be multiple someones – but nobody at the OIAR is comparing notes to find that out. If Colin knew about the other instances, would he care more about the email?

There even seems to be disinformation being spread, as Alice explicitly told Celia the search does not work:

Alice Well, there’s a search bar, but it doesn’t actually do anything. You’d have to dig through them all manually. – The Magnus Protocol: Give and Take

But we already know that it does from Sam's research into The Magnus Institute:

Alice Apparently you tried searching for files with the terms… (checking printout) "Magnus” and “Protocol"? Sam That’s what this is about? I mean, yeah, okay, I got a case referencing the Magnus Institute and then I looked it up and found a few files on the system that mentioned using “The Protocol”. Why would that be restricted? – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

I don't know why she did that, aside from her general aversion to digging into the cases she assesses, but it does make it harder to keep everybody on the same page.

And then Gwen, who both unceremoniously bursts into Lena's office, and apparently blackmails her way "in" to the true business of the OIAR. She too brings something unwanted: evidence of Lena's attack on Klaus-the-presumably-former-IT-guy-whose-fault-it-is-the-damn-code-is-in-German.

But what does "in" mean, and what does an "external liaison" do? The most reasonable assumption seems to be dealing with these Starkwall people, who were also likely the people who charged in to the Hilltop Centre and dealt with a messy situation by a) shooting everybody and b) setting things on fire. I see now why the first word Sam associated with those people was "massacre".

It's interesting to consider what Gwen might be trying to get out of this. Lena keeps referring to her as ambitious, but a managerial role on the night shift at a creepy data warehouse isn't exactly reaching for the stars. Obviously there is more than that going on here – but how and what does Gwen know about it? And if Starkwall deals with everything the way they dealt with the situation at Hilltop Centre, what could standing next to that mess gain a person?

Finally there is Hilltop Centre itself. It's interesting that in both universes the place seems to have latched on to charity as a cover: Hill Top Road's most notable incarnation was as a halfway house, and Hilltop Centre is a charity shop. The former gave the owners access to discarded people; the latter to discarded objects. It also suggests, though does not prove, that this is not the same reality from which Anya Villette hailed. Of course, the house could have been repurposed since her cleaning job in 2009, but it does seem a stretch since at that point in time it had been newly constructed as a private residence. It is also interesting that it was once again destroyed by fire.

So what was this "good cause" the volunteers were so diligently serving? And – if it was Starkwall and the OIAR that dealt with the situation there – who called it in? Dianne's report is clearly after the events, so this is not the case that summoned them.

I'd be interested to hear what did, and what they thought was going on.

[two-red-lungs]

Street Spirit

TLB Dwayne/Fem!Reader Smut

Dwayne’s always been different from his brothers. His thrill-seeking was more intellectual, more purposeful. He had motives, reasons, instead of just blind adrenaline. Maybe that’s what attracted you to him. That, and the perfect fucking jawline and sculpted abdomen. 

If only he wasn’t such an ass so often.

Dwayne was weird. Scary. Confusing. Cool. 

Really, you could bind up all those confusing, twisted, inscrutable traits into a singular one. Sex appeal.

God help you, he was so hot the exasperation of his dichotomous behavior was pushed to the wayside with just one glance at those fat pectorals: their gentle swell, hairless and tanned under dark leather, wiped all worries from your mind. They turned you back into a swaying cavewoman by a fire, nothing in your head but a heady crush of hormones and the eons-old instinct to ride that beautiful stallion into the sunset. 

“Fucking Christ, Dwayne!” Your voice was a hiss and you kept it low behind the crumbling seawall, just feet of old eroded cliff shoreline between your crouched form and the endless crashing waves far below. Police car lights swept the top of the wall, bright white, and you hunkered lower. “You’re always looking for trouble, huh?”

The vampire was on his knees next to you, just inches away, hand braced on the seawall. The blue moonlight made his hair ink-black. He just smiled at you, that infuriatingly handsome and calm smile, that fucking smile that said yeah, this wound up exactly how I expected it to and I’m fine with it. 

He’d tried to take you out to dinner. Parked his bike out front despite the red curb and helped you off it— ever the big, scary gentleman. If only those two bored patrolmen idling by their police cruiser hadn’t been there. Both of then strode up to you, looking more confident in themselves than they really had any right to be, sporting tinted aviators at night. Dwayne let out a long, low breath of air through his nose at the sight. 

Oh boy, you thought. Here we go. Dwyane didn’t exactly have the most... stellar reputation with police interactions. Had it out for them from the start. 

They told he he couldn’t park there. And, unlike what the other boys would have done— muttered a statement under their breath, gotten back on their bikes, headed out because getting into it with the boys in blue meant a potential investigation— Dwayne opted to look them up and down, cross his arms, and spit on the ground at their feet. A nasty loogie splattered on their polished shoes. 

The argument got heated in a matter of seconds, Dwayne snapping out a low, ferocious, what you gonna do about it piggy-boy? And before you knew it the one on the left was reaching for his taser on his belt and Dwayne was snapping his arm out lightning-fast, punching him dead-center in the face and dropping him like a rock. 

Without warning the world blurred— Dwayne grabbed your wrist and started fucking hoofing it down the street, turning corners and and cutting through overgrown alleyways. There was hair in your eyes and you were less keeping up, more being dragged, and could hear the officer’s partner giving angry, screaming chase, his feet pounding on asphalt. Your heart was in your fucking throat, going a million miles an hour: Dwayne pushed through crowds of people like a knife through hot butter, and you swore you heard him laughing. 

God, he was enjoying this. Living for it, even. You’d seen him cut cop brake lines with practiced ease, seen him wrench boots off illegally parked cars and systematically snap the skate deterrent bars from city benches and half-walls, but this was... direct. Aggressive. Animus.

Fuck, those cops knew your face. 

When you got into whatever it was you were currently in with Dwayne, you knew it came with risks. You had just naively hoped those risks wouldn’t get you fucking arrested.

“You ready to go home?” He asked you, smile flashing white teeth. His dark eyes glittered and the waves continued to roar far below your hiding place. 

“...What?” 

“Coulda flown us out any time, girl. You know that.”

“Then why the fuck are we hiding here?”

“It’s pretty fun.”

Oh, you wanted to strangle him. You were sweaty, and dirty, and shaking with adrenaline and hoping you wouldn’t have a wanted persons report out on you, and he was here for fun? Dwayne extended an arm out in his crouched position, jacket falling open and corded necklace swaying in the strong sea wind. A gesture that said come here. Come to me. 

You could have told him to fuck off. Told him he was an ass that endangered you for fun and to take a long walk off a short cliff. But you didn’t. You swallowed the acid in your mouth and wrapped arms around him, pressing yourself tight to his hot (god help you, very muscular) form. He laughed and you felt it reverberate. 

“I hate you so much.” You said into his hair, and then you were both falling backwards into the open sea air and gentle dark, speeding away into the night. 

“Fuck, Dwayne, love your dick so much.”

“Yeah?” His words were a stilted grunt, low and coarse in a way that made you pulse around his cock. He readjusted above you, forearms framing your body, bracketing you in, keeping you for himself. “Thought you hated me.”

You wanted to come up with a good reply, you really did. But you just couldn’t think right now, fuck, could barely string to sentences together because Dwayne’s big, veiny, blood-heavy cock was splitting you open all slick and wet around its gargantuan length. With every agonizingly slow, torturous thrust he slid out to the bulbous tip, almost kissing your drooling pussy lips before sheathing himself back up to the hilt. 

His hips were so wide. So wide and so strong, enough power behind them to crush your pelvis to dust but he didn’t— he was fucking you like he was being paid, like he was some seventies pornstar lathing a woman with all the attention and visceral sensation he could muster. 

His hair hung curtain-dark around his face hovering above you, shielding your vision from the broken-down firelight cave room he’d sequestered you in as soon as you’d flown back. You’d thumped a fist against his chest and chewed him out, telling him he’d scared you and put you in danger and he’d just smiled more and more and eventually shut you up with the most debilitating kiss you’d ever experienced in your life. Tongue in your mouth, fingers in your hair, fire in your mind.

He readjusted again, sitting back on his knees with a huff that sounded closer to a bear than a person, getting one of your knees in each broad hand and pulling your pelvis up to his, fucking into you while you were splayed out on the ground like fresh prey. The head of his fat dick pushed up against that spongey insanity-inducing patch inside you with each shorter thrust and you choked on a gasp, fingers scrabbling at dirty cave floor.

“God, y-” You nearly lost your train of thought when he started fucking into you double-time, the salacious slap slap slap of his skin on your echoing off the stone, “-You’re such an asshole.”

“You always say that, but you keep comin’ back.” Even he, the ever unreadable and immovable Dwyane, was panting now, lost in your snug cunt clenching down on him. “I think you like how I make you feel. Think you love it.” Fuck, he had you. Without warning he was hauling you up and bouncing you on his seated cock, and you were wrapping shaking arms behind his neck and rutting down to meet his thrusts as best you could. “No rules with me. No laws. I make you feel like a god.”

“There are- god, shit, shit- laws! Y-you just break them!”

“I was here before they wrote them up, and I’ll be pissing on them when they’re in ruins.” Before you could contest he was using one hand to grip your hip-bone and his other to rub slippery fingertips back and forth across your clit. The friction was maddening. He was a master at pushing your buttons: your toes curled against the cold floor.

“Dwayne.” You warned him breathlessly. 

“Feelin’ okay, girl?” He was mocking your flushed, shaking pleasure.

“God, you’re evil!”

Another laugh. You couldn’t help but notice the way it made his long column of throat bob, how it made his serious eyes sparkle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say there was endearment in them. “Not evil, just free.” His thrusts were brutal now, his grip so hard on your hip you knew it was going to bruise. “C’mon. Cum. I know you wanna. Just cum.”

His words were insidious, invading your brain, sweet and sticky as molasses. You could do little but grab his shoulders with nails hard enough to break skin before you seized up around him and that hot wall of ecstasy hit you like a full-on fire truck. Moving through it, floating in a dimension of pleasure and a suspension of reality, you remembered why you put up with all the bullshit. Who could resist this?

You came down slow. He was easing his soft cock out of you centimeter by centimeter, the wet gush of viscous cum splattering against his own thighs like waterfall. He’d hit you with that orgasm so hard you hadn’t even noticed him cumming. 

In a vain attempt to regulate yourself you rested your forehead against his chest. His skin was tacky with sweat. You could feel each breath he took. For a moment, everything was peaceful. Everything was perfect. 

“If those cops arrest me,” you croaked hoarsely into his skin, “you gotta break me out, mkay?”

A hand ran up and down your side with unexpected tenderness: gentle in a way you’d assumed vampires didn’t have the capacity for. “’Course, girl.” Dwayne’s voice was soft. Closer to human than anything. “It’s not as fun to cause trouble without my partner in crime.”

[home-of-renn]

Imagine if Danny ends up marrying Sam in the DPxAddams AU.

Honestly, I’m not really a Sam x Danny shipper. Mostly cause I didn’t really grow up watching the show (I still haven’t actually watched it even though I somehow got sucked into the fandom) so I don’t really ship any of the characters in the DP. I’m a big fan of platonic love/affection and love the idea of Sam, Danny and Tucker just being absolute ride or dies for one another but having it be completely platonic. I feel like romantic love tends to overshadow every other kind of love like; familial love, love between friends etc. 

Plus having a romantic couple in a trio always leaves someone left out which always ends up being a bit cliche and sad. 

-

But I guess if Danny and Sam were to get married, then Sam would be over the moon about finally being officially a part of the Addams family (even though Sam and Tucker had already been long since accepted considering the three of them are a non-negotiable packaged deal).

Before they got married Sam always felt weird visiting the Addamses without Danny. She would drop hints that Danny should check up on his relatives in the hopes that he would let her tag along as well. It didn’t take long for Danny to figure out what she was doing and It kinda got on his nerves a little when she’d bring it up too often, mostly cause it would mean that he’d have to leave Amity unprotected while he was away and it made his Obsession feel uneasy. But he’d give in half the time cause he thoroughly enjoyed visiting the Addamses. Their home always made him feel relaxed and safe and he enjoys having people he could trust to openly talk about his ghostly side and asks questions. That and he always felt a little bad when he’d snap at Sam or turn down her hints when he knew how often she fought with her parents and that the Addamses were kind, accepting people. He knew how much she wished her parents would accept her and he always felt a little guilty.  

Honestly I don’t think much would change in how the Addamses would treat Sam. The biggest change would be that Sam would just be a lot more comfortable coming and going without Danny in tow. She’d love the family reunions (even though Danny had dragged her and Tucker along many times before) and would definitely bring her grandmother. 

Her parents hadn’t been happy that she married the Fenton boy and her mother had almost fainted at the very first sight of the Addamses. Her parents refused to step a single foot in their direction and said that it wasn’t as though they needed to get to know each other since they were only distantly related to Danny.  

I don’t actually know much about Jewish traditions and celebrations so I'm not going to elaborate too much on that aspect without doing some proper research - but the Addamses would be very accepting of Sam and her beliefs and would definitely be respectful and take part in her celebrations if she asked them. 

[cafesascha]

Ruh-Roh, Raggy...

TW: Mention of child death

This… was not how Sascha had expected his night to go. One moment, he sat before his computer, struggling to edit the latest episode that was due to be released in just a few hours. The next, he was packing to go to fucking Narnia. Ok, not Narnia, maybe Fillory? Either way, he certainly wasn't in Kansas anymore. A thought that he found to be a little less distressing than he probably should have.

He moved as if on autopilot, with his cats Puck and Titania trotting beside him on their leashes. (Yes, he leash trained his cats. No, it isn't weird. You're weird.) Nodding every so often to one creature or another that bowed in his direction as he passed, until he finally set his gaze on the massive temple before him. Not Fillory then… He thought, taking in the obviously Greek architecture. Before he had a chance to chicken out, his cats all but dragged him inside. The pair led him to a statue that seemed to flicker at its edges, almost as if the thing didn't want to be perceived by anyone. The only way he was able to make out any features of the figure was by relaxing his eyes, as if he were looking at one of those Magic Eye pictures from his childhood.

Immediately, he knew exactly who this was, even though she was nameless and certainly wasn't someone he had learned about in school. A whisper that was felt more than heard told him he could call her Despoina, though a quiet ‘mom' escaped his lips as he sank down onto the throne before her. He suddenly realised that he wasn't alone in the temple. In fact, he was one of many apparently experiencing the same existential crisis. Just as he was about to call out to the nearest person, a figure appeared before him and placed a chalice in his hands before disappearing once more. The same voice that had been speaking to him the whole time told him to drink and take his rightful place, but did this mysterious voice have a single clue about what he did in his spare time? He knew what happened when someone drank an unknown liquid, and it was never a good thing… Then came the screaming.

Sascha jumped at the first sound of it. His eyes flicked briefly to the chalice in his hands, worried that he might have spilled something, before he focused on the men around him dropping like flies. He flinched as the sounds crashed against him, fighting against the voice insisting that they would make it through to the other side and emerge stronger from the ordeal. Finally, he threw back his head and swallowed the vile-tasting liquid in a few quick gulps, just so he didn't have to listen to the cries of terror that surrounded him. It started out as an all-too-familiar tingle, as the rush of a panic attack swelled through him. Only to be replaced by a blaze that tore a scream from his lips that he would have never thought possible. He thought, for the briefest moment before unconsciousness claimed him, that he saw a smile appear on the blurred statue of his mother.

He woke up to the sound of wind howling through broken windows and the faint smell of rot. He knew this place, even though he hadn't set eyes on it in nearly three decades. His very first mystery. The old mansion sat tucked deep in the woods behind his house. Seemingly forgotten by everyone in town except for him and any of his friends whom he managed to sucker into listening to the tales he cooked up on sleepless nights. "I heard the family living there dissapeared without a trace!" He exclaimed one day on the playground. Everyone, except for Ricky, knew he was bullshitting them. The kid hung on Sascha's every word as if it were the gospel truth, not the wild imagination of another child. So, of course, he agreed to go on the adventure of a lifetime that weekend.

He watched the scene unfold as if he were living it in the moment and somehow above it all, directing the scene. Though his panicked warnings fell on deaf ears. Overall, the pair found themselves unimpressed with the place. There were no signs of a struggle, no ghost of a final meal left behind after an entire family vanished into the ether. Just a rundown building with very little to offer in terms of something for him to solve. Still, there was one place they hadn't searched, and the younger Sascha just knew in his bones that whatever he was looking for was hiding from them in the attic. It took some convincing, but eventually, they made their way up to the third floor, being careful to avoid any floorboards that appeared unstable. He knew what was coming in this bizarre memory, not memory, and try as he might, he couldn't look away from the scene unfolding around him.

Just as he reached to pull down the ladder, he heard an unfamiliar sound – one he now recognized as the noise of rotten wood crumbling beneath someone. Ricky's sharp intake of air was quickly followed by a dull thud, and suddenly, he was alone. Dropping to his knees, he peered over the edge of the hole that had appeared where his friend had just been. “R-ricky?” While his younger self couldn't see the full extent of the damage, the part of himself that watched on in horror knew that Ricky was already gone after hitting his temple on the corner of a long-discarded piece of furniture in the room below. “I'm going to get help… You stay there!” He cried out before turning to the window at the end of the hall. If he could just find something to shimmy down, he could run home, get his parents, and everything would be okay.

“YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!” The scream shook the glass before him, causing some of the panes to crack with the force of it. Sascha turned to face Ricky once more. His one leg bent at an unnatural angle, and the left side of his face was painted red with the blood that continued to pour from his temple. “I didn't! We needed… You needed help.” He pleaded with his long-dead friend as he backed up until he felt the cool surface of glass behind his back. The divergence in events gave him a sense of vertigo. In real life, he had tried to climb down to get help but only managed to fall and snap his leg in the process. The phantom pain of impact shot through his body, even though he remained, not safely, but firmly on the third floor of the house. “You know what's funny, Sasch?” The dead boy asked, closing the distance between the two of them with shuffling steps. "I solved the one mystery you never will. What comes next.”

Suddenly, he felt like he was flying. Shoved back against the window with such force that he broke through it easily. The sting of glass breaking his skin was forgotten amidst the anticipation of impact. Except it never came. The moment Sascha should have hit the ground, he found himself back in his own body. The reassuring weight of his cats on his chest as he stared up at the now clear face of his mother's statue. “What in the actual fuck was that?!” He asked no one in particular. Choosing to stay on the ground until the sensation of falling finally subsided.

[kyofsonder]

Find the Word 2

I’ve been tagged by several people recently to find select sets of words in my WIPs, and this time I’m not combining them since those posts tend to get a little too long. For this post, I’ll find some words that @aohendo chose for me. Thank you for the tag, for your patience waiting for me to respond, and for the chance to keep playing my favorite game!

My Words: reflect, reach, raise, rely, rampant

I’ll Tag: @on-noon, @perasperaadastrawriting, @maybenow22, @inkovert, @inkspellangel, and as always anyone who wants to join in can use the following words and say I tagged them!

Your Words: stable, shift, reflex, start, influence

As always, I’ll put the excerpts themselves below the cut for readability. 

I found reflect(ed) in my Danny Phantom fanfic “Lingering Scars”:

"It's not just Vlad, either! Every time we fight together, someone else finishes the fight! Strong core? Stability? None of that even comes up! I only have fewer injuries than you because I've already been pulled out of the fight by the time things get serious! I'm always being protected, so of course I'm not getting hurt! Ever! You always keep me safe in dangerous situations!" Dani's eyes flash green, her palms glowing with an energy she immediately snuffs out as soon as she catches it in her peripheral vision. The growl he's been feeling in his own chest and throat echoes under her voice now, like the anxious rumblings of some kind of juvenile big cat -- something large and angry, but not yet grown into its size or its rage.

"Okay! Alright! You're mad! But you're in a house of ghost hunters who would shoot on sight if they caught you in my room, so keep it down!" Danny whisper-shouts back at her, that same growl reflected back at his little sister to drive his point home. It doesn't work. 

I found reach in several of my WIPs, including my short story “Kiyo”:

My sleep comes with dreams. I'm not the type to dream often, but I usually know when it's happening. I get the feeling that something is off. Shifted. Tilted diagonally, just a little. I can feel that now, in an apartment without Kiyo. I go over to her usual spot, wondering what kind of subconscious-fueled nonsense I'll see in her place. A black hole that eats everything that gets close, maybe. A well, full of water I won't be giving to my roommate at dinner time anymore. I drag my feet all the way there, somehow knowing that the dream won't let me do anything else until I've seen whatever it is for myself. When I finally get there, I don't see a black hole or a symbolic well or even an empty plant pot. I see a note, too small to have possibly been printed through a regular printer but too neat and uniform to possibly be handwritten. I don't need the dream to prompt me here. I just reach for the note on my own.

I found variations of raise (raised, raises, etc.) in almost all of my WIPs, including my novel “Apricots”:

"Alright. Okay. I'll say the thing. I... give me a second, it feels weird to say something like that so suddenly," he laughs under his breath, the sound a mask to hide his doubts about this whole situation, then straightens his spine and mimics the expression that Noah had made when he'd said the line initially, "'I walk in the direction of truth.'"

"Thank you," his friend sounds so relieved, it takes Ian a second to notice that there's something on his wrist that wasn't there before. Noah's own hands are raised on either side of his head, almost like he's apologizing. He takes a step back from Ian, who takes a step toward him to close the distance and instantly regrets acting on reflex. His leg jerks when it doesn't connect with the ground, his whole body lurching forward as his stomach tries to drop out of his abdomen. The sensation makes him dizzy, everything spinning so violently that he has to shut his eyes. All he knows is the sensation of falling, without ever landing.

I found rely in my novel WIP “To Be Honest”:

In fact, he'd prefer to avoid today's meeting altogether if he could. Keep studying on his own. Repeating the steps exactly as he reads them in his textbooks. Figuring things out without any outside input. Getting it wrong. Getting stuck. Having to retrace his steps and start the same spell over again. And again. And again. If he keeps going at this pace, he won't even pass the basic refresher course on bloodline spellcasting until he's cleared every other class Dawnriver has to offer. He'll never graduate. Never become Centerpoint. Never be in a position to actually negotiate on equal footing and get his answers. He can't afford to rely on himself alone this time. As much as he hates doing it, and as bad of an idea as it is to go when he hasn't had time to prepare, Micah needs a tutor. He needs help.

I didn’t find rampant, so here’s a fun fact related to the previous excerpt:

I’ve mentioned it before, but Micah is a Bloodline Witch. This means his magic is inherited as a natural-born ability. Having this type of magic also means he can be called a Circle Witch. The title of Circle Witch refers to the circles of influence in which these magical bloodlines operate. Every family that mutates the ability to use magic will also have branch families, allied neighbors, and magic users they're on friendly terms with or have authority over in some capacity. It's similar to an ecosystem, where every animal living in a tree has its own role to play and offers something to the tree but would be vulnerable without the tree's protection. The Renner family is the tree for branch families like the Ritters, and allies like the Path family of werewolves. Within every core bloodline like the Renners, every sheltering tree, there’s one individual who holds the most power and influence over everyone else in the bloodline and its extended Circle. This individual is called the Centerpoint, the core of the core of a family’s Circle. In the canon of "To Be Honest," the Centerpoint of the Renner family is going to step down in a few years. Anticipating this, Micah and his two cousins are all in training to take a test that might just earn them that coveted position within their family and its larger Circle. By the end of the story, one of them will become the new Renner Centerpoint. 

I’m not entirely sure that fun fact made sense when shared on its own, but it’s something I’ve been meaning to clarify since the on-page revelation of Centerpoints and Circles in TBH unfolds somewhat slowly. Thank you again for the tag, it was fun to find these words!

[twistthenoches]

Yandere!Leona x reader

• The first time you both met was kind of... Hectic.

• You were doing some tasks that were given to you. One of them happened to be in the botanical garden, where you accidentally stepped on someone's tail. This tail belonged to Leona Kingscholar, the dormleader of Savanaclaw. You apologised, saying that you didn't see him, but then he started to scold you. Saying how you should look at where you're walking. You yourself couldn't believe what was happening. Of course you had to defend yourself, so you simply said: "You know... For a guy that is supposed to be royalty, you don't know anything about manners or how to behave in public. A bed is a place where you should be napping at. Not places where you'll be in others way." He of course didn't appreciate your words and was about to attack you until a teacher stopped you both.

• You both were being scolded by the teacher, how embarrassing this may be for you both, you had to apologise to each other. With much trouble, you both apologised and were planning to not see each other EVER again. Well... fate had other plans for you.

• The following times you bumped into each other you both always glared at each other. Making remarks about each other. Whenever you both had to be somewhere together for some tasks that were given to you. Like cleaning the library bookcases, or watering the plants in the botanical garden. HE would always take a nap while you worked and say things to him like: "Aren't you going to help? It's a task also given to you!" He would either ignore you or just make remarks/directions on what you should do.

• You absolutely couldn't stand him at first. Though, somehow his company whenever you're doing these things made you feel comforted. Of course you didn't like it when he was smart talking, but at least you're not alone and had someone to 'talk' to. Well... You're just calmly responding to his sometimes insulting words. How you managed to stay calm? Even you didn't know

• Leona, found you amusing. How you would do your tasks and just complain, but nothing more than that. On some occasions when he's really tired he would just leave and nap elsewhere, but there was some part of him saying that he should stay and just observe.

• After you both spent more time together. You doing the tasks, he just laying down. You both went quiet. You had nothing to say to each other. You focussed on your task which was... Quite difficult to do alone. You don't think of yourself as someone weak, but a task where you have to get a few items, which were on the heavy side, into certain rooms was a bit too much for you to handle.

• You gave up on asking Leona to help since, whenever you do ask. He just either leaves or ignores you. You tried to move the things, but it went very slowly. As you tried to speed up the progress you accidentally drop the heavy item on your foot. You cursed out in pain, where Leona for some reason reacted on by walking up to you and helping you out. He brought you to the infirmary and finished the job by himself.

• You found this weird. He NEVER helped you, but did this time? You thought, maybe this guy takes things seriously the moment someone gets hurt... But I am surprised that he didn't call me stupid or clumsy.

• The next few times together he has been helping you which was a pleasant surprise, but confused you. The moment you have to do something that looks difficult he would stop doing his work and do the task for you. Then go back to his work.

• You didn't know how to feel about this. To be honest you liked him more now that he's actually helping. Of course he'll sometimes do the job lazily or he would just take a nap right afterwards, but he still finishes it.

• Leona didn't know what happened to him. Normally he's able to ignore anyone. It didn't matter if they're a bit hurt or are scolding them to go to the class. So why is he concerned whenever it was about you? He isn't dumb of course, he knew that he had fallen in love with you since you're up until now the only one that withstood his constant insulting in a way.  

• He had to test out how he felt, he thought... But that thought was thrown away the moment he saw you with the person he absolutely hated. Malleus. You were smiling at your best friend and Leona felt more and more jealous. He waited... He waited until Malleus was gone and he had a chance to talk to you. When Malleus disappeared into tin air, leaving fireflies in your presence, leaving fireflies in your presence. He revealed himself and asked you, soon after Malleus left, if you would hang out with him and he made it clear that he won't be napping, since he know that you would expect that from him.

• You found this weird, but accepted his offer. Curious about what he would do when you do hang out. Out of free will this time.

• The following times that you hung out went very smoothly. In fact, you both opened up for each other. Eventually you were crushing on him and he confirmed his feelings about you.

• He decided that he should make you his. How he did this was not very romantic, but you didn't really expect him to be the very romantic type anyways. You both were doing tasks in the classroom. That's when he blurted something out.

• "Huh?... Could you repeat that again?" You asked, not believing that what you've heard just now was true.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "... Listen now, I won't be repeating myself again after this... Can I be your boyfriend?" He asked.

• You needed a moment to process this, but he wasn't this patient.

"Nevermind... This was stupid to begin with..."

He said, he felt scared somehow. Scared of rejection. Scared of feeling that you would say no and that you liked someone who was 'superior' than him. Scared that you would start looking at him like all the people back home did whenever they were comparing his brother and him. He at least wants to be friends if you didn't have an answer, but he wouldn't know what to do if you rejected him. Why wouldn't you reject him? When you both met each other you were already at each others necks... He at least was happy that there wasn't bad blood between you both anymore.

Your following words did surprise him.

• "Sure, why not... I did start crushing on you after all." You said.

This simple sentence alone was enough to have him ecstatic. He never really showed it and rather played it cool, but he was relieved.

• The following months went great, you both loved spending time with each other.

• Whenever you both would cuddle each other you would sometimes just enjoy each others presence. Whenever he felt talkative, he would talk about his day or softy whisper compliments in your ear.

• He opened up a lot to you and to you only. You knew more about him. More than almost everyone you knew. Of course... The only person that knew him better than you was he himself.

• He knew that he was starting to get possessive of you. He knew how he truly felt whenever you would hang out and laugh with others. He knew how he felt. He knew his thoughts and he knew that if he actively went to act upon his thoughts and feelings that you would probably leave him. He would love to have you locked up and him being the only one to be able to see you, but wasn't able to do this.

• He had to work secretively. Whenever you hang out with people he would glare at them. Especially if they're getting too close to you. He likes to have some distance between you and other people. To do this, he would intimidate others. Glaring them down as if they would be his next dinner if they were, in his opinion, too friendly with you.

• He would often nap at places where you like to hang out. Sometimes hiding too smartly to make his presence unknown, while he's just listening in.

• When he's napping and you're not around, he would often send Ruggie to check up on you and would do this in a way to make it seem like Ruggie went to you out of his own free will. If he's planning on moving and checking up on you himself, he would hide near you. he knows that you would suspect him to be somewhere else, just lazily napping.

• If you did notice him, he would say that some kids were disturbing him and that he's finding another spot to rest. If he's feeling extra possessive, he would drag you with him. Since you're his cuddle buddy too.

• When you both are resting and he's smelling someone else on you his face would sometimes scrunch up. He would either ask (demand) you to wear his clothes just to get rid of the smell. Or he would make very bruised up hickeys on your neck or collarbone. These hickeys would sometimes be hard to cover up.

"Tch... You smell weird. I won't be able to sleep with that stench around.  Did you hang out with __ again?... Time to remind you that you're mine and mine alone."

[anonymousfiction211]

Handcuffed together

Summary: Loki and you hate each other, but are both part of the Avengers. They are fed up with you two fighitng all the time and hancuff you together, so you can learn to tolerate each other.  Word count: 3.132 words Warnings: Smut, dubious consent (it is consentual, but not specificly said), angry Loki, degrading  A/N: Based on a idea from @the-best-phineas. Hope you like it! If anyone has an idea, or suggestion just let me know :)

Click here for chapter 2 Click here for chapter 3

With a loud click the handcuff around your wrist closed. You immediately tried to unlock the cuff, but it wouldn’t give. “Like that would work” Loki commented. You gave him a glare but turned your attention back to Tony. “Seriously, this is not necessary. Give us another chance” you begged him. “Look, we are all sick of the two of you constant fighting, it is effecting the team and the missions we’re on. And all that magic-crap makes everything worse. So, until the two of you can tolerate each other you’re cuffed together. And you’re both not allowed on missions before you finish this one” You sighed heavily but knew that arguing more was futile.

“I must say, you’re taking this better than I thought you would” Tony said to Loki. “Escaping handcuffs isn’t that difficult, Stark” Loki replied. Tony secured the cuff on Loki’s wrist. He then walked hastily to the door. “Oh, one more thing. These handcuffs are designed so you can’t use your powers” Tony said and quickly exit the room. Loki immediately tried to escape his cuff with magic, but nothing was happening. You tried as well, but got the same result, nothing. You met his eyes, which were full of anger. “I thought escaping from handcuffs wasn’t that difficult” you said sarcastically. Loki didn’t break eye contact. The anger was radiating off him, you swore you could physically feel it. He didn’t say anything but turned around and walked away. When you didn’t move he yanked at his side of the cuffs and you were forced to take a few steps in his direction. “What the… LOKI..” you started angrily, but he didn’t react. He kept walking while ignoring you. Right now, you had no other choice than to follow him, trying to keep up.

He pushed his bedroom door open with so much force, you thought it would break. He walked towards his bookcase and was taking out different books, flipping through them. You had enough and yanked at the handcuffs, making the book in his hand fall on the ground. “STOP. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING” you yelled at him. He gave you his angriest look, the one he said he reserved specially for you, because he never met anyone who was as stupid and annoying as you were. And that included his oaf of a brother. “I am finding a way to free myself from you” he spat. “So, just stand there and try not to get in the way” he turned his attention back to the bookcase. “You can’t just walk away and drag me along” you grumbled. “Apparently I can” he said with a sly small on his face. You yanked at the cuffs again, making Loki drop his book again. He turned to face you, grabbed your throat with the cuffed hand and pushed you hard against the wall behind you. Your scream was cut off by his other hand covering your mouth. He wasn’t chocking you, but the tightness off his grip wasn’t comfortable enough for you to relax. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, which was weird. It shouldn’t.

He pulled his hand away from your mouth after standing there for what felt like eternity. “Look, I’m much stronger than you are. So, I’m going to find a way to free myself. The only thing you have to do is staying out of my way” he growled. He let go of your throat, but still stood extremely close to you. “Yeah, this whole act doesn’t scare me” your voice hoarser than you would have liked. Loki chuckled “Look, when you had your powers you had some sort of defense, even tough it was weak. Without your powers.. you don’t stand a chance against me” You slapped him hard across his face. His face turned sideways, but his cheek didn’t show any red mark. He slowly turned his head to face you, giving you a wicked smile that sends chills trough your body. He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. But both of you knew, you had just proofed his point.

The rest of the morning you two sat on his bed. Loki was busy reading different books and he sometimes grumbled in annoyance. You were playing a game on your phone, trying to ignore him. Loki snaped his book shut and threw it across the room. You looked up from your phone “I assume the search is not going well then?” you couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at his frustration. “Just shut up, it’s not like you are any useful” he replied. He sighed and laid down on his bed. His put his cuffed hand on his chest, which meant that your hand also touched his chest. When he felt your hand, he puts his hand down beside him, pretending it didn’t happen. “We could pretend to like each other for this afternoon, and we surely will be free before dinner” you said. Loki didn’t reply. He sighed heavily “Fine” he muttered. He got up from the bed, which mean that you had to crawl to his side to get up as well. When it took to long he grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet in front of him. Not anticipating this move, you stumbled and fell into his chest. His free hand immediately grabbed you by your hip to steady you. A weird feeling was spreading from your hip through your body, you couldn’t quite place it. When he dropped his hand you still felt his touch. “Shall we?” he said. You nodded and followed him towards the living room. But there was no one there. Loki walked towards the kitchen, with you close behind him. There was a note on the kitchen table.

Loki and (Y/N), The team had to leave for a mission. We will be back in two days. Don’t kill each other. - Natasha

Loki crumbled up the piece of paper and threw it through the kitchen. “Great, just great. Two day stuck with you” he said angrily. “Lucky me, two days in the presence of a god” you replied with as much sarcasm as you could. Loki gave you an angry glare, which you ignored. He stormed out of the kitchen, yet again dragging you along. After a few steps you yanked at the cuffs and halted in your track. “Look, we both want nothing more than the be free of each other. But we’re at least stuck with each other for two day, so how about some rules?” you started. Loki didn’t say anything but nodded.

“First, discussing where we are going, no more dragging me along and doing whatever you want” you started.

“No talking unless absolutely necessary” Loki replied.

“No more threats, or throat grabbing”

“No more punching”

“How about no touching of any form?” you said.

“Fine by me. Also, no more singing. You are really bad at it”

“No more insulting me!!” you half yelled

“Don’t make insulting you so easy then!”

There was a long silence. “We sleep in my room” Loki said. “IF you behave this day, I MIGHT consider letting you sleep in the bed” you rolled your eyes at that comment. “I accept that we sleep in your room, but only IF I sleep in the bed too. Otherwise, we sleep in my room” you said. He smirked “If you weren’t so insufferable I might even enjoy this little negotiation” You couldn’t help but smile at his comment “same for me” you replied.

The rest of the afternoon went by rather peacefully. Loki was reading books and you were watching a series on tv. There was one awkward moment when you had to use the toilet, but you had to admit that Loki did his best to give you all the privacy you needed. So, you did the same when he had to go. Your stomach started to rumble, you were getting hungry. “Shall we order food?” you asked Loki. After a very long discussion you both finally agreed on Chinese food. In hindsight it wasn’t the best idea to eat Chinese food when you only have one hand. During dinner, your hands sometimes touched each other, by accident. But every time you felt his hand against yours spark like electricity shot through your body. You suddenly forgot how to breathe and didn’t know where this was coming from. You were hoping Loki didn’t notice and try to ignore the feeling.

After dinner things basically stayed the same. You put on a movie and halfway through Loki decided to watch it too. But none of you said a word to each other. After the movie you were getting tired. “Can we go to bed?” you asked. Loki nodded and the two of you walked to his bedroom. That was when things got a little awkward. You both turned your back towards each other when the other undressed. Loki had pulled down his pants and his shirt, which was now hanging on the chain of the cuffs. You were currently undressing yourself, getting rid of your own pants and pulling your T-shirt over your head, hanging it next to Loki’s on the chain. You currently were in a bra and thong, mentally slapping yourself for not thinking this through this morning. Worst off all was that it was in dark green, which was a colour you wore often before Loki joined the team. When Loki turned around you saw his eyes roam your body, suddenly you felt extremely exposed. You noticed that Loki was more muscular than you thought, if he were any other man on the planet you would have thought his body was attractive. You cleared your throat, snapping Loki’s eyes to meet yours. If you didn’t know any better you thought you saw a slight blush on his cheeks.

He walked towards his doors and turned down the light. His room was completely dark, and you couldn’t see a thing anymore. You heard Loki walk and felt your hand pulled towards his direction. You were hesitant to move, not wanting to trip or bump into something. “Why are you not moving?” Loki asked annoyed. “I- I can’t see a thing” you replied. Loki walked closer to you, his free arm grabbed your shoulder, and he took your cuffed hand with his. You flinched from the sudden touch, not expecting it. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you” he said. “I know, you just startled me” you replied. He guided you towards his bed and let you get in first. “Thanks” you whispered. “Just go to sleep” he replied. But sleep did not come easily. It was difficult to find a comfortable position, because of the handcuffs. But somehow you managed.

The light shining through the curtains woke you up. Loki was still fast asleep, he looked peaceful. He was laying on his side, facing you with his free hand underneath his head. His cuffed hand was on top of yours. You slowly moved your hand from underneath his. His eyes snapped open, and he looked at you. You were both silent. He cleared his throat “Breakfast?” he asked, you nodded. You both decided it was a good idea to make pancakes. However, cooking with handcuffs on was more difficult than anticipated. Especially since Loki wasn’t much of a cook. You got frustrated and told him to just get out of your way. You finally had the batter how you wanted and picked up the bowl to bring it near the stove. Loki, wanting to get out of your way, choose the wrong direction making the two of you bump into each other. You lost your grip on the bowl and it fell on the ground.

“Seriously?!” you asked angrily. “It’s not my fault you don’t watch where you’re going” Loki replied equally angry. “Why are you incapable of just admitting you’re not perfect and say sorry?”

“Why do you always look to me when someone has to take blame for your actions?” he spat back.

“You are the most insufferable person I’ve ever met!”

“God” Loki corrected.

“What?”

“I’m not a person, I’m a God!”

“Some God you are, you can’t free yourself, you can’t even make your own pancakes” you replied sarcastically.

“I suggest you chose your next words very carefully” he warned you.

You being you, decided to ignore the warning. “You might think yourself a God, but you are the only one who does” you said, knowing it would get some sort of reaction out of him. Loki used to cuffs to spin you around, your back against his chest. His cuffed arm was around your throat and his free hand around your stomach, holding you in place. “If you don’t shut up know, I make you” he whispered in your ear with a dangerous tone in his voice. Your whole body felt on fire, yet again. Before you knew that you did it, you pressed your ass against his groin. “Oh, you like this don’t you?” he purred in your ear. “Shut up and let me go” you said, trying to squirm out his grip. “No, you want this” he said.

“I don’t” you replied.

“That’s a lie”

“Like you would know. You may have the title God of Lies, but like we established... you’re no God” you laughed.

“I don’t need to be the God of Lies to know. You heart rate is up, your pupils yesterday dilated when you saw me shirtless, and your voice is higher. And the best thing is, your needy body betrays you” he laughed back.

You had enough. You kicked the back of your foot against his shin, but Loki didn’t even flinch. “Bad choice, kitten” he said. Without warning his teeth sunk into your neck. Instead of making your scream it made you moan louder than you would have liked. His hand on your stomach travelled downwards, going straight for your core. He cupped your heat with his hand and one of his fingers strokes between your folds. Revealing that you indeed were turned on, and already extremely wet. “Hmm.. such a needy slut you are” he hummed. You wanted to protest, you should protest, but alle words had escaped you. Your breathe was ragged and you knew you what was going to happen.

Loki spun you around, pushing your upper body on the kitchen counter. He held his cuffed hand in your hair, forcing your hand behind your back and your head down. You tried to squirm away, but Loki wouldn’t budge. “We both know you can’t escape and we both know you don’t want to. So now I’m going to fuck you, maybe you think twice next time you talk to me like that” he growled. His free hand hovered over the buttons of your pants and in one smooth motion he opened them. He pulled your pants down, caressing your butt. Goosebumps were starting to form, and you felt yourself grow wetter from his touch. Loki had freed his erection through his zipper, still wearing his pants. He stroked his shaft up and down your slid. Slightly dipping through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.

Without warning he thrusted inside of you, making you cry out in pleasure. He started thrusting in and almost out of you in a very quick pace. His cock filled you up completely, even reaching your g-spot when he was fully inside of you. You started to rock your hips, meeting his pace. “That’s it, good girl” he praised you. It made you blush and clench your walls around his cock. He left darkly at your reaction. You felt your orgasm starting to build up inside of you. Loki’s animalistic way of fucking you was becoming too much. Right before you reached your high you moaned out loud “Oh my God” Loki stilted deep inside of you. “What did you say, darling?” he mused. “I- .. just keep going” you replied, hoping he would let you come undone. He leaned his upper body over yours, his lips right by your ear. “Just repeat it, if you want to come of course” he purred. You didn’t respond and thought about giving up your climax. Loki slowly moved pulled out and back inside of you. He knew you were close and was using that against you at the moment. “What’s wrong, kitten? Usually you’re so talkative” he chuckled. He was keeping his slow pace, keeping you on the edge but not pushing you over it.

You groaned in frustration. “Fine, I said oh my God” you said annoyed. Loki picked his pace up slightly, but nowhere near how fast you needed him. “So, you do admit that I’m a God?” even tough you couldn’t see his face, you just knew he had his signature smirk on his face. “Yes” you said to gritted teeth. Loki just laughed “Now, was that so difficult?” before you could answer he was thrusting at a fast pace. To your surprise Loki himself was starting to moan slightly, muttering things under his breath about how tight you were and how good you feel around his cock. It didn’t take long before you reached your climax. When you reached your high you couldn’t help but cry out “Oh my God Loki” adding fuel to his thrusts. He came right after you.

He collapsed on top of you, leaving feather light kisses on your neck. He pulled out of you and handed you a kitchen towel to clean yourself up. You pulled up your underwear and pants, not being able to look Loki in his eyes. You grabbed another bowl and started on a new pancake batter. Loki stood right behind you, hands on either side of you. He was nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck. “If I knew this would shut you up, I would’ve done it much sooner” he mused. “That was a one-time thing, don’t get any ideas. I still hate you” you replied. “Oh no, new rule. Every time you anger me, I’m going to fuck you like the slut you are” You knew it shouldn’t, but you felt yourself get excited again. “It’s only for a day and a half, so I just won’t make you angry” you replied dryly. Loki laughed “Kitten, even if we’re free from these cuffs I am still going to fuck you. You laid with a God and now you’re mine” You scoffed “That’s not how it works” Loki pulled you closer against his chest and cupped your breast with his free hand. He chuckled when you gasped and closed your eyes. “It is. By the time, the team is back, you will worship me like you should”

Click here for chapter 2

[ezlebe]

Prompt - Tom threatens or tries to wrestle Greg again, resulting in Greg accidently revealing his masochist kink

“Why’re you always like doing that?” Greg says, pinching his lips together and not quite pushing Tom away, but also sort of putting six inches at least between their persons. “You know I’m not like, into… general fisticuffs.”

“You should be, Greg,” Tom snaps, getting huffy, like he always does when Greg won’t rise to shoving him or whatever, even though he really clearly doesn’t want Greg to do it, anyway? “I’d like to even out the field, here, alright? Clean the slate. You need a hit or two to reset that back to zero and you’re being really difficult. Just do it!”

“Like…” Greg blinks rapidly, looking from Tom’s face to his hands, nose curling with reluctance. He’s pretty it would be the wrong thing to say that there was never exactly a zero. “Oh.”

“It simply needs to be done – especially now,” Tom says, matter of fact, with that slight upturned pinch at his mouth, which means he knows he’s being like a little out of bounds but cannot stop himself. It’s not a good pinch. Historically.

“Wh-what if, um…?” Greg drags his teeth across his lip, face flushing, and attempts to think of something to change the subject, but considering how often Tom has tried to get this to happen, he isn’t just going to give up on it. “It’s reset a different way? Like. You – uh, you get in some good ones to cancel the bad ones? And that’d be… better for me, especially now.”

“What does that even – ?” Tom pauses, his focus sliding markedly to the right while his mouth hangs open mid-thought. His eyes sweep back at Greg, going wide, then narrow, “You’re going to need to be very unambiguous here, Greg, as much as that might give you a stroke.”

“It doesn’t have to be hits, necessarily,” Greg says, rubbing at the back of his neck, then slumping down on the next bench they pass and wrapping his hands around the edge near his thighs. “Like, I – I prefer not hits, actually? But I do, uh. I don’t exactly dislike the bruises.”

Tom stares harder, standing over him with hands on his hips. “Even less ambiguous.”

Greg takes a shaky breath. “Instead of me – um, me hitting you, or – or wrestling?” He says, feeling a little weird in a kind of restless way with Tom standing over him looking so serious. “You could like… hurt me, maybe, but in a way I – I want you to.”

Tom is still for a beat, then nods with a slow drop of his head and gestures for more with an inward curving hand.

“And that is, like I think actually settling it even better, because I wouldn’t like hitting you, and you don’t want me to, so that would like just be putting more points on the bad board. Not making it a tie – or um, putting the board back in… black, I guess?”

Tom wets his lower lip, glancing sideways in the direction of Mondale, then shuffles to the side to join Greg at the bench. “…Right.”

“But like, only if you want to,” Greg says, glancing over to look at Tom from the corner of his eye.

“Have you already thought about this?” Tom says, still visibly skeptical, then gestures with a drop of a pointed finger toward the bench below them. “Before now.”

“Uh,” Greg intones, as his face begins to feel truly like it must be about to light totally aflame, “A little…. I got this bruise on my thigh from the desk like, trying to dodge the water bottles? And it was like in sort of a sexy place and I – I uh, I sometimes pressed on it, you know? Until it went away.”

Tom’s mouth flattens, quiet for a pair of tense moments. “But not the ones from the bottles?”

“I didn’t get any from the actual water bottles.”

Tom blinks rapidly, visibly deflating, “Oh.”

“And that time you grabbed my wrist a little hard to yank me away from Roman –”

“You two were being unreasonable,” Tom interrupts, voice pitching, then twisting his own grip against the bench. “And I didn’t know it was too hard – you didn’t… say.”

Greg wets his lips and shakes his head, then lifts his arm to show the metal clasp at the band, pushing slightly into his tendons. “It wasn’t, actually; the watch was just what sort of pinched into my wrist? But I could feel it for like two days.”

“Ah,” Tom intones, staring hard at the watch band.

“And then, uh,” Greg says, tilts his head with an especially thick swallow. “On the plane home from Italy – ”

Tom makes a low noise. “Oh, god.”

“Your fingers were like digging into my elbow for like ten hours,” Greg says, lifting his other hand now to press at the place across his opposite elbow where purple had decorated around the joint. “That gave like the best ones, so far.”

“So far,” Tom repeats, faintly, shoving his head straight into his hands. “This conversation has totally broken its leash.”

“I didn’t even like realize really that it may be something I could find – uh, find satisfying, until the whole hostage thing?” Greg swallows, then takes a slow breath, “Which is like kind of messed up? Since I was like going for the opposite of that.”

Tom laughs a pitchy squawk into his hands.

“Is this really bad?”

“Honestly? It’s … it’s not that, so much,” Tom says, “But we’ve been sleeping together for months – you’re over all the time, to the point it almost feels like you conveniently forgot to tell me you got evicted – and I only find out now you jacked off to bruises that I feel bad about?”

“It seemed more like a six-month thing?”

Tom raises one of his brows incredulously high up his forehead. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Greg mutters, shrugging small against the back of the bench. “I don’t have any, like… frame of reference, Tom.”

“But that’s… a thing you’re into?”

“I haven’t looked that much into it?” Greg admits, though he had sort of tried, but reading people’s takes on it… was a lot. “Just like. When the opportunity pops up? But yeah.”

“This is something else,” Tom mutters, staring out across the park, as his face folds into various expressions, until he ultimately turns and looks hard at Greg. “Are you sure it’s not Stockholm?”

“You’re not like that bad, Tom,” Greg says, though he kind of is, sometimes, but it’s way more in an emotional way than physical. He’s doesn’t actually think Tom knows that, though, how he can easily twist Greg’s arm into like a lot by having a breakdown. He’s pretty sure Tom isn’t faking them.

“So says you, at least,” Tom mutters, in that way where it’s clear someone else said opposite.

Greg feels something high in his cheek. “You could like do my arm, right now?” He offers, swallowing shallow, “Or my leg?”

“What?”

Greg holds his arm out with his palm up. “Like. Squeeze it really hard?”

Tom looks down dubiously, like he had with the watch. “Uh, are you sure?”

Greg wriggles his fingers, then feels his breath catch when Tom actually reaches out and lays a palm across his forearm.

“Just… squeeze?” Tom clarifies, wrapping his fingers lightly around.

“Yeah, like…” Greg trails off, then shrugs, inching his arm over further and somewhat laying in Tom’s lap. “Hard. Like as hard as you can, I guess?”

“I wish we weren’t having this conversation here,” Tom says, while he tightens his fingers hesitantly around Greg’s arm, and it must look a bit like they’re holding hands on the bench. “Somehow this feels like I just took my cock out here in the dog park.”

Greg wets his lip, flexing his hand against the pressure. He belatedly thinks it’s weird they’re doing this first, as well, rather than holding hands, not that he wouldn’t like to do that, too. “You started it.”

Tom scoffs under his breath, his grip frustratingly wavering within seconds. “To rib, like – like frat boys, not… whatever is going on right now.”

“You can like do it harder,” Greg says, firmly, definitely not anything like a plea.

Tom sighs outright, but his hand constricts tight around Greg’s forearm all at once. “Good lord, you are backpedaling decades of gains by hardworking activists being such a publicly deviant queer right now.”

“I know,” Greg says, head dropping back and staring at the cloudy sky with a brief clench of his jaw, already thinking about what it’s going to feel like in a few hours. He thinks he can feel the pulse in Tom’s thumb, as the pain deepens, throbbing a little through his fingertips. He had no idea what he thought it might be like, so deliberate, but he didn’t… Fuck. He didn’t think at all.

“And there’s an actual, honest to God, squirrel two feet from us – ” Tom continues, as if he’s not got a hold so strong around Greg’s arm that it feels like the bones are going to flex and break into each other. “Mondale, thank fuck, is at least unawares from his mulch tunnel. Luckily, it’s 10AM on a Wednesday, peak hours for engaging in kink in a public park, barefaced and lacking even the anonymity of a stall –”

“Tom,” Greg says, then swallowing hard, ears burning at the rasp of his own voice.

Tom immediately releases Greg’s wrist. “Okay?”

Greg nods his head, leaning over slightly to try to hide his somewhat karmic situation throbbing between his legs. His arm is prickling where Tom was holding it, not really in a sore sense, but in a way where he can still almost feel it.

Tom is silent for a pair of tense beats, then abruptly his hand slides heavy across Greg’s shoulders. “Oh,” he outright purrs, making the situation worse, as he leans sideways and presses his lips nearly against Greg’s ear. “Is someone chubbing up in his lululemon hosiery?”

“I – uh, we shouldn’t have done that. Here.”

“I know!” Tom says, voice lifting in pitch and audibly halfway to laughter, leaning back into his place on the bench while he shakes Greg pointedly at the shoulder. “You make me totally insane, Gregory. I swear you steal away all my good sense with those babydoll eyes of yours.”

[yeojaa]

( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag.  You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.  

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash.  You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating.  idiots to lovers.  fluff, angst, smut.  the holy trifecta, babies!  explicit, obviously.  

tags / warnings.  mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc.  12.2k of nonsense.  pure nonsense, i tells ya. 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow​ dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her.  i love you both sm!!!  ✨💜

author note.  the long-awaited fic is here!!  i really hope you enjoy it.  if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something?  i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot.  anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you!  stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker.  That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him.  It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard. 

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove.  Sometimes, she’s by herself;  often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste.  They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique.  Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be.  You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit. 

“He has no idea.”  It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts.  “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder.  How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair?  It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie. 

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”.  Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else.  Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention.  Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him.  Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face. 

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,”  she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does.  She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough.  Zero tact, though.  Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble.  You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested.  “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags.  (God, what awful taste.)  There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best.  (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction.  You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place.  Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on.  When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes.  He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW.  Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress  is.  

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect.  It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.  

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?”  He upspeaks.  It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first.  A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect.  “What’s the item and the name it’s under?”  You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine.  Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.” 

You’re floored.  This is Jeon Jungkook?  This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger?  You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face.  It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers.  “I’ll grab it!  The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly.  He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends.  He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance.  It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears.  There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.  

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend?  I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.”  Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off.  “She said she was leaving on Friday.”  Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made.  “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall.  You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.  

You do feel bad.  Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this.  For hurting this stranger.  (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”  Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality.  He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip.  He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet. 

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off.  Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in.  (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.)  As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth.  “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend.  Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid.  Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours.  Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say.  Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation.  “Oh, maybe.  I’m sorry.”  The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t.  That’s a thing, right?  Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?  

God, you’re an altruist. 

“It’s fine.”  When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not.  You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word.  (You won’t.)

“Here it is!”  Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands.  If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing.  You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand.  He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying.  You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.  

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found.  Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start.  Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,”  you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands.  It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card.  The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently.  You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder.  It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum.  (You either, but still.) 

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers.  “What?”

“You know— that!”  She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago.  “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,”  you correct. 

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response.  There it is. 

“What?”  There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable. 

“What?”  It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery.  You can read every emotion that runs through her expression:  shock, displeasure, confusion.  

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth.  (She really does remind you of your little sister.)  “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder.  You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now.  There was no way he didn’t. 

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts.  That’s all.”  You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done.  You’d want to know if you were him.  Consider it an act of goodwill. 

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind.  What’s done is done.  Now he knows, or something close to it.  The chips would simply fall where they were meant to. 

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him. 

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift.  She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway.  Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding.  It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship. 

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening. 

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter.  “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression.  “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.”  You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person.  Sensible. 

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.  

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front.  You suppose it’s your responsibility now.  You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell. 

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker.  “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”  

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?”  Upspeaking again. How cute. 

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.”  You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter.  “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“  It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable.  “Thanks.  I didn’t even notice.  Um, I can come pick it up today?”  There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back.  “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out.  He truly was a sucker. 

“That’s fine.  We’re open until six tonight.”  

“I’ll be there before dinner.”  As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough.  “Before six, I mean.  Um, is around five-thirty okay?” 

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation.  Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation.  “Of course.  We’ll see you then.” 

He hangs up immediately. 

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last.  It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest.  You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon.  You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday.  Somehow, you like it more.  The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair.  It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person.  (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him.  Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.  

“O-oh.  It’s you.”  The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified.  “I m-mean, just—”  He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again.  “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.”  Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.  

“That’s right,”  you say evenly, expression neutral.  It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.  

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary.  Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room.  You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.  

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?”  He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store.  You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.  

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again.  He makes the same trip twice more.  “Can I have it?”  To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed.  He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress.  Good job, you think.

“Of course.”  You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter.  Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip.  You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything.  (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment.  Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides.  It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended.  Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact.  “May I have it, please?” 

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand.  You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable.  Is he going to say thank you?  Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems.  “Why did you do it?”  There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?”  You know what he means.  You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?”  Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you.  You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him;  it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side.  For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies.  It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his.  “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?” 

“What do you mean?”  

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror.  He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.  

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head.  It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.  

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.  

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin.  (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes.  Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.”  For once, he doesn’t sutter.  The lisp doesn’t present itself, either.  Was this the same Jungkook?  You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?”  He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name.  How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit?  It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?”  The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no.  You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly.  It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.  

“I mean like— talk talk.”  The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else.  His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.  

“Sure, we can talk talk.”  

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way.  “Are you asking me on a date?”  

“W-what?  No!”  Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears.  “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding.  Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance.  He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow.  Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.  

“So, what do you want to talk about?”  It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down.  His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving.  You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie.  It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall.  “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly.  “Huh?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  

“Um—”  He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence.  There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking.  “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out.  “You want to talk about… you?”  

“That sounds bad.”  The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.  

“It’s fine.  We’ll talk at dinner.”  

He nods.  You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy.  Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.  

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?”  He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden.  Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure.  (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.”  Everything here is incredible.  You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place.  His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel.  You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish. 

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections.  Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?”  You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.  

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute.  “So?”  

“What did you want to talk about?”  If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often.  As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper. 

“Oh.”  Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth.  He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle.  You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting.  He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected.  It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline.  “What?” 

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot.  You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip.  Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.”  It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you.  You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel.  Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you.  You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable.  A little different, sure, but altogether nice.  Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake.  You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”  

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not.  His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does.  (Seriously, how big are his eyes?)  You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth.  Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?”  He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.  

“What?”  You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”  

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out.  It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent.  Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.”  Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.  

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare.  “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?”  The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.  

“That’s not my name.”  The bite disappears past his teeth.  You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook.  Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do.  Juvenile in a way but enticing in another.  You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,”  he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down.  (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.)  “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation.  He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations.  He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.  

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea.  Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,”  you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.”  He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact.  “You care about people.  You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone.  You want to do what’s right.  Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words.  Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.  

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey.  He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts.  He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up.  He decorates his apartment with the most random things:  limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates.  He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years.  All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on.  (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.)  He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his).  He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,”  he insists from behind his coffee cup.  

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”  

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh.  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable. 

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.”  It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap.  It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now.  He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had.  Youngin is good for him, though.  You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips.  When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone.  “Girls are scary.”

You laugh.  Cackle, really.  You can’t help it.  He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon.  He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak.  He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says.  (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary.  Death is scary.  Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.”  He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest.  From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture;  from him, it’s patient.  “Girls aren’t scary.  Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.” 

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”  

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good.  Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags.  Like he’s living life in greyscale. 

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze.  Instead, he laughs.  “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.”  You’re adamant, insistent.  He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft.  An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.  

You want to protect him, teach him to fly.  Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.  

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes.  He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it.  He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.  

“Fine,”  he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long.  It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused.  It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days.  You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.  

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse.  If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton.  He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew).  He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it.  (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?”  It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso.  It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm. 

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him.  He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for.  To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings.  “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.  

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is. 

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence?  (You wish you were joking.)  It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.  

“This one?”  He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face.  Medium-weight cashmere.  Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist.  It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,”  you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels.  “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law.  You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.”  He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.  

Your response is a shrug.  “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.”  You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates.  You know there’ll be something good on the menu.  

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist.  You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him.  Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink.  Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.  

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch.  That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other.  “Hey!  You’re leaving already?”  It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone.  It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes.  For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes.  “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.”  A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh?  Well, that’s certainly something new.  Good for him, you think. 

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.”  It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words.  “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her.  Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes).  Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date.  It’s a big deal. 

“Yeah—“  Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky.  “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”  

“I will,”  he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.  

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place.  It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look.  “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”  

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?  

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever).  It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you.  He’s going on a second date, after all.  Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant.  You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine.  Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine.  The two of you are friends.  You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come.  Baby boy was growing up. 

“Y’know.”  You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment.  It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?”  He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.  

You wiggle your hand dismissively.  “Second date and all that.”  

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on.  It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots.  “Just stick around.  I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him.  “Fine.  I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door.  “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,”  you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake.  It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook.  This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook:  Hey. from jeon jungkook:  I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook:  If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook:  Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date.  It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing.  (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook:  i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops.  Of course.  He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions.  (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook:  it’s fine!  have fun! to jeon jungkook:  turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up.  Good, you think.  About time he finds someone nice.  You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.  

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact.  He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic. 

“I want you to meet her,”  he mumbles, like that makes it better.  As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?”  He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over.  (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.)  You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.”  But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is.  Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately.  “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that.  No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman.  It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set.  Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise.  It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch.  (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)  

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.”  His vague response speaks volumes.  The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery.  When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway.  “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!”  Of course.  It’s obvious.  She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that.  (He is.)  “I’m not coming to dinner.”  

“You’re already in the car,”  he reasons.  

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve.  Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.”  When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him.  Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal.  Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,”  he repeats, almost pleading.  You can’t look at him.  You won’t.  The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause. 

“Fine.”  You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off.  You’re not actually mad.  Just worried.  You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand.  It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person.  You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that.  Should, anyway.  You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.  

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it.  He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line.  (Truthfully, it’s your fault.  All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by.  You’ve got a reputation to uphold. 

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat?  How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer:  you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.  

“What’re you doing here?”  At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness.  Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really).  “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge.  It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired.  So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance.  He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin.  You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.  

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)  

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day.  “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,”  the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well.  Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,”  you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold.  You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else.  If you had to guess, it’s her perfume.  It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses.  You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.  

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter.  You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare.  “So?”

“W-what?”  

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning.  Something’s happened.  Must have.  There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?”  You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him.  He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.  

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression.  He’s stalling, you can tell.  You hate when he does this.  You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small.  “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced.  What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges.  You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual.  Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned.  (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.  

“So.”  You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves.  You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest.  He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs.  Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.”  The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said.  Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.  

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look.  It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?”  It explodes out, a question that demands an answer. 

He’s staring past your head, unblinking.  You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp.  “I c-couldn’t.  It was just…”  The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”  

“Just—”  There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot.  He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise.  He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket.  “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean?  Feel right?  

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete.  It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down.  Didn’t he understand that?  Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.  

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’”  You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window.  “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately.  He doesn’t. 

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” 

“You like her, right?”  

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out.  Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there.  “So, you like her.”  It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way;  you don’t mean it in any way but supportive.  You just want him to be happy.  “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”  

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer.  But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise.  Hope, maybe?  Fear?   

“What?”  You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight.  He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer.  (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”  

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest.  His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair.  He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer.  Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,”  he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.”  It’s cruel.  “You’re making a bad choice.  You’re into this girl.  Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements.  “I’m not dumb.”  There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask.  It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.  

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.  

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay.  Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question.  You can’t blame her.  You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.  

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.  

“What?”  It’s less snark, more sigh.  You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.  

“What’s going on with you?”  

“Nothing.”  

“Bullshit,”  she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter.  “You’ve been in a bad mood all week.  I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.”  She’s right, of course.  You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what.  “Did something happen?”  

You grit your teeth.  An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,”  she tries again, concerned.  

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!”  She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly.  “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough.  So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right.  It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload.  (Maybe it’d be helpful.  Probably.  But you’ve never found comfort in other people.  At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.”  Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on.  “It’s fine.  Really.”  You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile.  “I just need to get some sleep.”  And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.  

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action.  It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.”  You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater.  He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,”  he mutters, refusing to meet your stare.  At least, you think he’s refusing.  It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.  

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes.  It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away.  It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?”  You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated.  He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding.  “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.”  This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him.  He hums a noise but offers nothing further.  

This is how it’ll be then.  Fine.  If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go.  He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth.  “I—  I don’t—  I didn’t say that.” 

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.  

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now.  Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.  

“W-what?”

“Tell me.”  You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round.  “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters.  What have I got that she doesn’t?”  

“You’re serious?”  

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.  You think he might say no, outright refuse.  You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.  

“You’re funny.  You’re honest.  You speak your mind.”  You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people.  He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him.  “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t.  You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”  

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen.  As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.  

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.”  He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again.  “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”  

There’s something thick in your throat.  

“You make me want to try.”  He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it.  “Y-you make things not so scary.”  

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you.  He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself.  You make me laugh.”  He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.”  You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit.  Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.  

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs.  Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words.  They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism.  “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention.  “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here.  Just a chance.”  He’s got a peculiar look on his face.  “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?” 

All of a sudden, he’s close.  Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be.  There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down.  The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.  

“You kind of ruined my life.  I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense.  You’d ruined his life?  (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.)  You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.  

“I’m kidding.”  

It feels like whiplash.  You’ve created a monster.  

“But you do owe me, I think.  So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing.  He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams. 

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out.  He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed.  He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money.  He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.  

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him).  If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either.  Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge.  He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,”  he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you.  You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom.  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff.  It’s adorable.  

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends.  You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head.  You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.  

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.  

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups.  Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.  

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together.  Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects.  Surely there’s more to this.  Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?”  You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.  

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”  

“A playsuit?”  You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in.  Would it even fit?  Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns.  “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected.  Or at least, you think it does.  If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim. 

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal.  He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,”  he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds.  The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs.  He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick.  “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.  

“Use your words, gorgeous.”  As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck.  He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”  

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob.  Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh.  He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be.  The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.  

“You like this, don’t you?”  His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy.  “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,”  you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts.  The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin.  Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.  

“Good girl.”  Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips.  You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall.  Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips.  “Such a good girl for me.  My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she?  Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard.  Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate.  It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest.  Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it.  Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear.  You know he’ll catch you.  “I want you.”  

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same.  Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.  

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm.  The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,”  he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer.  Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am.  I am.  I am,”  you chant, tears welling along your lash line.  They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.  

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you.  It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you. 

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much.  Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings​ @veronawrites​ @notmontae97​ @papillonsgf​ i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

[sinner-as-saint]

Let Me Love You.

CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader AU.

Run-through: Things happened between you and your boss over a weekend recently; while on a business trip. Boundaries were crossed, lines were blurred – rather salaciously. Following this; you decide to resign from your dream job because you couldn’t handle the guilt of having been so unethical. So vulnerable and open. Neither could you handle his burning stare at work, nor the craving of being under him each time you looked at him. So you decide to leave before you ruin your own career and further. But then, your boss shows up at your doorstep – determined to make you realize that this isn’t so bad after all…

Themes: smut, fluff, ceo!bucky (because I miss him)

You felt awful as you stepped into your apartment.

Sighing as you looked around; thinking about how the job you just quit had paid for this lavish home you owned currently. Removing your shoes by the door, dropping your bag and keys beside them you lazily crossed your spacious living room and stepped into the main balcony.

Given you were high up, the view you had of the city was to die for. The sun was going down, and usually you loved sunsets but you couldn’t appreciate this one as much as you wanted to. You were stressed; now jobless.

You thought back to the past week you had just hustled through. Monday was weird; he avoided you like the plague. Tuesday was the same, except you caught him staring in your direction while in a rather important meeting. Wednesday, he still didn’t say a word – except for his usual demands which being his PA you had to meet. Thursday he didn’t come to work; which then gave you more time to think about everything which happened recently, allowing you more time to feel guilty and weird.

And today, given it was Friday he was the busiest he’s been all week. Yet despite that, he managed to send you looks which spoke volumes even in crowded rooms. And you couldn’t take it anymore. You believed you were someone who wouldn’t be able to mix work and pleasure and find a healthy balance, so for the sake of your own peace of mind; you produced a resignation letter and placed it on his desk when he wasn’t in his office. And you left for the day.

You knew he always lingered at his office for a while longer on Fridays. So you were sure that by now he must have found your letter. You wondered if he felt just as awkward and weird as you did, and if so, then he’d accept your resignation without any hesitation.

You sighed one more time, taking in the cool air and the orange-pinkish sky. You walked back inside and decided that soaking in warm water and essential oils would make you feel a little better. So that’s what you went for.

 Thoughts of him filled your head as you soaked in the warm bath water. Your boss. James Buchanan Barnes; powerful name for an equally powerful man. He was the kind of person you couldn’t forget even if you tried. Respect, fame, wealth, authority, power; he had it all.

And recently, just a week ago, he had taken over you as well…

-Flashback-

Friday morning you came to work and found out that you would be accompanying your boss on a short business trip. You didn’t make a fuss, even if it meant sacrificing your days off. The paycheck you received each month made up perfectly well for it.

Paris for weekend, to attend a business conference didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Sir, I’ve just been notified that you’ve cancelled the hotel reservations?” you questioned while scrolling through your mails. While you were just a little confused by this, the man in front of you was clearly not.

Sat across you on the dark seat; well-groomed as always – dark suit, perfect hair, perfect face, strong jaw and strong built. He looked like he could be on a magazine cover. Pure, drop dead gorgeous male. Many of your friends often asked you how you kept your calm and composure around him, and how could you not want to jump his bones all the time. To which you answered; you didn’t see your handsome boss in that light.

But oh did you lie.

You were human. And you did find your boss to be super attractive just like the rest of the world did. But did you do anything about it? No. Firstly, that would be highly unprofessional. Secondly, he was way out of your league. Still, it was hard being around a man this handsome. Knowing he was single and available made it worse.

“I did.” he answered, just as confidently as he did everything else. “It’s just one night, Y/N. We’ll stay at my penthouse.” He stated.

You nodded and replied back to your assistant who had initially emailed you about this sudden change. ‘We’ll stay at my penthouse’…

You had shared residence before. Once you spent the night at his mansion because of work load. Then another time you two shared a cabin while on a trip. Once you shared a hotel room because separate rooms weren’t available. But this, today seemed a little different. And you couldn’t place a finger on what it was.

It didn’t rub you the wrong way or anything. He just seemed so cheery, which was unlike the normally slightly grumpy man. But then again, who were you to question his decisions? So you went along.

You two landed in Paris on Saturday morning. The conference was to be held on the same evening, followed by a formal party of some sort, then the two of you would be making your way back home by Sunday evening. Quite a tame weekend… until it wasn’t.

 Throughout the whole conference, you felt a pair of eyes staring at you from across the room. Meanwhile you were talking to an acquaintance – legal advisor of one of the many businessmen who were attending the same conference as your boss. Steve was a friend of a friend but you two were currently bonding more and more due to work.

And little did you know, that Bucky hated it.

He was watching. He’s always watching you. Not in a creepy manner, in a protective way. As a woman, you were somewhat oblivious to the effect you had on people when you entered a room. You never noticed it, but your boss did.

Bucky knew how every man turned their heads to look at you. How every woman envied you. And it was never about what you wore, or how you did your hair. It was always about how you carried yourself, how you walked so confidently, how you were always polite and proper. And so beautiful.

As much as he liked showing you off, Bucky hated it when he wasn’t the only one who had all your attention. Like right now. He clenched his jaw as he studied how this man approached you. Blonde hair, tall and muscular – Bucky hated him immediately. He hated him a little more after he saw how the guy hugged you; a lingering hug which Bucky never got. Then he hated him a little more when he saw how you dragged your hands down the guy’s arm, refusing to let go of him.

You never touched him like that. Bucky asked someone close by and he was told that the guy you were talking to was someone named Steve Rogers, and he was a lawyer and an acquaintance of yours.

Hmm.

He tried to look away but he couldn’t. Bucky envied the guy talking to you. He didn’t like how close he was standing to you. He didn’t like how he kept his hands at your elbows so gently, caging you, keeping you to himself. He hated it.

 Then he asked you about it on the elevator, as you two made your way up to his penthouse to get changed and ready for the party later.

“You know Rogers?” he asked out of nowhere. His tone just as serious and cold as always.

“Yes. He’s… a friend.” You smiled innocently, thinking back to how you and Steve had successfully broken the ice earlier.

Silence.

 You each took a room inside his lavish penthouse apartment. You immediately loved the place. You had about two hours before the party so there was no need to rush. You took your time, yet your mind couldn’t help but drift towards how your boss has been acting in the past hours. First he was all cheery and warm, and now he’s back to his grumpy self.

Oh well.

You stepped out of your room just in time, your boss was waiting by the foyer dressed in a signature, all black, 3-piece suit. He looked devilishly handsome.

“You look lovely, Y/N.” He said softly as you walked towards him. You couldn’t help but smile and tried to hide your face by looking down at the marble floor. Before you could recover from his rare compliment, he reached for your hand and walked the two of your towards the elevator again.

You noticed it then. The shift between the two of you.

The party was amazing. Lovely people, lovely music, nice conversations; what more does one need? Then again, you could still feel a pair of eyes on you. At some point, you dared to look up and you made eye contact with your boss.

He was staring with an unreadable expression on his face. You shook it off and went back to the conversation you were currently part of, but you could tell he hadn’t stopped staring at you.

 You two met on the elevator again after the party, on your way up for the night.

“You and Rogers seem close.” He pointed out.

You were surprised at the tone he used – that of disgust and anger. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

He scoffed, then turned to you. “Is something going on between you two?” Same tone as before.

Your eyes widened. “No. No, what makes you say that?” part of you wondered why the hell was he so suddenly interested in your personal life.

“Just asking.”

You couldn’t help it. “Are you alright, Mr. Barnes? You haven’t been yourself in the past-,”

He cut you off abruptly. By backing you into the corner of the elevator, the cold metal pressing against your back as his warm hand held you gently at your waist.

“Am I alright?” he mocked in that authoritative voice of his. “No, Miss Y/N. I’m not alright.” He confessed. “I’m not alright with you being so close to me, yet not being able to touch you. I’m not alright with seeing other men making you smile,” he inched his face closer you yours, “making you laugh, dance with you, touch you like I can’t. I hate it.”

His warm breath fanned your face. And as the metal cage got higher and higher, your heartbeat increased in the same tempo. Racing. Rushing. Your thoughts were a mess. Your body was tingling, he was so close. Too close. And you could feel yourself giving into him already.

And you did eventually.

“Then what’s stopping you?” you asked in a whisper, and you heard his little chuckle under his breath. This could be a wrong idea, but it felt right. You looked up into his piercing stormy blue eyes and you saw it; the hunger, the desire, the need.

You were sure yours mirrored the same emotions. Bucky pulled away just for a second, to press the key to stop the elevator from moving upwards any further. Then he turned to you again. “Can I kiss you?” he whispered against your parted lips, barely touching them with his own but the proximity was enough to make you lightheaded.

You nodded quickly and his mouth was on yours immediately. His lips moved against yours perfectly. He slipped his tongue past your lips and stroked the top of your mouth, driving you crazy. His kiss was just how you imagined it would be; hot, passionate, and exciting.

Your hands found their way into his hair and your fingers ran through his soft locks. He pushed his muscular body into yours even more and you gasped as you felt how close he actually was. His body heat wrapping around you.

His hands slowly reached up and slid the straps of your satin gown down your shoulders, letting it fall and bunch around your waist. He had been wanting to do that all night, especially since he saw you dancing with that guy Steve.

Bucky smirked at the sight of the flimsy, lacy lingerie you had on; which he was sure he could tear off your body in less than a second. And he did, allowing the thin material to fall to the floor. He gently touched you wherever he could; letting his hands linger at your breasts and taking his sweet time; caressing and kissing your skin. His lips trailing down your neck; kissing, licking and biting.

His mouth didn’t leave your skin as his hands slipped in between your legs with ease; caressing your inner thighs as he went. His hand slipped into your underwear with no shame, his knuckles gently stroked your wet folds; making you shiver at his touch. He chuckled upon feeling just how aroused you were. “So perfect…” he whispered.

He ran his fingers up and down your folds, gathering and smearing your arousal around as he went. You whimpered quietly against him; your gown barely covered your body. But Bucky was nowhere near complaining. In fact, he had been thinking about what you looked like under that dress since the first time he saw you this evening.

His hand gently wrapped around your throat. He gave it a little squeeze and an involuntary, playful smile formed on your face. His smirk grew, and so did the fire in him. “Like it when I choke you, huh doll?” he spoke, dragging the tip of his nose along your jaw as his other hand slipped under your skirt and rubbed your clothed core. He couldn’t take it any longer. “I need to have you.” he growled. “Now.”

He pushed his two fingers past your entrance with ease and moaned right in your ear as he felt your wet and warm walls immediately welcoming him in. He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the right spots which made you weak in the knees. You bucked your hips against his hand involuntarily, and he chuckled as you moaned out loud while he touched you.

Feeling more confident than earlier, you quickly unbuttoned his pants, palming him through his underwear and feeling his erection. You smirked to yourself as he grunted the moment you touched him.

“I want you…” you mumbled breathlessly. All your worries and overthinking left behind, you wanted him bad. And that’s all you could think of at the moment.

Bucky smirked. He lowered his pants and underwear, then he hurried in pulling down your underwear, letting it all fall and pool around your ankles. You stepped out of it and Bucky picked you up by your thighs and kissed you deeply while holding you between him and the metal surface tightly.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms held on to him tightly. His cock briefly brushed against your wet folds in the process and you whimpered through the kiss. Bucky needed to be in you already, all he wanted was to hear you scream his name as you cum around him. So he wasted no time in aligning his throbbing tip to your dripping wet entrance.

He pushed himself into you; stretching you out. His nails digging into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours scratching at his shoulders as he filled you up; making you whine and moan as he went. You were both gasping by the time he filled you up entirely. His body didn’t feel as foreign as you expected. You two fit perfectly.

Bucky started rocking in and out of you, without wasting any time. You felt all of him; your walls clenched around his thick cock as he started out with slow strokes and then gradually sped up into you. You felt all of him, the bumpy and the velvety skin of his length. He was perfect as he stroked your walls with his pulsating cock. You were a moaning mess in no time.  

His strong arms supported you up by grabbing you at the curve of your ass; holding you against him, as he sped up into you; showing you how much he missed you. He pushed his head into the crook of your neck and swore under his breath, all while occasionally mumbling how much he loves you and how good you feel wrapped around him.

He fucked you relentlessly; earning more and more moans out of you each time his cock stroked your walls. Your hand slid into his hair and you tugged on it each time he pushed into you. You soon felt the familiar pressure forming; pressing inside you as the familiar warmth spread all over your body. You moaned wantonly.

Bucky nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how his body brought you immense pleasure; your mind a foggy mess. Your clit rubbed against his pelvic bone each time he buried himself completely in you, and he soon quickened his pace; earning even more moans and mewls from you.

He pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the wall with each thrust; it hurt just a little. Your body moved along with his like a rag doll. And you never complained once. You could hear the wet sounds that he caused and the sounds of your skin clapping against each other – it was all too sinful.

He moaned right into your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back like it always did no matter where he took you. Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace; pounding into you relentlessly. The pleasure built nicely as he took you higher… and higher… and higher. Until you couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his cock; screaming his name in the process.  

And that was one of the many times he made you cum around him that night…

 -End of flashback-

 Fuck…

You shivered in the warm water at the thought of him deep inside you; how perfect he felt, and how you never wanted to leave that bed with him in it. But then, you thought about how wrong that was; how you shouldn’t have gotten so intimate and personal with your boss. It was wrong, and unethical and a terrible mistake. But it felt good…

Stepping out of your bathroom, wrapped in a soft robe, you felt chills all over your body. Not because of the temperature, but because it felt as though you suddenly weren’t alone in your home. You panicked for a moment. Your heart racing, your thoughts racing faster.

Then you sensed it.

Sensed him.

He was here.

 “Miss Y/N.” He spoke in that damn voice which could make you drop to your knees in less than a second.

Yet you managed to maintain your composure as you slowly turned around to face him. Realization hit you a little late, and you gasped under your breath when you finally saw him standing in the middle of your bedroom. Your initial reaction was to hug your robe tighter around your body.

He looked flawless and powerful as always. Hands shoved in his pockets; accentuating his broad shoulders. That gorgeous smirk on his face. Flawless hair. Flawless face. Bucky smirked. “Oh don’t hide from me. I’ve seen it all, haven’t I?” he teased so effortlessly.

You felt your face getting hotter under his intense gaze. “How did you… how-,”

He cut off your rambling. “I own the building, doll.” he answered like it was the most obvious thing ever.

Right. Of course he owns your apartment building. He also owns half the city.

There was an air of arrogance around him at all times. And you tried so hard to hate it, but you couldn’t. It suited him; the arrogance, the power, the authority. And he sure knew how and when to use it.

You cleared your throat as you kept your eyes focused on the ground, rather than look into his stormy blues ones because they were a new weakness of yours. “You shouldn’t be here.” You mumbled, not hating that he was here.

He scoffed. “Oh?” he raised an eyebrow at you and took a few steps towards you. You were surprisingly not hysterical about the fact that this handsome man found his way into your home out of nowhere. He walked over to you, grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him.

You had no other choice but to look up into his ocean blue eyes and you could feel yourself melting already. He pulled you closer and leaned in, gently kissing along your jaw repeatedly. You closed your eyes and tried your hardest not to sigh in pleasure or moan as you felt the softness of his lips and the roughness of his stubble altogether.

“I’ve missed you.” he whispered against your skin, stopping for a moment and kissed you at the corner of your mouth. His arms circled around you, holding you close to him. Your arms circled around him as well, slowly. You realized you had missed him as well. His warmth, his voice, his mouth. All of him.

And just like that, he took over your very being again. One touch of his lips and you were under his spell with no intention of making it out anytime soon. “I missed you too…” you whispered breathlessly as he kissed your lips gently.

But those few words from you triggered something in him. An irritation he had carried inside since he saw that letter of yours on his desk. Overflowing emotions he couldn’t handle; due to which he was here in the first place.

“Yeah?” he whispered through the kiss, then slide his hand into your hair and tugged on it to pull your face away from his. He clenched his jaw as he looked down at you. He was conflicted, should he be mad that you even dared to think you could just leave him, or should he just fuck some sense into you? “Yet you dared to leave me your resignation with no warning?” Oh. “Huh? Is that how it is now, you think you get to decide everything?”

Oh. So he was mad.

“I didn’t mean-,”

He kept going. “Shut up, babygirl.” He spoke softly. “Now you listen to me,” he inched closer, gently biting your lower lip, “You’re not leaving me. You’re not resigning. You’re not going anywhere.” He stated, then pulled away to look at you again.

There was a fire in his deep blue eyes. “We can’t keep doing this.” You tried to come up with something. An excuse. You were looking for an excuse.

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

He scoffed and then smirked again. “Is it? Does being with me feel so wrong to you now, huh?” he cooed, knowing it was only a matter of another minute or two before you give into him. “That wasn’t the case this past weekend, was it?” He moved the two of you backwards, towards your bed in the middle of the room.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to resist him for too long now. But you still tried, in vain. You sighed loudly, wrapped in his strong embrace. “You’re my boss.”

He chuckled. “I know that.”

“Exactly.”

“What?” he questioned, already untying your robe as he stopped at the end of your bed.

“You know what. How are we supposed to be professional at work if we’re sleeping together?” you asked.

He smirked looking down at you. “Then let’s not be professional.”

You sighed again. “It’s-,”

He cut you off with a kiss again, sliding your robe down your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. “Shh.” And just like that, you melted under his touch. “It’s okay babygirl, let me take care of you.”

He pushed you down on your bed and held your stare as he undressed himself; smirking as he watched how you grew more and more desperate with each item of clothing he took off. He hovered on top of you in no time.

Bucky lowered his face; pressing his forehead onto yours gently, while he pushed his erected cock past your tight entrance. You moaned out loud as he did. He grunted once he filled you up entirely, and he gave you a couple of seconds to adjust.

“Fuck…”

You were so full of his thick cock that even forming a proper thought seemed impossible at the moment. You shuddered as you felt all of him. His lips found yours again, attempting to get you to stay quiet while he rolled his hips against yours.

He removed himself and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear. You heard him panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you. Your nails sank into his skin, around his shoulders; which you held onto for dear life as he pounded into you.

“Thought you could just leave me, huh? Thought I would let you?” he mumbled right in your ear as he fucked you relentlessly. “You thought I would let you go? Let someone else touch you, pleasure you, fuck you like this? Did you babygirl?” he growled. “Answer me!”

You whined, throwing your head back and moaning at how good he felt. “No… please I didn’t-” you were breathless. You tried matching his thrusts but were unable to; so you simply let go. Your body moved against his like a rag doll.

He growled at how your walls clenched around him. “What? You didn’t what? You didn’t think I’d come back looking for you? You thought I would just let you go because you asked for it?” he accidentally let out a moan, followed by swear words. “You think you make the rules here, doll?”

He reached up and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His blue eyes were wild and fierce; staring deep into your soul. His gaze made you tremble in pleasure. He looked so powerful. Broad and strong, hovering above you, his cock buried deep in you. Looking down at you like he owned you.

He kissed you, bit your skin, kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you; and you never complained once. Given his size, he stretched you out completely. And it did hurt, but the pleasure compensated for the pain.

Your legs trembled as you lifted them up to wrap them around his waist. This allowed him to thrust deeper into you, and in the haze he was in, he managed to mumble right in your ear about how good you felt. He was relentless, as though each moan, each mewl which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough.

 At some point, right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he removed himself from you and flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips. He kissed the back of your neck and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his hard body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again.

You moaned out loud at the new sensation of him rocking into you from behind. Bucky’s hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm of his hand against your lower abdomen. He liked the thrill each time he felt himself thrusting deep within you.

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he bent down to whisper in your ear, “Can you feel me deep within you?” he boasted as he gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

“Please…” You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. And finally he let you, and you came undone all around him – moaning his name out loud.

-

You woke up an hour later, the sky was darker and you felt a lot better than you had all week. You turned to your side and found your handsome boss passed out next to you. A smile formed on your face involuntarily.

“Don’t just look, you can touch too.” His gruff voice spoke up a second later, his eyes still closed. You chuckled and snuggled closer to him.

“So what now?” you asked, wrapping an arm around his bare torso. His body heat was something you were quickly getting used to.

He took a deep breath, smiled and lazily reached over to place a kiss on your forehead. “Now you let me love you.”

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning

(pinterest inspired board)

part: 1/6

(other parts)  (masterlist)

The day it happened, it wasn't a significant meeting at all, you barely even talked. In fact, when he opened the door of your neighbor’s flat that day with a beer in his right hand and his hair messy, he didn't have any effect on you. You always knew that living next to a director meant that sooner or later you’d bump into the pretty faces of well-known people. Sure, you didn’t expect them to be Hollywood actors like him, but to say you were starstruck by the man, would be the overstatement of the year.

The building you’ve lived in for the last three years has five floors; you live in the 4th, he lives in the 5th. He’s a quiet person, usually spending his evenings out of his apartment. You’ve talked sometimes, about the weather and the weird lady that lives in the 1st floor. You’ve never told him you find his directing style a little pretentious.

You’ve never been to his place until that annoyingly warm August evening, when you find a white button up shirt on your balcony. You can clearly see more clothing when you look up and you’re certain the item you’re holding belongs to him.

He’s not there though. Instead you find a different face behind the door. Lighter eyes and darker hair. The man in front of you is definitely younger than the director. You don’t bother to notice what he’s wearing.

“Can I help you?” His voice is deeper than you expected. Stronger, with a touch of European accent. The sound of English surprises you at first but soon you realize he must be another foreign coworker that came to visit your neighbor

“No, I just think Argyris dropped this and it ended up on my floor.”

He looks at you and then at the shirt, in your hands.

Then he says “Sure, I’ll take it.”

“Okay.”

Then it ends. He doesn’t even ask your name. You don’t have to ask his. You figure out, as soon as you walk down the stairs, that it’s Sebastian Stan that you just talked to.

And while being a big fan of marvel movies, you think nothing special of him at first. You just wonder how a mostly unknown director from Greece got an actor like Sebastian to come here so they can work together. It makes no sense to you, but you forget it when your phone starts ringing.

/

It would’ve been easier if you never saw him again, yet you do. You see him trying to understand what the old lady from the first floor is trying to tell him. You already know. The elevator is not working. The next day you see him walking up the stairs.

You exchange a quick hello, how are you and then off you both go.

The same night Argyris invites you to have a drink with them in the terrace. Part of you wants to just stay in bed and binge watch some Sherlock episodes. Part of you already thinks of what to wear.

There are around ten people there when you show up. They’re all sitting down in huge pillows drinking and talking loudly. You don’t know most of them.

You sit next to a blonde girl, across from Sebastian. This time you notice he’s wearing a plain black shirt and holds a glass of whiskey.

You don’t share any direct conversations but you learn that he’s afraid of growing old and that he thinks Taxi Driver is one fucking masterpiece, as he says.

When you mention that you’re probably the least artistic person in the room right now, you hear him laugh.

A curly haired woman starts dancing with him at some point. You decide he’s not a good dancer.

He leaves the same time you do, following you down the stairs.

“I thought you live here.” You say when he doesn’t stop at the floor you expect him to.

“Ah no, I stay at a hotel near the centre.”

He keeps talking about his suite until you reach your door.

You part in a blur, with a short goodbye.

He still doesn’t ask for your name.

It makes you feel genuinely offended.

/

Two days after, he is the farthest thing from your mind, until you find him sitting in front of your door, his eyes roaming the place with despair. And then he sees you.

“Ah finally you are here.” He starts casually. “Thank god.”

You just nod.

“Argyris told me to wait for him with you. We had a meeting but he got stuck in traffic.”

You give him a look.

“He said you’re always at home so you won’t mind.”

Ouch. Yeah sure, your social life wasn’t something to brag about but for some reason the way Sebastian said it, it sounded like an insult.

“Okay, come in.” You shrug, clearly not feeling comfortable and turn around to unlock the door.

You hear him call your name. You thought he didn’t know.

“Yes?”

He offers you an easy smile.  “Thank you.”

/

Sitting in your couch he’s eyeing the entire room, while you put some groceries in the fridge.

“Argyris says you’re a great girl.” He clears his throat. “But he thinks you’re too quiet for your own good.”

You look at him, your eyes flicking up and down his face.

“And from what I can tell, he’s right.”  You hear him laugh.

It felt weird to see him laugh while he was leaning back at your cozy pillow. He had entered your life so suddenly you didn’t even have time to react to it.

“I’m sorry but I barely know you.” Your words are sharp. He sits up.

“Okay then let’s get to know each other, what’s your favorite Disney princess?”

Defeated, you laugh. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, this is an important question.”

You wait for him to crack up but then you remember he’s an actor.

“I don’t know.” You think for a second. “Mulan?”

“Oh my god. Mulan is amazing.” You smile at him. “My favorite is Jasmine, she’s just so badass.”

You share your favorites that day, having almost nothing in common rather than your everlast love for animated movies and buttered popcorn.

When it’s time for him to leave, he stops and looks at you in the eye.

“You should talk more often.”

You stare at him with confusion. “I talk,” you raise your eyebrows. “When I have something to say.”

“Good.” he says, still looking.

/

Later in the evening, you’re eating some yoghurt when he comes knocking on your door.

He’s different. The white tank top he was wearing this morning is replaced with a dark shirt and his face looks tired. You assume they’ve been working since he went upstairs.

“Hiii”, he says dragging the i, “Am I interrupting anything?”

You desperately want to nod. You want to tell him that you were doing the most exciting thing in the world, before he came but you were never a good liar.

So you just tilt your head and take a step back.

That’s when he enters and is met with some loud rock music blaring from your laptop.

“You like AC/DC?” he asks, almost wide-eyed.

“Well, I can tell it’s them when I hear their stuff.”  For the first time that day, he seems to be in loss of words. “Why are you so surprised?”

He sits in the same spot in the couch as earlier and laughs.

“I just didn’t take you for the kind of girl who likes this music.” It’s your turn to laugh.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Quiet girl who loves animated films and eats kids’ yoghurt” he looks at the carton in your kitchen table, “and also likes metal music? Doesn’t add up.”

“We’ve basically just met; you shouldn’t make assumptions about me.”

“Fair enough.” He sits back, fidgeting with his fingers.

You take some time just looking at him

There was a certain vibe about that man that made you wonder how it’d feel to cruise down a dessert highway in a convertible mustang with him. In the summer. With him wearing that white tank top.

The color of strawberries emerges at your cheeks just at the thought of it.

You wish he doesn’t notice.

You’re glad to find him looking the other way, before he speaks up.

“We’re going out tonight.” His voice is warm now. “Argyris says you should come along, even though I’m quite sure there’s no hardcore music where we’re going.” He laughs again.

I can’t. You almost say. But then anxiety slips away from you and out of sudden you want him to stop being so freaking arrogant, going around and acting like he knows exactly what kind of person you are.

He thinks you’ll say no. You can see it in his eyes.

“Sure, when should I be ready?” you say, surprising both of you.

He looks at you for some time and then trying to hide whatever he was thinking he says the first thing on his mind.

“How old are you?” He sounds pitiful. He knows. He wishes he could hit a wall; with his head.

“Twenty-one.” His eyes scan yours, unsure of what they’re looking for. “Why?”

“No reason.”

He inhales deep.

/

You try to blink. You’re at a party in a little bar you’ve never been before and a lot of people are wearing black. Alcohol. You can still taste it on the back of your tongue. You don’t remember how you end up pressed against a dark skinned man, but you can tell he smells of cigarettes and despair.

You sway your body to the beat, close your eyes. Breath in. And out. You think the music deafens you for a second but you open your lids and see Sebastian and he’s watching you, unashamed.

He’s not that far, though it feels like it with countless bodies in the way. The music melts. His gaze is almost angelic. Or devious. You can’t really tell.

He’s dancing with that curly haired woman again. You wonder how intimate their relationship is.

The red neon lights make his skin glisten. His muscles move divinely. It makes you think there’s an entire world inside him, his flesh barely keeping it hidden. Out of sudden you get the urge to walk towards him. You want to see him up close under this dim lighting. But you don’t move.

The man that’s groping your waist asks for your name. You tell him you need to flee. He doesn’t understand.

You sit outside with the sweet summer breeze touching your bare arms. The bass of the music in the background syncs with the beating of your heart. You can feel your ribs grow with every breath you take. Until you stop breathing because the door opens and his eyes suffocate you.

You can’t fathom the effect he has on you. He was a pretty face on screen some days ago. But right now he steals distance and stays near you.

You don’t look his way. He doesn’t say a word. Nicotine and smoke surround you as he exhales. His fingers hold the cigarette butt with care.

“Do you want some?”

You turn to look at him.

“I don’t smoke.” He laughs.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t want some.”

You want to know if his breath has the taste of sulfur. You want to pretend it’s the alcohol or the loud music that makes your head hurt.

“What’s the best part of being an actor?” The blue in his eyes glows.

There’s silence but he seems to be thinking about it.

“Do you ever feel things too much?” He says, his voice hoarse. “I mean, when you feel something so intensely it becomes a part of who you are.”

You nod. You understand.

“Acting allows you to let go of these feelings,” he starts. “You share the burden with the audience until it becomes light and you can hold it again.”

You look at him, shaking your head.

“I don’t think I could that,” you close your eyes. “I don’t think I could share what I feel so easily.”

He stands up. The wind hits you again.

“A lot people can’t. That’s why everyone is heartbroken,” he takes a breath, “Feelings eat us raw.”

You both go to bed alone that night. Tomorrow there is a hole next to you.

/

the morning after, search history

(02:45 PM) hangover recovery

(03:00 PM) best food after a hangover

(03:10 PM) sebastian stan

(03:30 PM) sebastian stan girlfriend

(06:00 PM) xanax side effects

/

You follow him on Instagram. He doesn’t follow you back. You remember he probably gets tons of followers every day and decide not to let it bother you. Instead you study for the exams of the following month.

The subject of your studies doesn’t interest you. Another poor decision you made under pressure. Sometimes you feel as if your life is borrowed from someone else. Sometimes you feel as if you haven’t found your home yet.

Feelings eat us raw.

His girlfriend looks beautiful in the pictures you find online. The media isn’t certain if they’re still together but you like to think so. It makes it easier to avoid him.

But the universe seems to be oblivious to your thoughts and you see him that same day. You’re taking the garbage out and he’s coming down from the top floor. You meet in the elevator.

“I’m glad to see you’re still alive,” his eyes are smiling as he talks “you looked kinda drunk last night.”

You fidget with the hem of the bag you’re holding.

“I wasn’t drunk.” You notice he’s growing some stubble. You’re not sure you like it.

“Whatever you say, doll.”  You bite your cheek trying to devour any sign that might give away how his words make you flinch.

He turns his body a little so now you’re facing each other. He’s so pretty. He’s so pretty in a way that doesn’t hurt. You try not to stare at him, but you fail sometimes. You’ve never noticed how slow the elevator moves until you want to get out. You can’t stand being so close to him for much longer.

He’s an arrogant rich actor who loves Disney and smokes a lot, you think. I have no reason to be affected by him.

“Ah! Argyris said we’re leaving for the weekend.” You eye him curiously. “He wants to show us some small villages in the south. He thinks we should get to know the country a little more before we start.”

You’re stunned by your neighbor’s dedication to his work. Sometimes you wish you had something you could be passionate about too. Sometimes you think you’re never going to find it.

“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll like it.” You give him a smile.

He leans his back at the wall. The elevator stops. Finally.

“I like your eyes.” You grab tight onto the bag. “But they don’t smile when you do.”

He opens the door and he’s gone.

They tell you that it’s fun to meet a famous person. They tell you, you can ask for a photo and a hug. They tell you celebrities don’t talk a lot but that doesn’t mean they’re rude.

But he’s not like that.

He’s fire. He’s burning heat and scorching flames. His words are his thoughts; raw. You don’t like it.

/

late night search history

(00:38 AM) blue valentine movie soundtrack

(01:15 AM) is sebastian stan a bad person

(01:30 AM) acting classes for amateurs

(01:50 AM) cheap leather boots

(02:10 AM) sebastian stan eyes

 You find it annoying; how he’s present even when you’re alone.

Thankfully he’s leaving for the weekend, you think.

/

The weekend, however, is two days away.

You think you can get away without seeing him. And you do. Until it’s late at night again. And they’re all upstairs with music so loud you’re certain the lady on the first floor is going to be rude about it in the morning.

The music tempo has you unaffected. All you think about is if he’s dancing with that woman again.

He’s such a bad dancer, he should not be dancing.

There’s a subtle knock on your door. You know it’s him. You hope you’re wrong.

“Do you feel like dancing?” His face is all flustered. It’s a good look on him.

“You can’t come knocking on my door at 2 AM and ask me to dance.” His gaze is filled with confusion.

“So you don’t feel like dancing?” You roll your eyes. He notices.

“That’s not the point Sebastian.” It’s the first time you call him by his name. You let it slip away slowly, testing the way it sounds coming out of your mouth.

He takes a step closer. You are suddenly aware of your pyjama shorts and your exposed skin.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to irritate you.” His eyes are the cliché blue of the sky. “I just thought you might want to dance, that’s all.”

Suddenly you feel guilty and embarrassed. He’s oblivious to it.

For a moment you feel his eyes linger on you. It feels surreal.

You nod at him.

He’s ready to say something when Argyris comes down the stairs, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“Ah man, I thought you got lost or something.” You lower your eyes. “Stop messing with the poor girl. People are looking for you.”

He throws a smile at you and Sebastian takes a quick breath.

“People are always looking for me.”

He gives away that he’s carrying a burden. Your expression softens. But then you look at Argyris and you see he doesn’t really pay attention to these words.

You share a quick look before you’re there standing alone at your doorstep, trying to grasp the idea of him.

/

When you wake up you feel like running. You can’t fathom where the feeling comes from but it starts like a liquid running down your veins and soon you can’t stay in bed even for a second.

Feelings eat us raw. Only if you let them.

.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged in this six part story :)

[melancholymetropolis]

No Idea

Pairings: Athlete!Kirishima x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: College AU The reader is Kirishima's History tutor and they kinda have a crush on each other. It takes an afterparty filled with horny guys and a skin-tight dress for Kiri to realize he wants them all to himself.

Warning: Do I even need to say it at this point? It's smut, obvi. Kinda unedited. The reader and her best friend are black. Kirishima is a football player; he's VERY possessive over the reader. Her best friend is a little gay for her as well.

Author's Note: This was a commission!!!!! The client gave me this insane prompt and I had no choice but to go over the word limit. If you want to commission me, click here! Your support really means the world to me. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5,300

“You’re back early!” My roommate, Liza, yelled from the other side of the apartment-style dorm room. The sound of her chair scraping the floor followed shortly after, along with the light footsteps of her sock-clad feet. “I left you a plate in the microwave, in case you were hungry. I could heat it up, if you’re too tired— why the long face? What happened?”

“He didn’t show up,” I sighed as I dropped my books on the table and sank into a chair.

“How can he not show up?” Liza fumed crossing her arms. “His GPA is already in the gutter from all the other quizzes he seemed to fail before the semester even started.”

“I know,” I replied in a bored tone.

“He’s on academic probation—”

“I know.”

“One more hiccup and he’ll be off the football team—”

“I know.”

“Not to mention how you practically have to bend backward to make time for him—”

“Mhm.”

“Just for him to flake on you for the third time! I just—”

“Liza, please,” I rose from my seat and stood in front of her. “You don’t have to be angry with me. It’s truly okay.”

“No! It’s not okay!” She stormed to the microwave and pulled the cover plate from the inside. She removed the foil and pushed it back into the device, before pressing the start button four times. She turns to face me and forces an angered sigh from her lips. “He likes you, you know that right?”

I lifted my books from the table and walked to our shared room. I took in the words that she threw at me with each step and digested them. Kirishima liked me. It wasn’t as though I didn’t have an inkling that he may be, sorta found me attractive. Although I wore glasses, I wasn’t blind. At least with them on. I saw the way he looked at me when we were less than a foot apart. Shoulders practically touching as we slouched over the Advanced American History textbook. Our hands brushing against each other’s ever so often. The sparkle in his eye when he looked at me longer than a few seconds; the blush on his cheeks when I smiled at his corny jokes. His persistent tendency to walk me home, although most times, we finished our study sessions just before dusk. The way he stayed glued to my side during the journey to my dorm. How he’d carry my books on the way. I noticed it all and practically welcomed it, since I too found him attractive. The spiky redhead just had a way of making everyone swoon over him. Kirishima was genuinely a nice person, not because there was something in it for him, but just because.

The beeping from the microwave brought me back to reality. I placed the textbooks on the designated space on the shelf and fixed my scattered stationery from that morning. Liza shuffled in with a bowl of baked fetta pasta, and a piece of toasted garlic bread a few minutes later. She placed the bowl on the desk, with a fork, a can of sparkling soda, and my favorite metal straw.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I said with a tired smile.

“Helped me pass ‘Text and Ideas’ with an A-,” Liza smiled back and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Oh right,” I took a seat at the desk and forked the starchy dish in my mouth. “This is heaven-sent.”

“I knew you’d like it!” She deemed walking to her own desk. “I got the recipe from tiktok.”

I hum in response and continued to stuff my face. After a few minutes of silence, I grab the phone from my back pocket and unlocked it. A new message from Kirishima was the newest notification from many and it said:

Hey, I am sorry for not showing up. My teammate got shitfaced and decided to take a dive into the fountain. It took three of us to pull him out. It sucks because I was really looking forward to seeing you.

Since my mouth had already filled to its brink with pasta, I opted for a tight-lipped smirk instead of a toothy one. Kirishima all but admitted that he missed me. My hunch was right: the feelings are mutual. I swallowed the pasta and swiveled around in my chair to look at Liza. Her eyes were glued to her phone, but she snapped her head up to laugh at the content on her screen. Once she was down laughing, I picked my phone up and pointed it in her general direction. Reaching forward, she grasped the device and quickly read the message.

“Don’t respond to him,” she said, handing the phone back to me.

“Why? I thought you were shipping us together?” I asked whilst forking more pasta in my mouth.

“That’s why I’m telling you what I am telling you!” Liza rose to her feet and in a split second, she stood in front of me with a sickening smile.

“I am afraid to ask,” I said with a sigh.

“You don’t have to; I’m gonna tell you anyway,” she squats between my legs and widens her smile. “That boy is already wrapped around your finger, all you need to do is pull away. Just a tiny bit and he’ll come running.”

“Liza. . .”

“Hear me out!” She rose to her feet again and walked to the closet. “Remember when I went thrift shopping last week and I picked up that cute bodycon dress?”

“Yeah. . . ?”

“Well, I washed it and realized that it didn’t have the BODY to fill it out properly.” She pulls the dress from the closet and turns back to me. “And since the Homecoming Afterparty is at the Quarterback's house tomorrow night, I thought it would be the perfect time for you to wear it.”

I eye the dress, taking in its extremely short length and strappy detailing on the front. One wrong move and my breasts would spill right out of it. But, one right move would have them fall onto Kiri’s lap. I tried my best to list the pros and cons of the situation. Pondering what I could get out of the ordeal going to the lion’s den dressed as a gazelle. Yet, all I could imagine was me twerking on someone’s son and taking him home afterward.

💘🖤💘🖤

The dress fit like a glove: perfectly tight, almost like a second skin, but very breathable. I paired it with some hoop earrings, a few bangles on each wrist, and 3-inch kitten heels. My goal was to dress to impress, not nurse my aching arches by the end of the night. The entire ride over to the nicer part of town was nerve-wracking, for one, the Uber driver wouldn’t stop staring at my cleavage from the driver’s mirror. And, secondly, Liza practically had phone sex with her boyfriend, who was going to meet us at the party. I stared down at my phone the whole time, rereading Kiri’s message and the ones he sent afterward. It was true, he was wrapped around my finger. He didn’t double text; Kirishima sent five messages in a row.

Hey, are you free tomorrow? I wanted to talk about yesterday.

I’ll buy you that weird thing you like from Starbucks.

The drink you said that tastes like the moon.`

And I’ll get you those cake pop things.

My heart couldn’t help but flutter; I didn’t know he was paying that much attention to me. I only mentioned that Starbucks drink once in his presence, quite a while ago. It had to be a little over a month ago, yet he still remembered.

The car stopped and Liza popped right out. Her 34 inch Brazilian, straight swaying behind her as she closes the door. Still chatting with her boyfriend, she motions me out of the car with an eager smile. Reluctantly, I detach myself from the cool leather and tug on my dress as I closed the door behind me. I looked up toward the mansion before me, white paint and overwhelming size almost frightened me. But, when I saw a familiar, spiky-haired, redhead, all my potential fear left my body and warmth replaced it.

Kirishima’s back was to me; he was having an intense conversation with his best friend, Bakugo, one of the team’s Linebackers. The blond was so close to popping a fuse but Kiri was struggling to keep from laughing directly in his face. I approach the porch, slow and sensual, my eyes glued to him the entire walk over. Kirishima briefly turns around to address a comer of the group, Sero, an offensive player, when his eyes come up the steps. The humorous expression on his face drops and is replaced with awe. The other two boys look in the direction of his eyesight and replicate his reaction.

“Hi—” I lifted my hand to wave, but it never made it past my abdomen. Liza appeared right in front of me and captured my wrist.

“Girl, it’s our song! Hurry up!” She said as she proceeded to drag me into the house.

“Bye—! Wait, damn!”

Liza pulled me to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room of the home. She starts to bop side to side, swaying her hips in place. It takes me a few seconds to register that “34+35” was blasting the speakers. Liza twirls around me in a fit of giggles and continues to bop along to the music.

“I thought you liked “positions” better than this track?” I questioned as I matched her rhythm.

“I do! I just had to get you out of there,” Liza answered as she swayed her head back and forth. Which made her hair move in an angelic wave behind her bandeau top and pencil skirt. “Those three guys looked like they wanted to run a train on you.”

“ELIZABETH!!!!” I screamed with a shocked smile.

“What?! I’m not lying!” She gives me a bashful smirk. “You look so good, mamas! Shit, you're making me rethink my relationship with Shinso.”

“Oh my god!” I laughed. “I can’t take your ass anywhere, for real!”

The song began to fade out and bleed into “Pussy Talk” with the infamous City Girls. Liza’s soft bops began to move into full booty bouncing. Soon her hands are on her knees and she’s throwing her ass back on my lap. I press my hand flat on her back and lift my other hand in the air. She whines her waist and looks back at me as her inner hot girl is threatening to make an appearance. Shortly after the first verse, Liza straightens her back and dances around me as I bop to the side, bouncing my ass to the music. A smile comes to my lips as my favorite part plays on full blast.

“Pussy talented, it do cartwheels,” Liza and I screamed in unison. “And he pay ‘cause he like how that part feel.”

“Pussy give speeches, heartfelt,” I continued, popping my back against my friend.

“Yuh,” Liza ad-libbed.

“Said the pussy really talk like it Garfield,” I rapped as I felt Liza’s hands glide up my sides.

“It do!”

We danced around each other for the rest of the song and pulled away from the floor, desperately needing to hydrate. We practically stumbled toward the makeshift bar across the living room. We reached into the cooler and pulled out two bottles of water. We chugged the water and tossed the empty bottles in the trash.

“Only water, ladies?” Mineta asked as we turned back towards the dance floor. “You don’t want something a little. . . stronger?”

“Get lost, grape juice,” a familiar voice suddenly came out of nowhere.

Just a few feet behind the purple blob stood Kirishima and Shinso. If looks could kill, Mineta’s body parts would be staining the marble floors and messing up my fresh pedicure. The poor excuse for a human scurried away as both football players approached us. Shinso instantly wrapped his arms around Liza and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Having fun, baby girl?” His low voice sounded sensual against the harsh music.

A seductive smile falls on Liza’s face. “I would’ve had even more fun if you actually danced with me for once.”

“You know I don’t like—”

“Too bad!” She pulled Shinso to the dance floor.

Leaving me alone with Kirishima. I turned to look at him and offered him an awkward smile. “How was your diving lesson?”

The redhead returned my smile and scratched the back of his neck. “So you did read me my texts? I was starting to think you were mad at me or something.”

“Not at you, per se,” I replied thinking of my words carefully.

“Then who were you mad at?” Kirishima closes the distance between us and puts a finger under my chin. He redirects my attention to his face and gives me a smirk.

He looked good and he knew it. He wore a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. But, he paired it with a burgundy leather jacket and a Cuban link silver chain. He had a gold wristwatch on his left wrist and a simple chain on his right. And his cologne. . . it danced in my nostrils. It wasn’t too heavy or suffocating; you simply had to be close to him to smell it.

Kirishima was playing a dangerous game and he knew it.

“At the people that take you away from me,” I looked at him with doughy eyes and slightly parted lips. A look of innocence was written all over my face.

Kirishima clenched his jaw and briefly looked away. A blush starting to form on his cheeks. “Well, I—. Shit.” He remained silent for a few seconds, gathering his words, before saying “You don’t know what you do to me, Y/N.”

“And what’s that?” I asked while removing his hand from my chin and bringing it to my lips. I gently kiss his bruised knuckles, never breaking eye contact while doing so.

The redhead opens his mouth to speak but is rudely interrupted by a yelling Liza.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, BITCH!!!! THEY’RE PLAYING OUR SONG!!!!”

While I was talking to Kirishima, the music seemed to slip away. I had no idea what was playing until I refocused my attention on the blaring speakers. “Come on, Kiri. Duty calls.” I drag him to the dance floor.

Liza unlatches herself from Shinso and twirls around me. “I’m not shy, I’ll say it. I’ve been picturing you naked.”

“I’m a little faded, you look like a fucking painting,” I continue the verse as I glide my hands along my body. “Big doe eyes, amazin’. She’s everything I’ve been prayin’.”

Liza walked up to Kirishima and glided her hand along his chest. “Me and your girlfriend playin’ dress-up house.” She pressed two fingers against her lips and poked her tongue out. “I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch.”

Kirishima blushes a bright red, nearly matching his hair. It takes everything in me not to laugh.

I look back at Shinso and he’s just shaking his head with a smile on his face.

“Go get your girlfriend, before she devours your teammate,” I said giggly quietly.

“Go get your best friend before she kills your loverboy,” Shinso counters looking down at me with a smirk.

“He looks like he's gonna pass out,” I replied, struggling to contain my laughter.

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen him when you were twerking on Liza,” Shinso jested while leaning closer to me. “Eijiro looked like he came in his pants.”

I smacked his arm and leaned against his chest. “You’re lying!” Laughter overcame my body; tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“I swear to god,” Shinso struggled to say while laughing. “Then, when Bakugo called you hot. . . Eiji almost went feral.”

“Stop. . . I can’t breathe. . .”

“You better fuck him like the world is ending. . . I can’t keep stopping him from. . . fighting the entire team over you.”

“You and Liza. . . perfect for each other. . . I cannot. . .”

The song swiftly faded out into another. Yet another one of Liza’s favorites: Buss it by Erika Banks.

The young woman peeled herself from Kirishima and began walking to her boyfriend. I distanced myself from Shinso and walked over to Kirishima. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. “Are you okay, Kiri?” A smile painted my lips.

His eyes darkened and he gripped my waist firmly. “I want you. . . so bad right now.”

“How about we get outta here?” I suggested with a raised eyebrow.

“Go say goodbye to your friends, I’ll bring the car around,” Kirishima asserted with a smirk. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before detaching himself from me and walking out of the living room.

I turned back to Shinso and Liza, who were seconds away from eating each other’s face off. I tapped the loving couple and cleared my throat. They both pulled away and stared at me.

"We're leaving," I said simply.

"About fucking time," Liza replied with a smirk. "You better come back to the dorm in a goddamn wheelchair, if not, I'm sending you back to his place."

"You have like zero chill," I shook my head and waved goodbye.

"Don't forget to use protection!" Liza yelled after me.

A chuckle fell from my lips as I walked out of the front door. I found Kirishima exactly where he said he'd be: parked in front of the massive house, within a bright red mustang. He exited the car and walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened my door and helped me get in. Kirishima made sure I was buckled in and comfortable before entering the car on the driver's side.

He starts the vehicle, and places his right hand on my thigh. He gives the plush fresh a securing squeeze before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was short and sweet, averaging around ten minutes. We parked across the street from the boys’ dorm hall and exited the car. Kirishima opened my door and helped me out of the vehicle.

"If you don't want this, I could always take you home," he said as he shut my door. "I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"I want this more than you know," I responded while gripping his hand. "But, if I ever feel uncomfortable, I'll let you know."

Kirishima nods and smiles. "Good girl. Now let's go."

The moment his dorm's door closed, his body was pressed against mine and his hand glued to my waist. His lips massaged against my own, slow and sensually. I moaned against the kiss, and pressed my body closer to his. He felt so good attached to me, almost like he was meant to be against me. His searing hot kisses inched down my jawline and to my neck. Kirishima's hands slid up my abdomen and to my shoulders, he slipped the straps from the curved surface and pulled away just enough just to allow me to remove them from my arms.

He kissed the other side of my neck, leaving little bites here and there. The redhead ran his tongue against my collarbones and I swear a flood rushed to my nether regions. Kirishima kissed down and left my breast, gathering the anticipation that swirled through my body before latching his lips on my nipple. A throat my moan fell from my mouth and my legs jolted slightly. My mind continued to fog as he nestled against the sensitive bud, while happily moaning against the soft flesh. I pressed one hand against the front door and another in his hair.

Pants left my lips as I began to squirm underneath his body. "Take me to the bed, please," I begged while looking down at him. " I want you so bad, Kiri."

The redhead detached himself from my breast and gripped my chin. "Say my name, baby." His red eyes stared deeply into my brown ones, taking in every little detail of my expression.

"Eijiro," I said breathlessly.

"Say it again," he broke eye contact and gripped my waist.

"Eijiro."

His hands slipped down the curve of my rear and to my legs. He lifted limbs from off the ground and wrapped them around his waist. I wrapped my arms around his leg immediately afterward and giggled.

He walked further into the dorm room and passed through another dorm. He sits me on the extra-long twin bed and falls to his knees between my legs. Kiri unlatches my strappy heel and tosses it to the other side of the room. While he does the other foot, a smirk presses against his lips.

"What?" I asked while looking down at him.

"I'm just thinking about how this started," he said while smiling. "How my shifty grades gave me the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Stop it," I counter with a blush on my face. "You're exaggerating."

"Baby, I mean it with every fiber of my being when I say this," he leaned forward. "I've wanted to be with you for a while now, I just didn't know if you'd like me back. And I was kinda ashamed of taking so long to say something because you're so sweet and you really helped me a lot with Advanced American History. I didn’t want you to think I was using you for information or anything."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips on his forehead. "I liked you even before I officially knew you. When you beat the shit out of that guy that tried to home a drunk girl."

"I don't even remember that."

"It was during a Halloween party last year, that was when I first saw you. And I thought, "wow I wish more men like him existed in this world"."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"How could I not? You basically saved that girl's life and dignity. You were the only human being in a room full of predators. That's when I knew I wanted you for myself."

Kirishima laughs. "Greedy, little Y/N."

I shrugged.

"Come here."

I gathered the football player into my arms and pressed my lips onto his. Taking in every ounce of his kiss. Sucking on his bottom lip. Slipping my tongue within his mouth. Tugging against his collar to close the distance between us. After a few seconds, Kirishima kissed down my body again until he was face to face with my heated center. He scrunched the dress around my waist and pulled my panties off my legs before spreading my legs wide open.

"Oh… look how wet you are, baby," he kissed the soft skin in between my thighs. "All for me."

Kirishima dipped his head between my legs and took a long swipe at the sticky mess between them. A shiver ran along my spine, Arching my back, I released a soft whimper and spread my legs further apart. He dipped his tongue into the smooth canal repeatedly, bobbing his head as he completed the action. His calloused hands slid up my legs once more and hooked around my thighs. Kiri moved his hot mouth from the very bottom of my womanhood to the top, leaving a long string of spit along the way. The redhead sucked on the protruding bud tenderly; with hollowed cheeks, he looked up from my heat and stared into my eyes. I bit my lip and moaned loudly.

“Fuck, you feel good,” I arched my back against his mouth and bucked my hips slowly.

Kirishima released my bud with a silent “pop” and began lapping the rosy, pink button in great haste. My legs jolted at the new source of stimulation and a throaty whine fell from my lips. Squeezing my eyes shut, I squirmed underneath his mouth, desperately wanting to add more friction. Kiri noticed my slutty movements and began to move his tongue even faster.

“Ah. . . just like that, don’t stop,” my fingers gathered my bosoms and gave them a firm squeeze. The walls of my slick cave began to clench and release themselves at a faster pace. Tingles rose up my body, swirling against my lower abdomen, almost numbing my lower half entirely. Then, a searing sensation ripped through me, causing my hips to raise from the bed and my knees to shake. A low scream left my mouth as I felt the throbbing of my bud increase tremendously.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” My hips fell on the bed again and my legs shook violently. Kirishima steadied them as much as he could before a whole another wave hit my body and my entire being went still.

“Ah! Eijiro!” I screamed as the pleasure shot through my body for the last time. Pants left my throat and short spurts, just as sweat dripped from my forehead. I looked down at Kirishima, who had just pulled away from my spasming cunny. He had a look of astonishment on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked down at my wrecked body, taking in the shaking limbs, the thin layer of sweat upon it, and the scrunched-up dress at the waist.

“You sounded so hot screaming my name,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence. “No one has ever made it sound so good as you.”

“Well, grab a condom and I’ll scream your name for the rest of the night,” I replied with a smirk. “If you can last that long.”

“Oh, baby,” Kiri’s smile widened. “You have no idea.”

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a box of condoms from the top drawer. He ripped one off the sleeve and walked back over to me. I pulled the scrunched-up dress over my head and tossed it to the side. I looked over at Kiri and he’d already stripped himself of his T-shirt. He was currently unbuckling his belt with the condom packet in his mouth. His massive bulge immediately caught my eye and I moaned in anticipation. Kirishima rips the packet open with his teeth and rolls latex down his throbbing shaft. My walls clench at the delicious sight and I could feel my nipple begin to stiffen

“If you’re still tired, we can wait a little—” Kirishima begins to say before I cut him off.

“Eijiro, stop being nice and fuck me like a slut.”

His lips were on mine within the next heartbeat. His hands roamed every crevice of my body, taking in the soft tissue and stretchmarks lovingly. His throbbing member slowly slid into me with little to no friction. He made sure to thumb my clitoris while inserting himself, just so he wouldn’t hurt me. And I swear, I was seconds away from asking him to marry me. He gently moved his hips backward, and then pushed forward again. Highlighting his first stroke. He looked at the crimson hue on my face and leaned down to kiss me.

“You are so pretty, princess,” Kiri groaned softly, as he moved his hips at a gentle pace. “So, so pretty.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him again. Our tongues danced together as his member tenderly kissed my sensitive walls with each thrust. Kirishima moaned against my lips, as he took in every part of that union. He hiked up one of my legs and hooked it around his waist while he cradled the back of my neck with the other. He looked into my eyes as he increased the pressure of his strokes and their depth. My mouth hung open, and drool poured from the side of it as he kept up the sickening pace. My eyes began to roll back as throat moans rose from the depth of my body.

“Oh God. . .” I slurred as the pleasure increased within my body.

“Aww look at my pretty baby,” Kiri grunted as he rested his hand on my neck. He pressed his thumb between my lips.

I sucked on the digit and looked into his eyes. He moved his hips faster and my lips separated from around the finger. Pants fell from my lips as I felt his member sensually assault my cervix. After a few minutes, Kirishima suddenly pauses and hikes one of my legs up to his shoulders. He readjusts his body, leaving his hand on my neck and placing his hand on my clit. Kiri began to rock his hips in a powerful, but steady motion. He rubs the throbbing bud in a gentle motion, slowly gathering every ounce of pleasure within my body. The pace of my breathing increased rapidly, as the pool in my stomach began to inflate. Whimpers fell from my lips as I gripped the sheets underneath me.

“I’m so close. . .” I whispered through tight lips. “Please don’t stop. . .”

“You’re squeezing me so deliciously tight, baby,” Kirishima grunts as a droplet of sweat drops from his brow. “Milking my cock for everything it’s worth. What a greedy little cunny you have.”

“Eijiro. . . I wanna cum so bad,” I whimpered through pants. “Please let me cum, baby.”

Kirishima curses under his breath and releases his hand from my throbbing bud. He places both hands onto my neck, thumbs pressing against my jaw. He eases his body forward and keeps his sickening pace. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

I sucked in a breath and wrapped my hands around his forearms. I furrow my brows and pant with my mouth open. “You make me feel so good, Eiji. So fucking good!”

“You’re mine, you hear me?” He drops his hands from my neck and presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t get to fuck anyone else. . . . .You don’t get to be with anyone else. . . .My name will be the only name you moan for the rest of your life, do you understand?”

I nod. “I understand.”

“You’re mine and no one else's.”

He pulls me into a searing hot kiss. Drinking in all the love and energy throughout my body. I hook my arms around his neck and moan against his lips. Suddenly, I felt an intense rush of adrenaline pass through my body and everything seemed to go silent. A low ringing noise sounded in my ear as my mouth fell open. I dug my arms into his back and clung to his body. Every fiber of my being tensed and my mind went completely blank for several seconds. Then, slowly, my body released itself and collapsed onto the bed. I opened my eyes lazily to see Kirishima’s eyes tightly closed and his hips slightly shaking. Once he finished his ride, his body relaxed and he lowered my leg from his shoulder. He pulled me into an embrace and pressed another kiss onto my lips.

I pulled away from the kiss and looked into his crimson eyes. “Were you serious about calling me yours?”

“Ugh. . . yes?” He replied hesitantly. Then, he added “If that’s okay with you! I don’t wanna force you—”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I cut him off with a smirk.

“Oh, I was worried for a second.”

“The only thing you should be worried about is your Advanced American History grade.”

“Oh, right. . .”

“You miss another one of my sessions, I’ll ignore you again.”

“Please don’t! I will be present at every session.”

“Good. And you have to be Starbucks.”

“The drink that tastes like the moon?”

“Matcha latte with 2 pumps of chai. Yup.”

“And two chocolate cake pops.”

“Mhm. You know me so well.”

[philsleftnut]

He Can’t Stand it, He Doesn’t Want to.

Chapter Summary: Steve and Eddie come out here to smoke with each other often. High as kites, breathing in nothing but weed and each other. It was routine. Yet why does Steve hate the way he feels when he thinks just a little too hard about the time their fingertips touched. Eyes meet. Laughs crossed. It was too much. And too little.

Notes: I was watching the absolutely lovely movie "As You Are" when I wrote most of this. So that would be what inspired it. Which has our Charlie Heaton in it! Amazing movie! Very sad.

The first chapter is written from the perspective of Steve, and the second Eddie. All still in third person.

Find me on Ao3!

Chapters: | ||

Word Count: 2797

Tags: Angst, hurt/little comfort, internalized homophobia, anxiety, recreational drug use.

The stars get really bright when he looks at them through clouded eyes. Eyes that have been open just a little too long, they start to dry around the edges and water collects. It feels like fire entering as warm tears cover his vision. He finally blinks and lets it go. Falls down his face, onto his chin, then down his neck. Suddenly the stars are gone. He doesn’t know if it was worth it.

His pupils are dilated, immediately drying again as they open. Smoke is all around him, sucking the moisture out of his body. It hurts, he needs something to drink, but he can’t get enough of feeling like this is it. He feels a fresh blow of it right against his cheek. “Man, are you crying?”

“Fuck,” he sniffs, wiping the tears off his face. “No, my eyes are just extremely dry because you keep doing shit like that.” Steve chuckles. He fumbles with his arms and tries to push Eddie away from him. Eddie laughs with him. He hates it. The gaudy little laugh Eddie only ever used when they were sitting right here. Because the second Eddie’s stupid mouth opens it plays on a loop. And he sleeps to the sounds of Eddie Munson laughing at his joke. Or the smell of his crappy weed blowing through his face and hair. And when he’s stoned just right, he sleeps on the small electrifying touch of their fingers when Eddie passes him the joint. Their thighs right next to each other because lord knows the shared space was not large enough for two adult men. The rocket across the Creel house, legs looped through the openings, sat on the platform. Smoking Eddie’s leftover supply. The roaches Eddie doesn’t finish throughout the week.

He can’t stand it. He doesn’t want to.

Steve carefully takes the joint out of Eddie’s hands. His life is on fire, he pulls away and puts it up to his mouth. The wet end is between his lips and he can taste the paper, it’s mushy with saliva. His and Eddie’s. He can taste his spit fresh on the end of the joint, he inhales it. Smoke fills his mouth, it burns down his lungs, seeping into his organs. It made his head ring. He turns his face slowly toward Eddie, joint still in his mouth, blowing the cloud out. His eyes hang low while he looks up at the sky taking another drag.

Eddie sputters, waving away the smoke. “Yeah, ok, I deserved that one.” swinging his legs back and forth, he leans back on his hands. Every movement his legs made, his chains clinked against the metal, fabric brushed on Steve’s. “But do that again and reap the consequences Harrington.”

“How come you can do whatever you want, but I have to have some weird limit on face blowing.” Steve flails his hands in front of him, pushing his body up against the bars. Joint in between his pointer and middle finger. Floating on the end. Eddie laughs again and Steve feels like he can’t breathe. He drops the joint on the ground below them. “Aaah, fuck.”

Eddie laughs through his words, “Well now no one is gonna be doing any face blowing.” he slips his legs back through metal bars, turning to slide through the opening. His voice groaning and straining as he works through the tight space. He hops on the ground to walk around the rocket and in front of Steve. His hanging legs and arms move with no direction, touching Eddie’s body ever so often as they swing.

Steve can’t help but stare at him. Staring with the top of his permed hair, down his broad shoulders, hips, legs, landing on his dirty Reeboks. In between his feet lies the half finished blunt, orange but slowly burning out. The tiny spec of fire is not nearly enough, though Steve feels as if it illuminates Eddie’s entire body. He can see him.

He’s a man. Just like Steve. Coiled leg hair sticking out of the rips on his knees. His shirt stretched over shoulders, and muscles instead of boobs and fat. Eddie hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he can tell. Steve’s hand wants to reach out and feel how rough the patch on his neck is, he almost does. His hand pulls back quickly when Eddie drops to the ground. He picks up the joint, shakes it and holds it out to Steve.

There is mulch and dried leaves sticking to the end. He takes it. He pinches it and brings it up to his eyes, squinting, raking them over every inch of the small thing.Inspects it like he does Eddie. An ant crawls down the top to his finger. Steve lets it roam freely, searching for food where there blatantly is none. It gets to his knuckle and he presses down on it with the opposite hand, crushing the bug. Crushing himself.

He flicks it away. “You know, if this thing wasn't a biohazard before, it definitely is now.”

Steve drops his hand, giving Eddie back the joint. He takes it. Touching. They have to. Otherwise it’ll drop again. He stares at his open hand, watching Eddie's fingers barely lace with his as he pulls away. And Steve tells himself it’s the high in his body that yells for him to take full hold. Except he can’t. Because his body feels like it’s on fire every time he touches him, and there isn’t a person in the world who could tell him if that’s good or bad.

“You can’t waste good ganga Steve.” Eddie says. Smoking.

“You always lie to the people you smoke with?”

Eddie raises his brow, flicking the ash in Steve’s direction. “Man what are you talking about?”

“Now-“ he flinches. Ash hits his jeans. He wonders if it will burn into them. Leaving him with a physical reminder of the nights with the man in front of him. Tiny dark spots only he would notice, wafting with the scent of marijuana. Falling asleep to the image of them disregarded on his bedroom floor, with a deeper meaning then he’s ever willing to understand. He smiles briefly, “that you have good shit.”

“Hey! My shit, is perfectly fine, thank you!” He defends, returning Steve’s smile. He walks closer, Steve’s thighs spreading slightly. Eddie flips the blunt around to give Steve the last remaining hits. “Gotta actually smoke it to know.”

Steve doesn’t want to smoke anymore. His head feels like it’s floating off his neck and Eddie is at his knees but Steve feels like he is chest to chest holding him down. Eddie wiggles it, raising both eyebrows. “I don’t wanna put that thing in my mouth.” Is what comes out. Instead of ‘no’, or ‘another time’, an excuse. Something Eddie has a rebuttal for.

“Well there’s an easy way around that.” There is a casual smirk laying on Eddie's face.

They’d done it before. Once. Steve went home and bored a hole into his bedroom ceiling.

“Ok.”

Is all Steve can say before Eddie is taking one of the longest drags of his life. He watches his lips wrap around the dirt coated paper, sucking in through his neck. Steve’s eyes can’t catch a single thing while Eddie holds it. Eddie is staring back. His eyes dark brown, filled with his dark pupils. They’re lighter than Steve’s. It’s unusual. But Eddie’s eyes aren’t full of fear.

Steve doesn’t lean in. He just closes his eyes with his face waiting in between the bars. His mouth ajar, waiting.

Eddie’s mouth moves to his. They are centimeters away. The tips of their noses graze one another. He doesn’t dare touch their lips. He doesn’t hold onto Steve’s thighs, or grip his hair. He does take the bottom of his chin lifting so the smoke goes into his mouth better. He tilts his head, opening his lips. Smoke flows out of him, finding the only other possible place to go.

The weed is suffocating him in the open air. His lungs fill with his nerves igniting on the very touch of Eddie. His face, his legs, the mere inches of their mouths.

He opens his eyes, Eddie is so close. His eyes are closed and his body is lax. Steve wants to crawl inside of him and learn how. His eyes draw upward in an attempt to stop tears he can feel coming, but his eyes were too dry. The smoke that can’t fill his mouth comes in between their faces. He can’t see anymore. Steve can’t breathe. He can’t stand it. It hurts.

Steve coughs it all out loudly, pushing Eddie away roughly with his hands. He trips backwards, falling flat onto the ground. “Shit,” continuing to cough “sorry.”

Eddie goes down completely onto his back, to Steve unexpectedly, laughing. “Dude, you could’ve just closed your mouth or pulled away. Didn’t have to fully accost me onto the ground.”

“Are you okay?” Steve chokes into his hand.

“Am I okay? Are you?” He comes up onto his forearms looking over his knees. “You sound like you just swallowed the biggest load and are definitely not enjoying it.”

“Don’t-'' Steve interrupts himself with a cough, but sounds more like a pitiful choked out whine. “Don’t make me laugh, you’re gonna make it worse.”

His throat is calming down and the smoke is disappearing above him. His body is flush, cheeks warmer than they should be, racing down his chest. His heartbeat is soaring. He kind of thinks that it’s going to send him and the rocket off into the sky.

He drops his head forward and presses his forehead into the cold metal in front of him. A coping method. He rolls his face back and forth spreading the sensation across himself. His high is spreading it further. Mixing his blushing heat, and the grounding coolness. He wishes that it would distract him but all he felt was nauseated. Small. Tight. He has to move.

Steve copies Eddie’s movements from earlier leaving the spaceship, it being easier without the extra body. He slips down and out of his metal jail. His legs hurt. His whole body is fatigued.

He wanders over to where Eddie lies on the ground. He doesn’t know what part of his brain tells him to do so but he sinks his body right next to his way to close. Instead of a couple of under the influence dudes committing to late night shenanigans, it’s two guys who can’t breathe touching every part of their skin. They’re pressing into each other, Steve’s shoulder is lying above Eddie’s, knees knocking together, hips colliding.

Looking over at Eddie, his nose almost touches his cheek. Eddie is watching the sky. He breathes in, smelling pieces of him. His face smells of his cheap aftershave even though his stubble from days past remains. Weed soaks his skin and Steve inhales it all so that it seeps into him.

Eddie turns. Their noses bump together scaring Eddie a bit. He laughs it away, their lips almost touch. If he just moved forward by the second, “You come onto all of the people you smoke with like this?”

Steve looks away, a blush rising through him. “Uh- I- no.”

“So just your girls then?”

Eddie is joking. He is just joking. Steve knows that Munson is poking fun at his past history throughout high school. His one with girls. Notorious history with girls. Girls he used to have sex with. Girls that he used to kiss. Dream about. Fall asleep too. Spike a fever over a simple touch. Girls.

“I wish you were a girl.” Steve says, staring into the black space above them.

It just happens. He doesn’t even think about it. There were words coming out of Eddie’s mouth, and then words coming out of his. Suddenly he can’t use his mouth any more to explain away the soul crushing things he’s just said. He doesn’t even want to imagine what Eddie’s face looks like. Wide eyes, shocked, horrified, maybe he thinks he’s joking. Steve shoots into a sitting position. He’s trying to breathe. But he can’t. His lungs fill with fire every time he breathes in. They fill with Eddie's weed that pours out of his skin. Fill with his hatred for himself. They fill and they simply just don’t exhale.

He’s blowing up. His head is floating off his neck and there is nothing holding him down this time.

Eddie touches his shoulder. It doesn’t bring him back. It sends him all the way up into the stars. Steve jerks away from him. “No.”

“Steve-”

“No.”

“Ok.”

Steve stands up. He’s shaking. His legs feel like they can’t keep him up on two feet. He looks down at his shoes, they’re puddled with tears, in another universe he could swim in them. Feel the water and float away. Maybe drown. His eyes have been crying. He doesn’t know when they started. Except they did. It stains down his face, dripping onto the tips of his shoes like they have every right to be there. His back is facing Eddie and he can’t see him. He doesn’t want to.

Steve walks toward the rocket and when he gets there, he grabs onto two metal bars and screams. He screams the fire out of his lungs. The tears out of his eyes. He screams the Eddie out of his body. Every sleepless night, thinking about Eddie Munson joins the clouds. Because who is Steve Harrington? To think about someone like him. To feel more than a molecule of energy for someone looking like Eddie. He doesn’t understand it. And he thinks if he screams until the possibility of understanding that comes he’ll be okay.

He hates himself. And he hates Eddie. He doesn’t know how Eddie gets it and he doesn’t. Why did he use all of his time sleeping to the sound of Nancy Wheeler in high school, and now he can’t sleep without Eddie? Who made that decision, and why wasn’t it Steve? He can’t stand it. He can’t breathe. It all hurts and burns and ignites a fire in him that refuses to be put out.

His voice is cracking. Already dry from the smoke. It’s pathetic and falling into a pit. In a minute his throat will be raw and Steve wont be able to speak at all. For the first time in a long while Steve knows what he wants. So he stops. Breathes. Opens his throat. Ripples out the last remaining voice he’s got left. For himself.

There is a sound behind him. He can’t quite make it out over the ringing in his ears. His whole body comes to an abrupt stops, interrupted by another clashing with him. Not hard. But Eddie comes up behind him and collides with him, hands on his shoulders, getting his attention.

“Steve! Jesus Christ, do you want us to get arrested?” he asks. He quickly moves away from Steve. Unsure if he even wanted to be within the same fifty feet at him right now. “Sorry, but you couldn’t hear me and I couldn’t think of another way to get your attention.

He’s bent over, white knuckling the metal spaceship, panting. His mind is gone. His thoughts are out in the air around him. He waves them away. “Alright.” He rasps, smiling weakly.

Steve lets go of the bars, flexing his fingers. Blood rushing back to his hands. He walks over to the spot onto the ground where Eddie had fallen when he pushed him. The last of his blunt laying in the dirt and mulch. He snatches it, dusting it off with his finger. With two pinched fingers he motions the joint toward Eddie. “Got a light?”

“I- uh, yeah here.” Eddie pulls a lighter out of his pocket, tossing it toward Steve. He catches it at his chest with a free hand.

“Thanks.” He says briefly. He puts the joint between his lips, cupping his mouth, and lighting the end. He shoves the lighter in his pocket, inhaling. The weed coats his throat, it heals the rubbed raw feeling from his screams. He spins in an absent-minded circle staring at the stars, before falling on his ass, laying, staring at the sky.

He blows the smoke at them. Hoping they catch it from him. “You know I alway thought the stars looked so bright from down here.”

Eddie comes over to him, lying in the spot next to Steve. He’s not as close. Never as close. He reaches over to take the roach from him. Eddie smokes the last drag. The cloud dissipates with his words. “Really? I always thought they looked quite dull.”